Selected Poems (144 page)

A claim to those of martyrs — like my own:

If I had had my sword, as I had on

150

When I cut ears off, I had cut him down;

But having but my
keys
, and not my brand,

I only knock’d his head from out his hand.

XX

‘And then he set up such a headless howl,

That all the saints came out and took him in;

155

And there he sits by St Paul, cheek by jowl;

That fellow Paul – the parvenù! The skin

Of Saint Bartholomew, which makes his cowl

In heaven, and upon earth redeem’d his sin

So as to make a martyr, never sped

160

Better than did this weak and wooden head.

XXI

‘But had it come up here upon its shoulders,

There would have been a different tale to tell:

The fellow-feeling in the saints beholders

Seems to have acted on them like a spell;

165

And so this very foolish head heaven solders

Back on its trunk: it may be very well,

And seems the custom here to overthrow

Whatever has been wisely done below.’

XXII

The angel answer’d, ‘Peter! do not pout:

170

The king who comes has head and all entire,

And never knew much what it was about —

He did as doth the puppet — by its wire,

And will be judged like all the rest, no doubt:

My business and your own is not to enquire

175

Into such matters, but to mind our cue —

Which is to act as we are bid to do.’

XXIII

While thus they spake, the angelic caravan,

Arriving like a rush of mighty wind,

Cleaving the fields of space, as doth the swan

180

Some silver stream (say Ganges, Nile, or Inde,

Or Thames, or Tweed), and ’midst them an old man

With an old soul, and both extremely blind,

Halted before the gate, and in his shroud

Seated their fellow-traveller on a cloud.

XXIV

185

But bringing up the rear of this bright host

A Spirit of a different aspect waved

His wings, like thunder-clouds above some coast

Whose barren beach with frequent wrecks is paved;

His brow was like the deep when tempest-toss’d;

190

Fierce and unfathomable thoughts engraved

Eternal wrath on his immortal face,

And
where
he gazed a gloom pervaded space.

XXV

As he drew near, he gazed upon the gate

Ne’er to be enter’d more by him or sin,

195

With such a glance of supernatural hate,

As made Saint Peter wish himself within;

He patter’d with his keys at a great rate,

And sweated through his apostolic skin:

Of course his perspiration was but ichor,

200

Or some such other spiritual liquor.

XXVI

The very cherubs huddled all together,

Like birds when soars the falcon; and they felt

A tingling to the tip of every feather,

And form’d a circle like Orion’s belt

205

Around their poor old charge; who scarce knew whither

His guards had led him, though they gently dealt

With royal manes (for by many stories,

And true, we learn the angels all are Tories).

XXVII

As things were in this posture, the gate flew

210

Asunder, and the flashing of its hinges

Flung over space an universal hue

Of many-colour’d flame, until its tinges

Reach’d even our speck of earth, and made a new

Aurora borealis spread its fringes

215

O’er the North Pole; the same seen, when ice-bound,

By Captain Parry’s crew, in ‘Melville’s Sound.’

XXVIII

And from the gate thrown open issued beaming

A beautiful and mighty Thing of Light,

Radiant with glory, like a banner streaming

220

Victorious from some world-o’erthrowing fight:

My poor comparisons must needs be teeming

With earthly likenesses, for here the night

Of clay obscures our best conceptions, saving

Johanna Southcote, or Bob Southey raving.

XXIX

225

’Twas the archangel Michael: all men know

The make of angels and archangels, since

There’s scarce a scribbler has not one to show,

From the fiends’ leader to the angels’ prince.

There also are some altar-pieces, though

230

I really can’t say that they much evince

One’s inner notions of immortal spirits;

But let the connoisseurs explain
their
merits.

XXX

Michael flew forth in glory and in good;

A goodly work of him from whom all glory

235

And good arise; the portal past – he stood;

Before him the young cherubs and saints hoary –

(I say
young,
begging to be understood

By looks, not years; and should be very sorry

To state, they were not older than St Peter,

240

But merely that they seem’d a little sweeter).

XXXI

The cherubs and the saints bow’d down before

That arch-angelic hierarch, the first

Of essences angelical, who wore

The aspect of a god; but this ne’er nursed

245

Pride in his heavenly bosom, in whose core

No thought, save for his Maker’s service, durst

Intrude, however glorified and high;

He knew him but the viceroy of the sky.

XXXII

He and the sombre silent Spirit met —

250

They knew each other both for good and ill;

Such was their power, that neither could forget

His former friend and future foe; but still

There was a high, immortal, proud regret

In either’s eye, as if ’twere less their will

255

Than destiny to make the eternal years

Their date of war, and their ‘champ clos’ the spheres.

XXXIII

But here they were in neutral space: we know

From Job, that Satan hath the power to pay

A heavenly visit thrice a year or so;

260

And that ‘the sons of God,’ like those of clay,

Must keep him company; and we might show

From the same book, in how polite a way

The dialogue is held between the Powers

Of Good and Evil — but ’twould take up hours.

XXXIV

265

And this is not a theologic tract,

To prove with Hebrew and with Arabic

If Job be allegory or a fact,

But a true narrative; and thus I pick

From out the whole but such and such an act

270

As sets aside the slightest thought of trick.

’Tis every tittle true, beyond suspicion,

And accurate as any other vision.

XXXV

The spirits were in neutral space, before

The gate of heaven; like eastern thresholds is

275

The place where Death’s grand cause is argued o’er,

And souls despatch’d to that world or to this;

And therefore Michael and the other wore

A civil aspect: though they did not kiss,

Yet still between his Darkness and his Brightness

280

There pass’d a mutual glance of great politeness.

XXXVI

The Archangel bow’d, not like a modern beau,

But with a graceful oriental bend,

Pressing one radiant arm just where below

The heart in good men is supposed to tend.

285

He turn’d as to an equal, not too low,

But kindly; Satan met his ancient friend

With more hauteur, as might an old Castilian

Poor noble meet a mushroom rich civilian.

XXXV II

He merely bent his diabolic brow

290

An instant; and then raising it, he stood

In act to assert his right or wrong, and show

Cause why King George by no means could or should

Make out a case to be exempt from woe

Eternal, more than other kings, endued

295

With better sense and hearts, whom history mentions,