Satan replied, "To me the matter is

Indifferent, in a personal point of view:

I can have fifty better souls than this

With far less trouble than we have gone through

Already; and I merely argued his

Late Majesty of Britain's case with you Upon a point of form: you may dispose

But such a cloud! No land ere saw a crowd

Of locusts numerous as the heavens saw these: They shadow'd with their myriads space; their loud

And varied cries were like those of wild geese (If nations may be liken'd to a goose), And realised the phrase of "hell broke loose.'

LIX.

Here crash'd a sturdy oath of stout John Bull, Who damn'd away his eyes as heretofore:

LXV.

66

LXXII.

"Wilkes," said the devil, "I understand all this
You turn'd to half a courtier ere you died,
And seem to think it would not be amiss
To grow a whole one on the other side
Of Charon's ferry; you forget that his
Reign is concluded: whatsoe'er betide,
He won't be sovereign more: you've lost your
labour,

For at the best he will but be your neighbour.

LXXIII.

"However, I knew what to think of it,
When I beheld you in your jesting way,
Flitting and whispering round about the spit
Where Belial, upon duty for the day,
With Fox's lard was basting William Pitt,

His pupil; I knew what to think, I say:
That fellow even in hell breeds further ills;
I'll have him gagg'd-'twas one of his own bills.

LXXIV.

"Call Junius!" From the crowd a shadow stalk'd,
And at the name there was a general squeeze,
So that the very ghosts no longer walk'd
In comfort, at their own aërial ease,

things

Are of a former life, and what we do Above is more august; to judge of kings

Is the tribunal met: so now you know." "Then I presume those gentlemen with wings," Said Wilkes, "are cherubs; and that soul below

Looks much like George the Third, but to my mind

A good deal older-Bless me: is he blind?"

LXIX.

"He is what you behold him, and his doom Depends upon his deeds," the Angel said. "If you have aught to arraign in him, the tomb Gives licence to the humblest beggar's head To lift itself against the loftiest."-" Some," Said Wilkes, "don't wait to see them laid in lead

For such a liberty; and I, for one,

Have told them what I thought beneath the

sun.

LXX.

"Above the sun repeat, then, what thou hast To urge against him," said the Archangel. "Why,"

Replied the spirit, "since old scores are past, Must I turn evidence? In faith, not I. Besides, I beat him hollow at the last,

With all his Lords and Commons: in the sky I don't like ripping up old stories, since His conduct was but natural in a prince.

LXXI.

"Foolish, no doubt, and wicked, to oppress A poor unlucky devil without a shilling; ut then I blame the man himself much less Than Bute and Grafton;* and shall be unwilling

To see him punish'd here for their excess,
Since they were both damn'd long ago, and
still in

Their place below: for me, I have forgiven,
And vote his habeas corpus into heaven.'

* George III.'s Ministers.

balk'd,

Those grand heroics acted as a spell;

The angels stopp'd their ears and plied their pinions :

The devils ran howling, deafen'd, down to hell; The ghosts fled, gibbering, for their own dominions

(For 'tis not yet decided where they dwell,

And I leave every man to his own opinions); Michael took refuge in his trump; but, lo, His teeth were set on edge, he could not blow! CIV.

Saint Peter, who has hitherto been known

For an impetuous saint, upraised his keys, And at the fifth line knocked the poet down; Who fell like Phaeton, but more at ease, Into his lake, for there he did not drown;

A different web being by the destinies Woven for the Laureate's final wreath, whene'er Reform shall happen either here or there.

1.

THE "good old times"—all times when old are good

Are gone; the present might be if they would;
Great things have been, and are, and greater still
Want little of mere mortals but their will:
A wider space, a greener field is given

II.

All is exploded-be it good or bad.
Reader! remember when thou wert a lad,
Then Pitt was all; or, if not all, so much,
His very rival almost deem'd him such.
We, we have seen the intellectual race
Of giants stand, like Titans, face to face-
Athos and Ida, with a dashing sea

Of eloquence between, which flow'd all free,
As the deep billows of the Egean roar
Betwixt the Hellenic and the Phrygian shore.
But where are they-the rivals! a few feet
Of sullen earth divide each winding sheet.
How peaceful and how powerful is the grave,
Which hushes all! a calm, unstormy wave,
Which oversweeps the world. The theme is old
Of "dust to dust;" but half its tale untold:
Time tempers not its terrors-still the worm
Winds its cold folds, the tomb preserves its form,
Varied above, but still alike below;

The urn may shine, the ashes will not glow,
Though Cleopatra's mummy cross the sea
O'er which from empire she lured Anthony;
Though Alexander's urn a show be grown
On shores he wept to conquer, though

unknown

Whose game was empires, and whose stakes were thrones;

Whose table earth-whose dice were human

bones?

Behold the grand result in you lone isle,
And, as thy nature urges, weep or smile.
Sigh to behold the eagle's lofty rage
Reduced to nibble at his narrow cage;
Smile to survey the queller of the nations
Now daily squabbling o'er disputed rations;
Weep to perceive him mourning, as he dines,
O'er curtail'd dishes and o'er stinted wines;
O'er petty quarrels upon petty things.

Is this the man who scourged or feasted kings?
Behold the scales in which his fortune hangs,
A surgeon's statement, and an earl's harangues!
A bust delayed, a book refused, can shake
The sleep of him who kept the world awake.
Is this indeed the tamer of the great,
Now slave of all could tease or irritate-
The paltry gaoler and the prying spy,
The staring stranger with his note-book nigh?
Plunged in a dungeon he had still been great;
How low, how little was this middle state,
Between a prison and a palace, where

How few could feel for what he had to bear!

Vain his complaint,-my lord presents his bill,
His food and wine were doled out duly still;
Vain was his sickness, never was a clime
So free from homicide-to doubt's a crime;
And the stiff surgeon, who maintain'd his cause,
Hath lost his place, and gain'd the world's

applause.

But smile-though all the pangs of brain and

heart