by Byron
At which Saint Peter yawn’d, and rubb’d his nose:
‘Saint porter,’ said the angel, ‘prithee rise!’
Waving a goodly wing, which glow’d, as glows
An earthly peacock’s tail, with heavenly dyes:
135
To which the saint replied, ’Well, what’s the matter?
‘Is Lucifer come back with all this clatter?’
XVIII
‘No,’ quoth the cherub; ‘George the Third is dead.’
‘And who is George the Third?’ replied the apostle:
‘What George? what Third?’ ‘The king of England,’ said
140
The angel. ‘Well! he won’t find kings to jostle
Him on his way; but does he wear his head?
Because the last we saw here had a tustle,
And ne’er would have got into heaven’s good graces,
Had he not flung his head in all our faces.
XIX
145
‘He was, if I remember, king of France;
That head of his, which could not keep a crown
On earth, yet ventured in my face to advance
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,
Who long have ‘paved hell with their good intentions.’
XXXVIII
Michael began: ‘What wouldst thou with this man,
Now dead, and brought before the Lord? What ill
Hath he wrought since his mortal race began,
300
That thou canst claim him? Speak! and do thy will,
If it be just: if in this earthly span
He hath been greatly failing to fulfil
His duties as a king and mortal, say,
And he is thine; if not, let him have way.’
XXXIX
305
‘Michael!’ replied the Prince of Air, ‘even here,
Before the Gate of him thou servest, must
I claim my subject: and will make appear
That as he was my worshipper in dust,
So shall he be in spirit, although dear
310
To thee and thine, because nor wine nor lust
Were of his weaknesses; yet on the throne
He reign’d o’er millions to serve me alone.
XL
‘Look to our earth, or rather mine; it was,
Once, more thy master’s: but I triumph not
315
In this poor planet’s conquest; nor, alas!
Need he thou servest envy me my lot:
With all the myriads of bright worlds which pass
In worship round him, he may have forgot
Yon weak creation of such paltry things:
320
I think few worth damnation save their kings, –
XLI
‘And these but as a kind of quit-rent, to
Assert my right as lord; and even had
I such an inclination, ’twere (as you
Well know) superfluous: they are grown so bad,
325
That hell has nothing better left to do
Than leave them to themselves: so much more mad
And evil by their own internal curse,
Heaven cannot make them better, nor I worse.
XLII
‘Look to the earth, I said, and say again:
330
When this old, blind, mad, helpless, weak, poor worm
Began in youth’s first bloom and flush to reign,
The world and he both wore a different form,
And much of earth and all the watery plain
Of ocean call’d him king: through many a storm
335
His isles had floated on the abyss of time;
For the rough virtues chose them for their clime.
XLIII
‘He came to his sceptre young; he leaves it old:
Look to the state in which he found his realm,
And left it; and his annals too behold,
340
How to a minion first he gave the helm;
How grew upon his heart a thirst for gold,
The beggar’s vice, which can but overwhelm
The meanest hearts; and for the rest, but glance
Thine eye along America and France.
XLIV
345
‘ ’Tis true, he was a tool from first to last
(I have the workmen safe); but as a tool
So let him be consumed. From out the past
Of ages, since mankind have known the rule
Of monarchs — from the bloody rolls amass’d
350
Of sin and slaughter – from the Cæsars’ school,
Take the worst pupil; and produce a reign
More drench’d with gore, more cumber’d with the slain.
XLV
‘He ever warr’d with freedom and the free:
Nations as men, home subjects, foreign foes,
355
So that they utter’d the word “Liberty!”
Found George the Third their first opponent. Whose
History was ever stain’d as his will be
With national and individual woes?
I grant his household abstinence; I grant
360
His neutral virtues, which most monarchs want;
XLVI
‘I know he was a constant consort; own
He was a decent sire, and middling lord.
All this is much, and most upon a throne;
As temperance, if at Apicius’ board,
365
Is more than at an anchorite’s supper shown.
I grant him all the kindest can accord;
And this was well for him, but not for those
Millions who found him what oppression chose.
XLVII
‘The New World shook him off; the Old yet groans
370
Beneath what he and his prepared, if not
Completed: he leaves heirs on many thrones
To all his vices, without what begot
Compassion for him – his tame virtues; drones
Who sleep, or despots who have now forgot
375
A lesson which shall be re-taught them, wake
Upon the thrones of earth; but let them quake!
XLVIII
‘Five millions of the primitive, who hold
The faith which makes ye great on earth, implored
A part of that vast all they held of old, —
380
Freedom to worship – not alone your Lord,
Michael, but you, and you, Saint Peter! Cold
Must be your souls, if you have not abhorr’d
The foe to catholic participation
In all the license of a Christian nat
ion.
XLIX
385
‘True! he allow’d them to pray God; but as
A consequence of prayer, refused the law
Which would have placed them upon the same base
With those who did not hold the saints in awe.’
But here Saint Peter started from his place,
390
And cried, ‘You may the prisoner withdraw:
Ere heaven shall ope her portals to this Guelph,
While I am guard, may I be damn’d myself!
L
‘Sooner will I with Cerberus exchange
My office (and his is no sinecure)
395
Than see this royal Bedlam bigot range
The azure fields of heaven, of that be sure!’
‘Saint!’ replied Satan, ‘you do well to avenge
The wrongs he made your satellites endure
And if to this exchange you should be given,
400
I’ll try to coax our Cerberus up to heaven.’
LI
Here Michael interposed: ‘Good saint! and devil!
Pray, not so fast; you both outrun discretion.
Saint Peter! you were wont to be more civil:
Satan! excuse this warmth of his expression,
405
And condescension to the vulgar’s level:
Even saints sometimes forget themselves in session.
Have you got more to say?’ – ‘No. ‘ – ’If you please,
I’ll trouble you to call your witnesses.’
LII
Then Satan turn’d and waved his swarthy hand,
410
Which stirr’d with its electric qualities
Clouds farther off than we can understand,
Although we find him sometimes in our skies;
Infernal thunder shook both sea and land
In all the planets, and hell’s batteries
415
Let off the artillery, which Milton mentions
As one of Satan’s most sublime inventions.
LIII
This was a signal unto such damn’d souls
As have the privilege of their damnation
Extended far beyond the mere controls
420
Of worlds past, present, or to come; no station
Is theirs particularly in the rolls
Of hell assign’d; but where their inclination
Or business carries them in search of game,
They may range freely – being damn’d the same.
LIV
425
They are proud of this — as very well they may,
It being a sort of knighthood, or gilt key
Stuck in their loins; or like to an ‘entré’
Up the back stairs, or such free-masonry.
I borrow my comparisons from clay,
430
Being clay myself. Let not those spirits be
Offended with such base low likenesses;
We know their posts are nobler far than these.
LV
When the great signal ran from heaven to hell —
About ten million times the distance reckon’d