The Devil believes that the Lord will come, Stealing a march without beat of drum, About the same time that he came last On an old Christmas-day in a snowy blast: Till he bids the trump sound neither body nor soul stirs For the dead men's heads have slipt under their bolsters.

Ho! ho! brother Bard, in our churchyard Both beds and bolsters are soft and green; Save one alone, and that's of stone, And under it lies a Counsellor keen.

This tomb would be square, if it were not too long; And 'tis rail'd round with iron, tall, spear-like, and strong.

This fellow from Aberdeen hither did skip With a waxy face and a blubber lip, And a black tooth in front to show in part What was the colour of his whole heart.

This Counsellor sweet, This Scotchman complete (The Devil scotch him for a snake!), I trust he lies in his grave awake.

On the sixth of January, When all around is white with snow As a Cheshire yeoman's dairy, Brother Bard, ho! ho! believe it, or no, On that stone tomb to you I'll show After sunset, and before c.o.c.k-crow, Two round s.p.a.ces clear of snow.

I swear by our Knight and his forefathers' souls, That in size and shape they are just like the holes In the large house of privity Of that ancient family.

On those two places clear of snow There have sat in the night for an hour or so, Before sunrise, and after c.o.c.k-crow (He hicking his heels, she cursing her corns, All to the tune of the wind in their horns), The Devil and his Grannam, With the snow-drift to fan 'em; Expecting and hoping the trumpet to blow; For they are c.o.c.k-sure of the fellow below!

180O.

THE DEVIL'S THOUGHTS

From his brimstone bed at break of day A walking the DEVIL is gone, To visit his little snug farm of the earth And see how his stock went on.

Over the hill and over the dale, And he went over the plain, And backward and forward he swished his long tail As a gentleman swishes his cane.

And how then was the Devil drest?

Oh! he was in his Sunday's best: His jacket was red and his breeches were blue, And there was a hole where the tail came through.

He saw a LAWYER killing a Viper On a dung heap beside his stable, And the Devil smiled, for it put him in mind Of Cain and _his_ brother, Abel.

A POTHECARY on a white horse Rode by on his vocations, And the Devil thought of his old Friend DEATH in the Revelations.

He saw a cottage with a double coach-house, A cottage of gentility!

And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin Is pride that apes humility.

He went into a rich bookseller's shop, Quoth he! we are both of one college, For I myself sate like a cormorant once Fast by the tree of knowledge.

Down the river there plied, with wind and tide, A pig with vast celerity; And the Devil look'd wise as he saw how the while, It cut its own throat. "There!" quoth he with a smile, "Goes 'England's commercial prosperity.'"

As he went through Cold-Bath Fields he saw A solitary cell; And the Devil was pleased, for it gave him a hint For improving his prisons in h.e.l.l.

General ----------- burning face He saw with consternation, And back to h.e.l.l his way did he take, For the Devil thought by a slight mistake It was general conflagration.

1799.

COLOGNE

In Kohln, a town of monks and bones, And pavements fang'd with murderous stones, And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches; I counted two and seventy stenches, All well denned, and several stinks!

Ye Nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks, The river Rhine, it is well known, Doth wash your city of Cologne; But tell me, Nymphs! what power divine Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine?

SONNETS ATTEMPTED IN THE MANNER OF CONTEMPORARY WRITERS

[SIGNED "NEHEMIAH HIGGINGBOTTOM"]

I

Pensive at eve on the hard world I mus'd, And my poor heart was sad: so at the moon I gaz'd-and sigh'd, and sigh'd!--for, ah! how soon Eve darkens into night. Mine eye perus'd With tearful vacancy the _dampy_ gra.s.s Which wept and glitter'd in the paly ray; And I did pause me on my lonely way, And mused me on those wretched ones who pa.s.s O'er the black heath of Sorrow. But, alas!

Most of Myself I thought: when it befell That the sooth Spirit of the breezy wood Breath'd in mine ear--"All this is very well; But much of _one_ thing is for _no_ thing good."

Ah! my poor heart's inexplicable swell!

II

TO SIMPLICITY

O! I do love thee, meek _Simplicity_!

For of thy lays the lulling simpleness Goes to my heart and soothes each small distress, Distress though small, yet haply great to me!

'Tis true on Lady Fortune's gentlest pad I amble on; yet, though I know not why, So sad I am!--but should a friend and I Grow cool and _miff_, O! I am _very_ sad!

And then with sonnets and with sympathy My dreamy bosom's mystic woes I pall; Now of my false friend plaining plaintively, Now raving at mankind in general; But, whether sad or fierce, 'tis simple all, All very simple, meek Simplicity!

III

ON A RUINED HOUSE IN A ROMANTIC COUNTRY

And this reft house is that the which he built, Lamented Jack! And here his malt he pil'd, Cautious in vain! These rats that squeak so wild, Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt.

Did ye not see her gleaming thro' the glade?

Belike, 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.

What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn, Yet _aye_ she haunts the dale where erst she stray'd; And _aye_ beside her stalks her amorous knight!

Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn, And thro' those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn, His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white; As when thro' broken clouds at night's high noon Peeps in fair fragments forth the full--orb'd harvest-moon!

1797.

LIMBO

Tis a strange place, this Limbo!--not a Place, Yet name it so;--where Time and weary s.p.a.ce Fettered from flight, with night-mare sense of fleeing, Strive for their last crepuscular half-being;-- Lank s.p.a.ce, and scytheless Time with branny hands Barren and soundless as the measuring sands, Not mark'd by flit of Shades,--unmeaning they As moonlight on the dial of the day!

But that is lovely--looks like human Time,-- An old man with a steady look sublime, That stops his earthly task to watch the skies; But he is blind--a statue hath such eyes;-- Yet having moonward turn'd his face by chance, Gazes the orb with moon-like countenance, With scant white hairs, with fore top bald and high, He gazes still,--his eyeless face all eye;-- As 'twere an organ full of silent sight, His whole face seemeth to rejoice in light!

Lip touching lip, all moveless, bust and limb-- He seems to gaze at that which seems to gaze on him!

No such sweet sights doth Limbo den immure, Wall'd round, and made a spirit-jail secure, By the mere horror of blank Naught-at-all, Whose circ.u.mambience doth these ghosts enthral.

A lurid thought is growthless, dull Privation, Yet that is but a Purgatory curse; h.e.l.l knows a fear far worse, A fear--a future state;--'tis positive Negation!