Peter Bell the Third

PART 5. GRACE.

 1.
 Among the guests who often stayed
 Till the Devil's petits-soupers,
 A man there came, fair as a maid,                               375
 And Peter noted what he said,
 Standing behind his master's chair.

 2.
 He was a mighty poet—and
 A subtle-souled psychologist;
 All things he seemed to understand,                             380
 Of old or new—of sea or land—
 But his own mind—which was a mist.

 3.
 This was a man who might have turned
 Hell into Heaven—and so in gladness
 A Heaven unto himself have earned;                              385
 But he in shadows undiscerned
 Trusted.—and damned himself to madness.

 4.
 He spoke of poetry, and how
 'Divine it was—a light—a love—
 A spirit which like wind doth blow                              390
 As it listeth, to and fro;
 A dew rained down from God above;

 5.
 'A power which comes and goes like dream,
 And which none can ever trace—
 Heaven's light on earth—Truth's brightest beam.'               395
 And when he ceased there lay the gleam
 Of those words upon his face.

 6.
 Now Peter, when he heard such talk,
 Would, heedless of a broken pate,
 Stand like a man asleep, or balk                                400
 Some wishing guest of knife or fork,
 Or drop and break his master's plate.

 7.
 At night he oft would start and wake
 Like a lover, and began
 In a wild measure songs to make                                 405
 On moor, and glen, and rocky lake,
 And on the heart of man—

 8.
 And on the universal sky—
 And the wide earth's bosom green,—
 And the sweet, strange mystery                                  410
 Of what beyond these things may lie,
 And yet remain unseen.

 9.
 For in his thought he visited
 The spots in which, ere dead and damned,
 He his wayward life had led;                                    415
 Yet knew not whence the thoughts were fed
 Which thus his fancy crammed.

 10.
 And these obscure remembrances
 Stirred such harmony in Peter,
 That, whensoever he should please,                              420
 He could speak of rocks and trees
 In poetic metre.

 11.
 For though it was without a sense
 Of memory, yet he remembered well
 Many a ditch and quick-set fence;                               425
 Of lakes he had intelligence,
 He knew something of heath and fell.

 12.
 He had also dim recollections
 Of pedlars tramping on their rounds;
 Milk-pans and pails; and odd collections                        430
 Of saws, and proverbs; and reflections
 Old parsons make in burying-grounds.

 13.
 But Peter's verse was clear, and came
 Announcing from the frozen hearth
 Of a cold age, that none might tame                             435
 The soul of that diviner flame
 It augured to the Earth:

 14.
 Like gentle rains, on the dry plains,
 Making that green which late was gray,
 Or like the sudden moon, that stains                            440
 Some gloomy chamber's window-panes
 With a broad light like day.

 15.
 For language was in Peter's hand
 Like clay while he was yet a potter;
 And he made songs for all the land,                             445
 Sweet both to feel and understand,
 As pipkins late to mountain Cotter.

 16.
 And Mr. —, the bookseller,
 Gave twenty pounds for some;—then scorning
 A footman's yellow coat to wear,                                450
 Peter, too proud of heart, I fear,
 Instantly gave the Devil warning.

 17.
 Whereat the Devil took offence,
 And swore in his soul a great oath then,
 'That for his damned impertinence                               455
 He'd bring him to a proper sense
 Of what was due to gentlemen!'