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.
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.
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.
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;
'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.
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.
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--
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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:
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.
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.
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.
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!'