Chapter 52

SIN.

1. Lo. Peter in Hell’s Grosvenor Square, A footman in the Devil’s service! And the misjudging world would swear _265 That every man in service there To virtue would prefer vice.

2. But Peter, though now damned, was not What Peter was before damnation. Men oftentimes prepare a lot _270 Which ere it finds them, is not what Suits with their genuine station.

3. All things that Peter saw and felt Had a peculiar aspect to him; And when they came within the belt _275 Of his own nature, seemed to melt, Like cloud to cloud, into him.

4. And so the outward world uniting To that within him, he became Considerably uninviting _280 To those who, meditation slighting, Were moulded in a different frame.

5. And he scorned them, and they scorned him; And he scorned all they did; and they Did all that men of their own trim _285 Are wont to do to please their whim, Drinking, lying, swearing, play.

6. Such were his fellow-servants; thus His virtue, like our own, was built Too much on that indignant fuss _290 Hypocrite Pride stirs up in us To bully one another’s guilt.

7. He had a mind which was somehow At once circumference and centre Of all he might or feel or know; _295 Nothing went ever out, although Something did ever enter.

8. He had as much imagination As a pint-pot;—he never could Fancy another situation, _300 From which to dart his contemplation, Than that wherein he stood.

9. Yet his was individual mind, And new created all he saw In a new manner, and refined _305 Those new creations, and combined Them, by a master-spirit’s law.

10. Thus—though unimaginative— An apprehension clear, intense, Of his mind’s work, had made alive _310 The things it wrought on; I believe Wakening a sort of thought in sense.

11. But from the first ’twas Peter’s drift To be a kind of moral eunuch, He touched the hem of Nature’s shift, _315 Felt faint—and never dared uplift The closest, all-concealing tunic.

12. She laughed the while, with an arch smile, And kissed him with a sister’s kiss, And said—My best Diogenes, _320 I love you well—but, if you please, Tempt not again my deepest bliss.

13. ‘’Tis you are cold—for I, not coy, Yield love for love, frank, warm, and true; And Burns, a Scottish peasant boy— _325 His errors prove it—knew my joy More, learned friend, than you.

14. ‘Boeca bacciata non perde ventura, Anzi rinnuova come fa la luna:— So thought Boccaccio, whose sweet words might cure a _330 Male prude, like you, from what you now endure, a Low-tide in soul, like a stagnant laguna.

15. Then Peter rubbed his eyes severe. And smoothed his spacious forehead down With his broad palm;—’twixt love and fear, _335 He looked, as he no doubt felt, queer, And in his dream sate down.

16. The Devil was no uncommon creature; A leaden-witted thief—just huddled Out of the dross and scum of nature; _340 A toad-like lump of limb and feature, With mind, and heart, and fancy muddled.

17. He was that heavy, dull, cold thing, The spirit of evil well may be: A drone too base to have a sting; _345 Who gluts, and grimes his lazy wing, And calls lust, luxury.

18. Now he was quite the kind of wight Round whom collect, at a fixed aera, Venison, turtle, hock, and claret,— _350 Good cheer—and those who come to share it— And best East Indian madeira!

19. It was his fancy to invite Men of science, wit, and learning, Who came to lend each other light; _355 He proudly thought that his gold’s might Had set those spirits burning.

20. And men of learning, science, wit, Considered him as you and I Think of some rotten tree, and sit _360 Lounging and dining under it, Exposed to the wide sky.

21. And all the while with loose fat smile, The willing wretch sat winking there, Believing ’twas his power that made _365 That jovial scene—and that all paid Homage to his unnoticed chair.

22. Though to be sure this place was Hell; He was the Devil—and all they— What though the claret circled well, _370 And wit, like ocean, rose and fell?— Were damned eternally.