PR 
 
 4370 
 A1 
 1830 
 MAIN 
 
 UC-NRLF 
 
 B 3 S7fl 151 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
THE VISION 
 
 JUDGMENT 
 
 BY LORd/bYRON, 
 
 (UNDER THE TITLE OF QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS.) 
 
 SUGGESTED BY 
 
 THE COMPOSITION SO ENTITLED 
 
 By the Author of " Wat Tyler." 
 
 " A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel ! 
 I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.' 3 
 
 Ronton : 
 WAKELIN, I, SHOE LANE, FLEET STREET, 
 
 AND ALL BOOKSELLERS, 
 
 Frice Twopence, 
 
■ Ua 
 
 Johnston, Printer, Lovell's Court, St. Paul's. 
 
PEE FACE. 
 
 wrro 
 
 : 7b 
 
 It hath been wisely said, that " One fool makes many; - ' and it hath 
 been poetically observed, 
 
 " That fools rush in, where angels fear to tread !" 
 
 If Mr. Southey had not rushed in where he had no business, and where 
 he never was before, and never will be again, the following poem 
 would not have been written. Is it not impossible that it may be 
 as good as his own, seeing that it cannot, by any species of stupidity, 
 natural or acquired, be worse. The gross flattery, the dull impudence, 
 the renegado intolerance, and impious cant of the poem by the author 
 of Wat Tyler, are something so stupendous, as to form the sublime of 
 himself— containing the quintessence of his own attributes. 
 
 So much for his poem — a word or two on his preface, (a) In this 
 preface it has pleased the magnanimous Laureate to draw the picture 
 of a supposed " Satanic School," the which he doth recommend to the 
 notice of the legislature, thereby adding to his other laurels the 
 ambition of those of an informer. If there exists any where, excepting 
 in his imagination, such a school, is he not sufficiently armed against 
 it by his own intense vanity? The truth is, that there are certain 
 writers whom Mr. S. imagines, like Scrub, to have "talked of him; 
 for they laughed consumedly." 
 
 I think I know enough of most of the writers to whom he is supposed 
 to allude, to assert, that they, in their individual capacities, have 
 done more good in the charities of life to their fellow creatures in 
 any one year, than Mr. Southey has done harm to himself by his 
 absurdities in his whole life; and this is saying a great deal. But I 
 have a few questions to ask. 
 
 1st. Is Mr. Southey the author of Wat Tyler? 
 
 2ndly. Was he not refused a remedy at law by the highest judge 
 of his beloved England, because it was a blasphemous and seditious 
 publication ? (b) 
 
 3rdly. Was he not entitled by William Smith, in full parliament, 
 M a rancorous renegado ?" (c) 
 
 4thly. Is he not poet laureate, with his own lines on Martin the 
 regicide, staring him in the face ? (d) 
 
 And, 5thly. Putting the four preceding items together, with what 
 conscience dare he call the attention of the laws to the publications 
 of others, be they what they may ? 
 
 I say nothing of the cowardice of such a proceeding ; its meanness 
 speaks for itself, but I wish to touch upon the motive, which is 
 neither more nor less, than that Mr. S. has been laughed at a little 
 in some recent publications, as he was of yore in the " Antijacobin" 
 by his present patrons. Hence all this " skimble scamble stuff" about 
 " Satanic" and so forth. However, it is worthy of him — " Qualis ab 
 ikcepto." 
 
 If there i3 anything obnoxious to the political opinions of a portion 
 of the public, in the following poem, they may thank Mr. Southey. 
 He might have written hexameters, as he has written everything else, 
 for aught that the writer cared, had they been upon another subject. 
 But to attempt to canonize a monarch, who, whatever were his 
 household virtues, was neither a successful nor a patriot king,— 
 inasmuch, as several years of his reign passed in war with America 
 and Ireland, to say nothing of the aggression upon France,— like all 
 other exaggeration, necessarily begets opposition. In whatever man- 
 ner he may be spoken of in this new "Vision," his public career 
 will not be more favourably transmitted by history. Of his private 
 virtues (although a little expensive to the nation) there can be no 
 doubt. 
 
 With regard to the^u^ern^t^u^j^ra^Sfs treated of, I can only 
 
 tUe_su^rn4t^rAlj2er^ipr = 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 say, that I know as much about them, and (as an honest man) have a 
 tetter right to talk of them than Robert Southey. I have also treated 
 them more tolerantly. The way in which that poor insane creature, 
 the laureate, deals out his judgments in the next world, is like his 
 own judgment in this. If it was not completely ludicrous, it would 
 be something worse. I don't think that there is much more to say 
 at present. Quevedo Redivivus. 
 
 P. S. — It is possible that some readers may object, in these objection- 
 able times, to the freedom with which saints, angels, and spiritual 
 persons discourse in this " Vision." But for precedents upon such 
 points, I must refer him to Fielding's " Journey from this World to 
 the Next," and to the "Visions" of myself, the said Quevcdo, in 
 Spanish, or translated. The reader is also requested to observe, that 
 no doctrinal tenets are insisted upon or discussed ; that the person 
 of the Deity is carefully withheld from sight, which is more than can 
 be said for the laureate, who hath thought proper to make him 
 talk, not "like a school divine," but like the unscholarlike Mr. 
 Southey. The whole action passes on the outside of heaven ; and 
 Chaucer's Wife of Bath, Pulci's Morgante Maggiore, Swift's Tale of 
 a Tub, and the others' works above referred to, are cases in point of the 
 freedom with which saints, &c, may be permitted to converse in 
 works not intended to be serious. Q. R. 
 
 [*** Mr. Southey, being, as he says, a good Christian and vindictive, 
 threatens, I understand, a reply to this our answer. It is to be 
 hoped that his visionary faculties will, in the mean time, have acquired 
 a little more judgment, properly so called : otherwise he will get 
 himself into new dilemmas. These apostate jacobins furnish rich 
 rejoinders. Let him take a specimen. Mr. Southey laudeth grievously 
 "one Mr. Landor," who cultivates much private renown in the 
 shape of Latin verses ; and not long ago, the poet laureate dedicated 
 to him, it appeareth, one of his fugitive lyrics, upon the strength of 
 a poem called Gebir. Who could suppose, that in this same Gebir, 
 the aforesaid Savage Landor (for such is his grim cognomen) putteth 
 into the infernal regions no less a person than the hero of his friend 
 Mr. Southey's heaven, yea, even George the Third ! See also how 
 personal Savage becomcth when he hath a mind. The following is 
 his portrait of our late gracious sovereign. 
 
 Prince Gebir having descended into the infernal regions, the shades 
 of his royal ancestors are, at his request, called up to his view, and 
 he exclaims to his ghostly guide— 
 
 " Aroar, what wretch that nearest us? what wretch 
 
 Is that with eyebrows white and slanting brow? 
 
 Listen ! him yonder, who, bound down supine, 
 
 Shrinks yelling from that sword there, engine-hung. 
 
 He too amongst my ancestors ! I hate 
 
 The despot, but the dastard I despise. 
 
 Was he our countryman? 
 
 "Alas, King! 
 
 Iberia bore him, but the breed accurst 
 
 Inclement winds blew blighting from north-cast." 
 
 " He was a warrior then, nor fear'd the gods?" 
 
 Gebir, he fear'd the demons, not the gods, 
 
 Though them, indeed, his daily face ador'd ; 
 
 And was no warrior, yet the thousand lives 
 
 Squandered, as stones to exercise a sling ! 
 
 And the tame cruelty and cold caprice— 
 
 Oh madness of mankind ! address'd, adored !"— Gebir, p. 23. 
 
 I omit noticing some edifying Tthyphallics of Savagius, wishing to 
 
 keep the proper veil over them, if his grave but somewhat indiscreet 
 
 worshipper will suffer it; but certainly these teachers of "great moral 
 
 lessons" are apt to be found in Strang.- company.] 
 
VISION OF JUDGMENT 
 
 St. Peter sat by the celestial gate, 
 
 His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull, 
 
 So little trouble had been given of late ; 
 Not that the place by any means was full, 
 
 But since the Gallic era "eighty-eight," 
 
 The devils have ta'en a longer, stronger pull, 
 
 And " a pull altogether," as they say 
 
 At sea, which drew most souls another way. 
 
 The angels all were singing out of tune, 
 And hoarse with having little else to do, 
 
 Excepting to wind up the sun and moon, 
 Or curb a runaway young star or two, 
 
 Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon 
 Broke out of bounds o'er the ethereal blue, 
 
 Splitting some planet with its playful tail, 
 
 As boats are sometimes by a wanton whale. 
 
 The guardian seraphs had retired on high, 
 Finding their charges past all care below ; 
 
 Terrestrial business fill'd nought in the sky 
 Save the recording angel's black bureau ! 
 
 Who found, indeed, the facts to multiply 
 With such rapidity of vice and woe, 
 
 That he had stripp'd off both his wings in quills, 
 
 And yet was in arrear of human ills. 
 
 His business so augmented of late years, 
 That he was forced, against his will, no doubt, 
 
 (Just like those cherubs, earthly ministers,) 
 For some resource to turn himself about, 
 
 And claim the help of his celestial peers, 
 To aid him ere he should be quite worn out 
 
 By the increased demand for his remarks ; 
 
 Six angels and twelve saints were named his clerks. 
 
 This was a handsome board— at least for heaven ; 
 
 And yet they had e'en then enough to do, 
 So many conquerors' cars were daily driven, 
 
 So many kingdoms fitted up anew ; 
 Each day too slew its thousands six or seven, 
 
 Till at the crowning carnage, Waterloo, 
 They threw their pens down in divine disgust — 
 The page was so besmeared with blood and dust. 
 
 This by the way ; 'tis not mine to record 
 What angels shrink from : even the very devil 
 
 On this occasion his own work abhorr'd, 
 So surfeited with the infernal revel ; 
 
 Though he himself had sharpen'd every sword, 
 It almost quenched his innate thirst of evil. 
 
 (Here Satan's sole good work deserves insertion - 
 
 'Tis, that he has both generals in reversion.) 
 
VISION OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 Let's skip a few short years of hollow peace, 
 Which peopled earth no better, hell as wont, 
 
 And heaven none— they form'd the tyrant's lease 
 With nothing but new names subscrib'd upon't ; 
 
 'Twill one day finish : meantime they increase^ 
 " With seven heads and ten horns," and all in front 
 
 Like Saint John's foretold beast ; but ours are born 
 
 Less formidable in the head than horn. 
 
 In the first year of freedom's second dawn 
 Died George the Third ; although no tyrant, one 
 
 Who shielded tyrants, till each sense withdrawn 
 Left him nor mental nor external sun : 
 
 A better farmer ne'er brush'd dew from lawn, 
 A worse king never left a realm undone ! 
 
 He died— but left his subjects still behind, 
 
 One half as mad — and t'other no less blind. 
 
 He died !— his death made no great stir on earth ; 
 
 His burial made some pomp ; there was profusion 
 Of velvet, gilding, brass, and no great dearth 
 
 Of aught but tears— save those shed by collusion ; 
 For these things may be bought at their true worth : 
 
 Of elegy there was the due infusion — 
 Bought also ; and the torches, cloaks, and banners, 
 Heralds, and relics of old Gothic manners, 
 
 Form'd a sepulchral melo-drame. Of all 
 The fools who flock'd to swell or see the show, 
 
 Who cared about the corpse ? The funeral 
 Made the attraction, and the black the woe, 
 
 There throbb'd not there a thought which pierced the pall 
 And when the gorgeous coffin was laid low, 
 
 It seem'd the mockery of hell to fold 
 
 The rottenness of eighty years in gold. 
 
 So mix his body with the dust ! It might 
 
 Return to what it must far sooner, were 
 The natural compound left alone to fight 
 
 Its way back into earth, and fire, and air ; 
 Rut the unnatural balsams merely blight 
 
 What nature made him at his birth, as bare 
 As the mere million's base unmummied clay- 
 Yet all his spices but prolong decay. 
 He's dead— and upper earth with him has done 
 
 He's buried ; save the undertaker's bill, 
 Or lapidary scrawl, the world is gone 
 
 For him, unless he left a German will; 
 But where's the proctor who will ask his son? 
 
 In whom his qualities are reigning still, 
 Except that household virtue, most uncommon, 
 Of constancy to a bad, ugly woman. 
 " God save the king !" It is a larce economy 
 
 In God to save the like ; but if he will 
 Be saving, all the better ; for not one am I 
 
 Of those who think damnation better still : 
 I hardly know too if not quite alone am I 
 
 In this small hope of bettering future ill 
 By circumscribing, with some slight restriction, 
 The eternity of hell's hot jurisdiction. 
 
 I know this is unpopular ; I know 
 'Tis blasphemous; I know one may be damn'd 
 
 For hoping no one else may e'er be so ; 
 I know my catechism ; 1 know we arc ciamm'd 
 
VISION OF JUDGMENT. 7 
 
 With the best doctrines till we quite o'erflow ; 
 
 I know that all save England's church have sharom'd, 
 And that the other twice two hundred churches 
 And synagogues have made a damn'd bad purchase. 
 
 God help us all ! God help me too ! I am 
 God knows, as helpless as the devil can wish, 
 
 And not a whit more difficmlt to damn 
 Than is to bring to land a late-hook'd fish, 
 
 Or to the butcher to purvey the lamb ; 
 Not that I'm fit for such a noble dish 
 
 As one day will be that mortal fry 
 
 Of almost every body born to die. 
 
 Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate, 
 
 And nodded o'er his keys ; when lo ! there came 
 A wond'rous noise he had not heard of late — 
 
 A rushing sound of wind, and stream, and flame ; 
 In short, a roar of things extremely great, 
 
 Which would have made aught save a saint exclaim; 
 But he, with first a start, and then a wink, 
 Said, " There's another star gone out, I think !" 
 
 But ere he could return to his repose, 
 A cherub flapp'd his right wing o'er his eyes — 
 
 At which St. Peter yawn'd, and rubb'd his nose : 
 " Saint porter," said the Angel, "prithee rise I" 
 
 Waving a goodly wing, which glow'd, as glows 
 An earthly peacock's tail, with heavenly dyes; 
 
 To which the Saint replied, " Well, what's the matter? 
 
 Is Lucifer come back with all this clatter V 
 
 "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 
 The Angel. " Well ! he wont find kings to jostle 
 
 Him on his way ; but does he wear his head ? 
 Because the last we saw here had a tussle, 
 
 And ne'er would have got into heaven's good graces, 
 
 Had he not flung his head in all our faces. 
 
 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 once 
 
 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. 
 And then he set up such a headless howl, 
 
 That all the saints came out, and took him in; 
 And there he sits by St. Paul, cheek by jowl ; 
 
 That fellow Paul— the parvenu ? 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 
 Better than did this weak and wooden head. 
 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, 
 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. 
 
 ' 
 
5 VISION OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 The Angel answer'd, " Peter ! do not pout ; 
 
 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 
 Into such matters, but to mind our cue — 
 Which is to act as we are bid to do. 
 While thus they spake, the angelic caravan, 
 
 Arriving like a rush of mighty wind, 
 Cleaving the fields of space, as doth the swan 
 
 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. 
 
 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-tost ; 
 
 Fierce and unfathomable thoughts engraved 
 Eternal wrath on his immortal face, 
 And where he gazed a gloom pervaded space. 
 As he drew near, he gazed upon the gate 
 
 Ne'er to be enter'd more by him or sin, 
 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, 
 Or some such other spiritual liquor. 
 
 The very cherubs huddled altogether, 
 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 
 
 Around their poor old charge ; who scarce knew whithei 
 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.) 
 
 As things were in this posture, the gate flew 
 
 Asunder, and the flashing of its hinges 
 Flung over space an universal hue 
 
 Of many-coloured flame, until its tinges 
 Reach'd even our speck of earth, and made a new 
 
 Aurora borealis spread its fringes 
 O'er the North Pole ; the same seen, when ice-bound, 
 By Captain Parry's crew, in " Melville's Sound." (e> 
 
 And from the gate thrown open issued beaming 
 
 A beautiful and mighty Thing of Light, 
 Radiant with glory, like a banner streaming 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
VISION OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 There also are some altar-picees, though 
 
 I really can't say that they much evince 
 One's inner notions of immortal spirits ; 
 But let the connoisseurs explain their merits. 
 
 Michael flew forth in glory and in good ; 
 
 A goodly work of him from whom all glory 
 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 Saint Peter, 
 But merely that they seem'd a little sweeter.) 
 
 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 nurst 
 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. 
 
 He and the sombre silent Spirit met — 
 They knew each other both for good and ill ; 
 
 Such was their power, that neither could forget 
 His former friend and future fee ; but still 
 
 There was a high, immortal, proud regret 
 In either's eye, as if 'twere less their will 
 
 Than destiny to make the eternal years 
 
 Their date of war, and their " Champ Clos" the spheres. 
 
 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 ; 
 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. 
 
 And this is not a theologlc 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 
 
 And sets aside the slightest thought of trick. 
 'Tis every tittle true, beyond suspicion, 
 And accurate as any other vision. 
 
 The spirits were in neutral space, before 
 The gate of heaven; like eastern thresholds is 
 
 The place where death's grand cause is argued o'er, 
 And souls despatched 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 
 
 There passed a mutual glance of great politeness. 
 
 The Archangel bowed, 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. 
 He turned 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. 
 
10 VISION OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 He merely bent his diabolic brow 
 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 
 
 With better sense and hearts, whom history mentions, 
 
 Who long have "paved hell with their good intentions." 
 
 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, 
 
 That thou can'st 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." 
 
 "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 ashe was my worshipper in dust, 
 
 So shall he be in spirit, although dear 
 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. 
 
 Look to our earth, or rather mine ; it was, 
 Once, more thy master's ; but I triumph not 
 
 In this poor planet's conquest, nor aias ! 
 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 ; 
 
 I think few worth damnation save their kings. 
 
 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, 
 That hell has nothing better left to do 
 
 Then leave them to themselves ; so much more mad 
 And evil by their own internal curse, 
 Heaven cannot make them better, nor I worse. 
 
 Look to the earth, I said, and say again : 
 
 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 called him king : through many a storm 
 His isles had floated on the abyss of Time ; 
 For the rough virtues chose them for their clime. 
 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 loo behold, 
 
 How to a minion first he gave the helm; 
 How grew upon his heart a thirst for gold, 
 
 The begfrar's vice, which can but overwhelm 
 The meanest hearts ; and for the rest, but glance 
 Thine eye along America and France ! 
 '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 
 
VISION OP JUDGMENT. 11 
 
 Cf monarchs— from the bloody rolls amass'd 
 
 Of sin and slaughter — from the Caesars' school, 
 Take the worst pupil ; and produce a reign 
 More drench'd with gore, more cumber'd" with the slain. 
 
 He ever warr'd with freedom and the free : 
 Nations as men, home subjects, foreign foes, 
 
 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 
 
 His neutral virtues, which most monarchs want ; 
 
 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, 
 Is more than at an anchoiite'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. 
 
 The new world shook him off: the old yet groans 
 
 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 
 A lesson which shall be retaught them, wake 
 Upon the thrones of Earth ; but let them quake '. 
 
 Five millions of the primitive, who hold 
 
 The faith which make ye great on earth, implored 
 
 A part of that vast all they held of old.— 
 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 nation. 
 
 True ! he allowed 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, 
 
 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. 
 
 Sooner will I with Cerberus exchange 
 
 My office (and Ms is no sinecure) 
 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 lie made your satellites endure ; 
 And if to this exchange you should be given, 
 I'll try to coax our Cerberus up to heaven." 
 
 Here Michael interposed : "Good saint! and devil! 
 
 Pray not so last ; you both outrun discretion. 
 Saint Peter ! ycu were wont to be more civil ; 
 
 Satan ! excuse this warmth of his expression, 
 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." 
 
12 VISION OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 Then Satan turned, and waved his swarthy hand, 
 Which stirred with its electric qualities 
 
 Clouds farther oft' 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 
 
 Let off the artillery, which Milton mentions 
 
 As one of Satan's most sublime inventions. 
 
 This was a signal unto such damned souls 
 As have the privilege of their damnation 
 
 Extended far beyond the mere controls 
 Of worlds past, present, or to come; no station 
 
 Is theirs particularly in the rolls 
 
 Of hell assigned ; but where their inclination 
 
 Or business carries them in search of game, 
 
 They may range freely, being damued the same. 
 
 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 " entre'' 
 Up the back stairs, or such freemasonry : 
 
 I borrow my comparisons from clay, 
 Being clay myself Let not those spirits be 
 
 Offended with such base low likenesses ; 
 
 We know their posts are nobler far than these. 
 
 When the great signal ran from heaven to hell- 
 About ten million limes the distance reckon'd 
 
 From our sun to its earth, as we can tell 
 How much time it takes up, even to a second, 
 
 For every ray that travels to dispel 
 The fogs of London, through which, dimly beacon'd, 
 
 The weathercocks are gilt, some thiice a year, 
 
 If that the summer is not too severe ? 
 
 I say that I can tell— 'twas half a minute ! 
 
 I know the solar beams take up more time 
 Ere, pack'd up for their journey, they begin it; 
 
 But then their telegraph is less sublime, 
 And if they ran a race, they would not win it 
 
 'Gainst Satan's couriers bound for their own clinic. 
 The sun takes up some years for every ray 
 To reach its goal— the devil not half a day. 
 
 Upon the verge of space, about the size 
 
 Of half-a-crown, a little speck appeared, 
 (I've seen a something like it in the skies. 
 
 In the iEgean, ere a squall ;) it near'd, 
 And, growing bigger, took another guise: 
 
 Like an aeiial ship it tack'd, and steer'd 
 Or was steer'd (I am doubtful of the grammar 
 Of the last phrase, which makes the stanza stammer ; — 
 
 But take your choice ;) and then it grew a cloud, 
 
 And so it was— a cloud of witnesses. 
 But such a cloud ! No land e'er saw a crowd 
 
 Of locusts numerous as the heavens saw these ; 
 They shadow'd with their myriads space ; their loud 
 
 And varied cries were like those of wild geese, 
 (If nations may be likened to a goose), 
 And realized the phrase of " hell broke loose." 
 
 Here crash'd a sturdy oath of stout John Bull, 
 Who danin'd away his eyes as heretofore : 
 
 There Paddy brogu'd ' by Jasus !' ' what's your wull V 
 The temperate Scot cxclaim'd , the French ghost SWOK 
 
VISION OF JUDGMENT. 13 
 
 In certain terms I shan't translate in full, 
 
 As the first coachman will : and midst the war, 
 The voice of Jonathan was heard to express, 
 " Our President is going to war, I guess." 
 
 Besides there were the Spaniard, Dutch, and Dane ; 
 
 In short, an universal shoal of shades 
 From Otaheite's Isle to Salisbury Plain, 
 
 Of all climes and professions, years and trades, 
 Ready to swear against the good king's reign, 
 
 Bitter as clubs in cards are against spades : 
 All summon'd by this grand " subpoena," to 
 Try if kings may'nt be damn'd, like me or you. 
 
 When Michael saw this host, he first grew pale, 
 As angels cin; next, like Italian twilight, 
 
 He turned all colours — as a peacock's tail, 
 
 Or sunset streaming through a Gothic skylight 
 
 In some old abbey, or a trout not stale, 
 Or distant lightning on the horizon by night, 
 
 Or a fresh rainbow, or a grand review 
 
 Of thirty regiments in red, green, and blue. 
 
 Then he addressed himself to Satan : " Why — * 
 
 My good old friend, for such I deem you, though 
 Our different parties make us fight so shy, 
 
 I ne'er mistake you for a personal foe ; 
 Our difference is political, and I 
 
 Trust that, whatever may occur below, 
 You know my great respect for you ; and this 
 Makes me regret whate'er you do amiss — 
 Why, my dear Lucifer, would you abuse 
 
 My call for witnesses ? I did not mean 
 That you should half of earth and hell produce ; 
 
 'Tis even superfluous, since two honest, clean, 
 True testimonies, are enough : we lose 
 
 Our time, nay, our eternity, between 
 The accusation and defence ; if we 
 Hear both, 'twill stretch our immortality." 
 Satan replied, " To me the matter is 
 
 Indifferent, in a personal point of view ; 
 I can have fifty better souls than this 
 
 With far less trouble than we have gone through 
 Already ; and I merely argued his 
 
 Late Majesty of Britain's case with you 
 Upon a point of form ; you may dispose 
 Of him : I've kings enough below, God knows !" 
 Thus spoke the Demon (g) (late called 'multifaced,' 
 
 By multo-scribbling Southey.) " Then we'll call ' 
 One or two persons of the myriads placed 
 
 Around our congress, and dispense with all 
 The rest," quoth Michael ; " Who may be so graced 
 
 As to speak first? there's choice enough— who shall 
 It be?" Then Satan answered, " There are many • 
 But you may choose Jack Wilkes (h) as well as any." 
 A merry, cock-eyed, curious-looking sprite, 
 
 Upon tha instant started from the throng, 
 Drest in a fashion now forgotten quite ; 
 
 For all the fashions of the flesh stick long 
 By people in the next world ; where unite 
 
 All the costumes since Adam's, right or wrong, 
 From Eve's fig-leaf down to the petticoat, 
 Almost as scanty, of days less remote. 
 
14 VISION OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 The spirit looked around upon the crowds 
 
 Assembled, and exclaimed, "My friends of all 
 The spheres, we shall catch cold amongst these clouds ; 
 
 So let's to business ; why this general call ? 
 If those are freeholders I see in shrouds, 
 
 And 'tis for an election that they bawl, 
 Behold a candidate with unturn'd coat ! 
 Saint Peter, may I count upon your vote?" 
 " Sir," replied Michael, " you mistake ; these things 
 
 Are of a former life, and what we do 
 Above is more august ; to judge of kings 
 
 Is the tribunal met ; so now you know." 
 "Then I presume those gentlemen with wings," 
 
 Said Wilkes, "are cherubs; and that soul below 
 Looks much like George the Third ; but to my mind 
 A good deal older — Bless me ! is he blind ?" 
 
 " He is what you behold him, and his doom 
 Depends upon his deeds," the angel said. 
 
 " If you have aught to arraign in him, the tomb 
 Gives license to the humblest beggar's head 
 
 To lift itself against the loftiest." " Some," 
 Said Wilkes, " don't wait to see them laid in lead, 
 
 For such a liberty — and I, for one, 
 
 Have told them what I thought beneath the sun." 
 
 " Above the sun repeat, then, what thou hast 
 
 To urge against him," said the Archangel. " Why," 
 Replied the spirit. " since old scores are past, 
 
 Must I turn evidence? In faith, not I, 
 Besides, I beat him hollow at the last. 
 
 With all his lords and commons : in the sky 
 I don't like ripping up old stories, since 
 His conduct was but natural in a prince. 
 Foolish, no doubt, and wicked, to oppress 
 
 A poor unlucky devil without a shilling 
 But then I blame the man himself much less 
 
 Than Bute and Grafton, and shall be unwilling 
 To see him punish'd here for their excess, 
 
 Since they were both damn'd long ago, and still in 
 Their place below ; for me I have forgiven, 
 And vote his 'habeas corpus' into heaven." 
 " Wilkes," said the devil, " I understand all this ; 
 
 You turned to half a courtier ere you died, 
 And seem to think it would not be amiss 
 
 To grow a whole one on the other side 
 Of Charon's ferry ; you forget that his 
 
 Reign is concluded ; whatsoe'er betide, 
 He won't be sovereign more; you've lost your labour, 
 For at the best he will but be your neighbour. 
 However, I knew what to think of it, 
 
 When I beheld you in your jesting way 
 Flitting and whispering round about the spit 
 
 Where Belial, upon duty for the day, 
 With Fox's lard was basting William Pitt, 
 
 His pupil ; I knew what to think, I say : 
 That fellow even in hell breeds farther ills ; 
 I'll have him gagg'd — 'twas one of his own bills. 
 
 Call Junius !" From the crowd a shadow stalk'd, 
 And at the name there was a general squeeze, 
 
 So that the very ghosts no longer walk'd 
 In comfort at their own aerial ease, 
 
VISION OF JUDGMENT. 15 
 
 But were all ramm'd, and jamm'd (but to be balk'd, 
 
 As we shall see) and jostled hands and knees, 
 Like wind compressed and pent within a bladder, 
 Or like a human cholic, which is sadder. 
 
 The shadow came ! a tall, thin, gray-haired figure, 
 That looked as it had been a shade on earth ; 
 
 Quick in its motions, with an air of vigour, 
 But nought to mark its breeding or its birth ; 
 
 Now it wax'd little, then again grew bigger, 
 With now an air of gloom or savage mirth ; 
 
 But as you gazed upon its features, they 
 
 Changed every instant — to what, none could say.* 
 
 The more intently the ghosts gazed, the less 
 Could they distinguish whose the features were ; 
 
 The Devil himself seemed puzzled even to guess ; 
 They varied like a dream — now here, now there ; 
 
 And several people swore from out ihe press, 
 They knew him perfectly ; and one could swear 
 
 He was his father; upon which another 
 
 Was sure he was his mother's cousin's brother; 
 
 Another, that he was a duke, or knight, 
 
 An orator, a lawyer, or a priest, 
 A nabob, a man-midwife ; but the wight 
 
 Mysterious changed his countenance at least 
 As oft as they their minds ; though in full sight 
 
 He stood, the puzzle only was increased ; 
 The man was a phantasmagoria in 
 Himself— he was so volatile and thin I 
 
 The moment that you had pronouced him one, 
 Presto ! his face changed, and he was another ; 
 
 And when that change was hardly well put on, 
 It varied, till I don't think his own mother 
 
 (If that he had a mother) would her son 
 Have known, he shifted so from one to t'other, 
 
 Till guessing from a pleasure grew a task, 
 
 At this epistolary " iron mask." 
 
 For sometimes he like Cerberus would seem — 
 
 "Three gentlemen at once," (as sagely says 
 Good Mrs. Malaprop ;) then you might deem 
 
 That he was not even one; now many rays 
 Were flashing round him ; and now a thick steam 
 
 Hid him from sight— like fogs on London days : 
 Now Burke, now Tooke, he grew to people's fancies, 
 And certes often like Sir Philip Francis. 
 I've an hypothesis— 'tis quite my own ; 
 
 I never let it out till now, for fear 
 Of doing people harm about the throne, 
 
 And injuring some minister or peer 
 On whom the stigma might perhaps be blown ; 
 
 It is— my gentle public lend thine ear ! 
 'Tis, that what Junius we are wont to call, 
 Was really , truly, nobody at all. 
 I don't see wherefore letters should not be 
 
 Written without hands, since we daily view 
 Them written without heads ; and books we see 
 
 Are filled as well without the latter too ; 
 And really till we fix on somebody 
 
 For certain sure to claim them as his due, 
 Their author, like the Niger's mouth, will bother 
 The world to say if there be mouth or author. 
 
16 VISION OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 " And who and what art thou ?" the Archangel said. 
 
 " For that you may consult ray title-page," 
 Replied this mighty shadow of a shade ; 
 
 " If I have kept my secret half an age, 
 I scarce shall tell it now." " Canst thou upbraid," 
 
 Continued Michael, " George Rex, or allege 
 Aught further ?" Junius answer'd, " You had tetter 
 First ask him for his answer to my letter : 
 
 My charges upon record will outlast 
 The brass of both his epitaph and tomb." 
 
 " Repent'st thou not," said Michael, " of some past 
 Exaggeration ? something which may doom 
 
 Thyself, if false, as him if true? Thou wast 
 Too bitter — it is not so? in thy gloom 
 
 Of passion ?" " Passion !" cried the Phantom dim, 
 
 " I loved my country, and I hated him. 
 
 What I have written, I have written; Jet 
 The rest be on his head or mine !" So spoke 
 
 Old " Nominis Umbra;" and while speaking yet, 
 Away he melted in celestial smoke. 
 
 Then Satan said to Michael, " Don't forget 
 To call George Washington, and John Home Tooke, 
 
 And Franklin ;" but at this time there was heard 
 
 A cry for room, though not a phantom stirr'd. 
 
 At length with jostling, elbowing, and the aid 
 
 Of cherubim appointed to that post, 
 The devil Asmodeus to the circle made 
 
 His way, and looked as if his journey cost 
 Some trouble. When his burden down he laid, 
 
 " What's this? (cried Michael,) why 'tis not a ghost? 
 '• I know it," quoth the incubus, " but he 
 Shall be one, if you leave the affair to me. 
 
 Confound the Renagado ? I have sprained 
 
 My left wing, he's so heavy ; one would think 
 Some of his works about his neck were chained. 
 
 But to the point ; while hovering o'er the brink 
 Of Skiddaw (where as usual it still rained), 
 
 I saw a taper, far below me, wink, 
 And stooping, caught this fellow at a libel — 
 No less on history than the Holy Bible. 
 The former is the devil's scripture, and 
 
 The latter yours, good Michael ; so the affair 
 Belongs to all of us you understand, 
 
 I snatch'd him up just as you see him there, 
 And brought him off for sentence out of hand ; 
 
 I've scarcely been ten minutes in the air — 
 At least a quarter it can hardly be ; 
 I dare say that his wife is still at tea." 
 Here Satan said, " I know this man of old, 
 
 And have expected him for some time here ; 
 A sillier fellow you will scarce behold, 
 
 Or more conceited in his petty sphere ; 
 But surely it was not worth while to fold 
 
 Such trash below your wing, Asmodeus dear ! 
 We had the poor wretch safe (without being bored 
 With carriage) coming of his own accord. 
 But since he's here, let's see what he has done." 
 
 " Done !" cried Asmodeus, "he anticipates 
 The very business you are now upon, 
 
 And scribbles as if head-clerk to the Fates. 
 
VISION OF JUDGMENT. 17 
 
 Who knows to what his ribaldry may run, 
 
 When such an ass as this, like Balaam's, prates, 
 " Let's hear," quoth Michael, " what he has to say ; 
 You know we're bound to that in every way.'' 
 Now the Bard, glad to get an audience, which 
 
 By no means often was his case below, 
 Began to cough, and hawk, and hem, and pitch 
 
 His voice into that awful note of woe 
 To all unhappy hearers within reach 
 
 Of poets when the tide of rhyme's in flow ; 
 But stuck fast with his first hexameter, 
 Not one of all whose gouty feet would stir. 
 But ere the spavin'd dactyls could be spurr'd 
 
 Into recitative, in great dismay 
 Both cherubim and seraphim were heard 
 
 To murmur loudly through their long array ; 
 And Michael rose ere he could get a word 
 Of all his foundered verses under way, 
 And cried, " For God's sake, stop, my friend, 'twere best, 
 Non Di, non homines— you know the rest." 
 A general bustle spread throughout the throng, 
 
 Which seemed to hold all verse in detestation ; 
 The angels had of course enough of song 
 
 When upon service ; and the generation 
 Of ghosts had heard too much in life, not long 
 
 Before, to profit by a new occasion ; 
 The Monarch, mute till then, exclaim'd " What, What! 
 Pye come again ? No more— no more of that '." 
 The tumult grew, an universal cough 
 
 Convulsed the skies, as during a debate, 
 When Castlereagh has been up long enough, 
 
 (Before he was first minister of state, 
 I mean— the slaves hear now:) some cried " off, off," 
 
 As at a farce ; till grown quite desperate, 
 The bard Saint Peter prayed to interpose 
 (Himself an author) only for his prose. 
 The varlet was not an ill-favoured knave ; 
 
 A good deal like a vulture in the face, 
 With a hook nose and a hawk's eye, which gave 
 
 A smart and sharper looking sort of grace 
 To his whole aspect, which, though rather grave, 
 
 Was by no means so ugly as his case ; 
 But that indeed was hopeless as can be, 
 Quite a poetic felony " de se." 
 Then Michael blew his trump, and stilled the noise 
 
 With one still greater, as is yet the mode 
 On earth besides ; except some grumbling voice, 
 Which now and then will make a slight inroad 
 Upon decorous silence, few will twice 
 
 Lift up their lungs when fairly overcrowed ; 
 And now the bard could plead his own bad cause, 
 With all the attitudes of self-applause. 
 He said— (I only give the heads)— he said, 
 
 He meant no harm in scribbling ; 'twas his way 
 Upon all topics ; 'twas, besides, his bread, 
 
 Of which he butter'd both sides ; 'twould delay 
 Too long the assembly (he was pleased to dread) 
 
 And take up rather more time than a day, 
 To name his works -he would but cite a few- 
 Wat Tyler— Rhymes on Blenheim— Waterloo, 
 
18 VISION OP JUDGMENT. 
 
 He had written praises of a regicide ; 
 
 He had written praises of all kings whatever ; 
 He had written for republics far and wide, 
 
 And then against them bitterer than ever; 
 For pantisoeracy he once had cried 
 
 Aloud, a scheme less moral than 'twas clever ; 
 Then grew a hearty anti-j act/bin— 
 Had turn'd his coat, and would have turn'd his skin. 
 
 He had sung against all battles, and again 
 In their high praise and glory; he had call'd 
 
 Reviewing " the ungentle craft," and then 
 Become as base a critic as ere crawl'd — 
 
 Fed, paid, and pamper'd by the very men 
 By whom his muse and morals had been maul'd ; 
 
 He had written much blank verse, and blanker prose, 
 
 And more of both than any body knows. 
 
 He had written Wesley's life :— here turning round 
 To Satan, " Sir, I'm ready to write yours, 
 
 In two octavo volvmes, nicely bound, 
 With notes and preface, all that most allures 
 
 The pious purchaser ; and there's no ground 
 For fear, for I can choose my own reviewers : 
 
 So let me have the proper documents, 
 
 That I may add you to my other saints." 
 
 Satan bow'd, and was silent. " Well, if you, 
 
 With amiable modesty, decline 
 My ofi'er, what says Michael ? There are few 
 
 Whose memoirs could be render'd more divine. 
 Mine is a pen of all work ; net so new 
 
 As it wf.s once, but I would make you shine 
 Like your own trumpet ; by the way* my own 
 Has more of brass in it. and is as well blown. 
 
 But talking about trumpets, here's my Vision ! 
 
 Now you shall judge all people ; yes, you shall 
 Judge with my judgment ! and by my decision 
 
 Be guided who shall enter heaven or fall! 
 I settle all these things by intuition, 
 
 Times present, past, to come, heaven, hell, and all, 
 Like King Alfonso. (/) When I thus see double, 
 I save the Deity some worlds of trouble." 
 
 He ceased, and drew forth an MS. : and no 
 
 Persuasion on the part of devils, or saints, 
 Or angels, now could stop the torrent ; so 
 
 He read the first three lines of the contents; 
 But at the fourth, the whole spiritual show 
 
 Had vanish'd, with variety of scents, 
 Ambrosial and sulphureous, as they sprang. 
 Like lightning, oil' from his "melc"clious twang." (/.) 
 Those grand heroics acted as a spell : 
 
 The angels stopp'd their ears and plied their pinions 
 The devils ran howling, deafen'd, down to hell ; 
 
 The ghosts lied, gibbering, for their own dominions- 
 (For 'tis not yet decided where they dwell, 
 
 And I leave every man to his opinions;) 
 Michael took refuge in his trump — but lo ! 
 His teeth were set on edge, he could not blow ! 
 
 Saint Peter, who has hitherto been known 
 For an impetuous saint, upraised his keys, 
 
 And at the fifth line knock'd the Poet down; 
 Who fell like Phaeton, but more at ease, 
 
VISION OF JUDGMENT. 19 
 
 Into his lake, for there he did not drown, 
 A different web being by the Destinies 
 Woven for the Laureate's final wreath, whene'er 
 Reform shall happen either here or there. 
 
 He first sunk to the bottom — like his works, 
 
 But soon rose to the surface — like himself; 
 For all corrupted things arc buoy'd, like corks, (I) 
 
 By their own rottenness, light as an elf, 
 Or wisp that flits o'er a morass : he lurks, 
 
 It may be, still, like dull books on a shelf, 
 In his own den, to scrawl some " Life" or " Vision," (m) 
 As Welborn says — " the devil turn'd precisian." 
 
 As for the rest, to come to the conclusion 
 
 Of this true dream, the telescope is gone 
 Which kept my optics free from all delusion, 
 
 And show'd me what I in my turn have shown : 
 All I saw farther in the last confusion, 
 
 Was, that King George slipp'd into heaven fur one ; 
 And when the tumult dwindled to a calm, 
 I left him practising the hundredth psalm. 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 (a) " Mr. Southey, in his pious preface to a poem whose blasphemy 
 is as harmless as the sedition of Wat Tyler, because it is equally 
 absurd with that sincere production, calls upon the ' legislature to 
 look to it,' as the toleration of such writings led to the French 
 Revolution : not such writings as Wat Tyler, but as those of the 
 'Satanic School.' This is not true, and Mr. Southey knows it to be 
 not true. Every French writer of any freedom was persecuted; 
 Voltaire and Rousseau were exiles, Marmontel and Diderot were sent 
 to the Bastile, and a perpetual war was waged with the whole class 
 by the existing despotism. In the next place, the French Revolution 
 was not occasioned by any writings whatsoever, but must have 
 occurred had no such writers ever existed. It is the fashion to 
 attribute every thing to the French Revolution, and the French 
 Revolution to every thing but its real cause. That cause is obvious 
 — the government exacted too much, and the people could neither 
 give nor bear more. Without this, the Encyclopedists might have 
 written their fingers off without the occurrence of a single alteration. 
 And the English revolution — (the first, I mean) — what was it occasioned 
 by ? The Puritans were surely as pious and moral as Wesley or his 
 biographer? Acts— acts on the part of government, and not writings 
 against them, have caused the past convulsions, and are tending to the 
 future. 
 
 "I look upon such as inevitable, though no revolutionist : I wish to 
 see the English constitution restored, and not destroyed. Born an 
 aristocrat, and naturally one by temper, with the greater part of my 
 present property in the funds, what have / to gain by a revolution ? 
 Perhaps I have more to lose in every way than Mr. Southey, with all 
 his places and presents for panegyrics and abuse into the bargain. 
 But that a revolution is inevitable, I repeat. The government may 
 exult over the repression of petty tumults ; these are but the receding 
 waves repulsed and broken for a moment on the shore, while the great 
 tide is still rolling on and gaining ground with every breaker. Mr. 
 Southey accuses us of attacking the religion of the country; and is 
 he abetting it by writing lives of Wesley? One mode of worship is 
 merely destroyed by another. There never was, nor ever will be a 
 country without a religion. We shall be told cf France again: but 
 
20 VISION OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 it was only Paris and a frantic party, which for a moment upheld their 
 dogmatic nonsense of theo-philanthropy. The church of England, if 
 overthrown, will bo swept away by the sectarians and not by the 
 sceptics. People are too wise, too well informed, too certain of their 
 own immense importance in the realms of space, ever to submit to 
 the impiety of doubt. There may be a few such diffident speculators, 
 like water in the pale sunbeam of human reason, but they are very 
 few ; and their opinions, without enthusiasm or appeal to the passions, 
 ran never gain proselytes — unless, indeed, they are persecuted— that, to 
 be sure, will increase any thing. 
 
 "Mr. Southey, with a cowardly ferocity, exults over the anticipated 
 ' death-bed repentance' of the objects of his dislike ; and indulges 
 himself in a pleasant ' Vision of Judgment,' in prose as well as verse, 
 full of impious impudence. What Mr. Southey's sensations or ours 
 may be in the awful moment of leaving this state of existence, neither 
 he nor we can pretend to decide. In common, I presume, with most 
 men of any reflection, / have not waited for a ' death-bed' to repent of 
 many of my actions, notwithstanding the ' diabolical pride' which this 
 pitiful rcnegado in his rancour would impute to those who scorn him. 
 Whether upon the whole the good or evil of my deeds may preponderate 
 is not for me to ascertain ; but as my means and opportunities have 
 been greater, I shall limit my present defence to an assertion, (easily 
 proved, if necessary,) that I, ' in my degree,' have done more real good 
 in any one given year, since I was twenty, than Mr. Southey in the 
 whole course of his shifting and turncoat existence. There are several 
 actions to which I can look back with an honest pride, not to be 
 damped by the calumnies of a hireling. There are others to which 
 I recur with sorrow and repentance ; but the only act of my life of 
 which Mr. Southey can have any real knowledge, as it was one which 
 brought me in contact with a near connection of his own, did no 
 dishonour to that connection nor to me. 
 
 " I am not ignorant of Mr. Southey's calumnies on a different 
 occasion, knowing them to be such, which he scattered abroad on his 
 return from Switzerland against me and others: they have done him 
 no good in this world ; and if his creed be the right one, they will do 
 him less in the next. What his ' death-bed' may be, it is not my 
 province to predicate : let him settle it with his Maker, as I must do 
 with mine. There is something at once ludicrous and blasphemous 
 in this arrogant scribbler of all work sitting down to deal damnation 
 and destruction upon his fellow-creatures, with Wat Tyler, the 
 Apotheosis of George the Third, and the Elegy on Martin the regicide, 
 all shuffled together in his writing-desk. One of his consolations 
 appears to be a Latin note from a work of a Mr. Landor, the author 
 of 'Gebir,' whose friendship for Robert Southey, will, it seems, 'be 
 an honour to him when the ephemeral disputes and ephemeral reputa- 
 tions of the day are forgotten.' I for one never envy him ' the 
 friendship,' nor the glory in reversion which is to accrue from it, like 
 Mr. Thelusson's fortune in the third and fourth generation. This 
 friendship will probably be as memorable as his own epics, which 
 (as I quoted to him ten or twelve years ago in ' English Bards') Poison 
 said ' would be remembered when Homer and Virgil are forgotten, — 
 and not till then.' For the present, I leave him." 
 
 (b) In 1821, when Mr. Southey appled to the Court of Chancery for 
 an injunction to restrain the publication of " Wat Tyler," Lord 
 Chancellor Eldon pronounced the following judgment: — "I have 
 looked into all the affidavits, and have read the book itself. The bill 
 goea the length of stating, that the work was composed by Mr. 
 Southey in the year 1794; that it is his own production, and that it 
 has been published by the defendants without his sanction or authority ; 
 and therefore seeking an account of the profits which have arisen 
 from, and an injunction to restrain, the publication. I have examined 
 he cases that I have been able to meet with containing precedents 
 
VISION OF JUDGMENT. 21 
 
 t or injunctions of this nature, and I And that they all proceed upon 
 a he ground of a title to the property in the plaintiff. On this head 
 distinction has been taken, to which a considerable weight of 
 Authority attaches, supported, as it is, by the opinion of Lord Chief 
 . ''ustice Eyre; who has expressly laid it down, that a person cannot 
 Recover in damages for a work which is, in its nature, calculated to 
 "o injury to the public. Upon the same principle this court refused 
 ?n injunction in the case of Walcot" (Peter Pindar) "v. Walker, 
 2 nasmuch as he could not have recovered damages in an action. 
 After the fullest consideration, I remain of the same opinion as that 
 which I entertained in deciding the case referred to. Taking all the 
 circumstances into my consideration, it appears to me, that I cannot 
 grant this injunction, until after Mr. Southey shall have established 
 his right to the property by action."— Injunction refused. 
 
 (c) Mr. William Smith, M.P. for Norwich, made a virulent attack on 
 Mr. Southey in the House of Commons on the 14th of March, 1817, and 
 in the Courier. The Speech is here given. 
 
 "The honourable member adverted to that tergiversation of prin- 
 ciple which the career of political individuals so often presented. He 
 was far from supposing, that a man who set out in life with the pro- 
 fession of certain sentiments, was bound to conclude life with them. 
 He thought there might be many occasions in which a change of 
 opinion, when that change was unattended by any personal advantages, 
 when it appeared entirely disinterested, might be the result of sincere 
 conviction. But what he most detested, what most filled him with 
 disgust, was the settled, determined malignity of a renegado. He 
 had read in a publication (The Quarterly Review), certainly entitled 
 to much respect from its general literary excellences, though he differed 
 from it in its principles, a passage alluding to the recent distur- 
 bances, which passage was as follows : — 
 
 " ' When the man of free opinions commences professor of moral 
 and political philosophy for the benefit of the public— the fables of old 
 credulity are then verified — his very breath becomes venomous, and 
 every page which he sends abroad carries with it poison to the 
 unsuspicious reader. We have shown, on a former occasion, how 
 men of this description are acting upon the public, and have explained 
 in what manner a large part of the people have been prepared for the 
 virus with which they inoculate them. The dangers arising from 
 such a state of things are now fully apparent, and the designs of the 
 incendiaries, which have for some years been proclaimed so plainly, 
 that they ought, long ere this, to have been prevented, are now 
 manifested by overt acts.' — 
 
 With the permission of the House, he would read an extract from, 
 a poem recently published, te which, he supposed, the above writer 
 alluded (or at least to productions) of a similar kind), as constituting a. 
 part of the virus with which the public mind had been infected : — 
 
 1 My brethren, these are truths and weighty ones : 
 
 Ye are all equal ; nature made ye so. 
 
 Epuality is your birthright;— when I gaze 
 
 On the proud palace, and behold one man, 
 
 In the blood-purpled robes of royalty, 
 
 Feasting at ease, and lording over millions ; 
 
 Then turn me to the hut of poverty, 
 
 And see the wretched labourer, worn with toil, 
 
 Divide his scanty morsel with his infants, 
 
 I sicken, and indignant at the sight, 
 
 Blush for the patience of humanity.' 
 "He could read many other passages from these works equally 
 3trong on both sides; but, if they were written by the same person, 
 he should like to know from the honourable and learned gentleman 
 
22 VISION OP JUDGMENT. 
 
 opposite, why no proceedings had been instituted against the author. 
 The poem ' Wat Tyler 1 appeared to him to be the most seditious book 
 that was ever written ; its author did not stop short of exhorting to 
 general anarchy; he vilified kings, priests, and nobles, and was for 
 universal suffrage, and perfect equality. The Spencean plan could 
 not be compared with it; that miserable and ridiculous performance 
 did not attempt to employ any arguments ; but the author of Wat 
 Tyler constantly appealed to the passions, and in a style which the 
 author, at that time, he supposed, conceived to be eloquence. Why, 
 then, had not those who thought it necessary to suspend the Habeas 
 Corpus act taken notice of this poem? Why had not they discovered 
 the author of that seditious publication, and visited him with the 
 penalties of the law! The work was not published secretly, it was 
 not handed about in the darkness of night, but openly and publicly 
 sold in the face of day. It was at this time to be purchased at almost 
 every bookseller's shop in London : it was now exposed for sale in a 
 bookseller's shop in Pall Mall, who styled himself 'bookseller to one 
 or two of the royal family. He borrowed the copy, from which he had 
 just read the extract, from an honourable friend of his, who bought 
 it in the usual way; and, therefore, he supposed there could be no 
 difficulty in rinding out the party that wrote it. He had heard, that 
 when a man of the name of Winterbottom was some years ago 
 confined in Newgate, the manuscript had been sent to him, with 
 liberty to print it for his own advantage, if he thought proper ; but 
 that man, it appeared, did not like to risk the publication; and, 
 therefore, it was now first issued into the Avorld. It must remain 
 with the government, and their legal advisers, to take what steps they 
 might deem most advisable to repress this seditious work and punish 
 its author. In bringing it under the notice of the House, he had 
 merely spoken in defence of his constituents, who had been most 
 grossly calumniated; and he thought that what he had said would go 
 very far to exculpate them. But he wished to take this bull by the 
 horns." 
 
 (d) Among the effusions of Mr. Southey's juvenile muse, we find 
 this " Inscription for the Apartment in Chepstow Castle, where Henry 
 Martin, the Regicide, was imprisoned thirty years : — 
 
 " For thirty ye?rs secluded from mankind 
 Here Martin linger'd. Often have these walls 
 Echo'd his footsteps, as with even tread 
 He paced around his prison. Not to him 
 Did Nature's fair varieties exist ; 
 He never saw tie sun's delightful beams; 
 Save when through yon high bars he pour'd a sad 
 And broken splendour. Dost thou ask his crime? 
 He hath rebel Pd against the King, and sat 
 In judgment on him; for his ardent mind 
 
 aped goodliest plans of happiness on earth, 
 And peace and liberty. Wild dreams ! but such 
 As Plato loved ; such as with holy zeal, 
 Our Milton worshipp'd. Elessed hopes ! awhile 
 From man withheld, even to the latter days 
 When Christ shall come, and all things be fulfill'd." 
 
 (e) See Captain Sir Edward Parry's Voyage, in 1819-20, for the dis- 
 covery of a North-west passage. — " I believe it is almost impossible for 
 words to give an idea of the beauty and variety which this magnificent 
 phenomenon displayed. The luminous arch had broken into irregular 
 masses, streaming with much rapidity in different directions, varying 
 continually in shape and interest, and extending themselves from 
 north, by the east, to north. At one time a part of the arch near the 
 zenith was bent into convolutions resmbling those of a snake in motion, 
 and undulating rapidity, an appearance which we had not before 
 
VISION OF JUDGMENT. 23 
 
 observed. The end towards the north was also bent like a shepherd's 
 crook. The usual pale light of tho aurora strongly resembled that 
 produced by the combustion of phosphorus ; a very slight tinge of red 
 was noticed on this occasion, when the aurora was most vivid, but no 
 other coicurs were visible." 
 
 (f) Johanna Southeote, the aged lunatic, who fancied herself, and 
 was believed by many followers, to be with child of a new Messiah, 
 died in 1815. 
 
 ([)) " But when he stood in the Presence, 
 
 Then was the Fiend dismay'd, though with impudence clothed as a 
 
 garment ; 
 And the lying tongues were mute, and the lips, which had scatter'd 
 Accusation and slander, were still. No time for evasion 
 This, in the Presence he stood : no place for flight ; fot dissembling 
 No possibility there. From the souls on the edge of the darkness, 
 Two he produced, prime movers and agents of mischief, and bade them 
 Show themselves faithful now to the cause for which they had labour'd . 
 Wretched and guilty souls, where now their audacity? "Where now 
 Are the insolent tongues so ready of old at rejoinder? 
 Where the lofty pretences of public virtue and freedom ? 
 Where the gibe, and the jeer, and the threat, the envemon'd invective, 
 Calumny, falsehood, fraud, and the whole ammunition of malice ? 
 Wretched and guilty souls, they stood in the face of their sovereign, 
 Conscious and self-condemn'd ; confronted with him they had injured, 
 At the Judgment-seat* they stood."— Soutuky. 
 
 (h) Our new world has generally the credit of having first lighted 
 the torch which was to illuminate, and soon set in a blaze, the finest 
 part of Europe; yet I think the first flint was struck, and the first 
 spark elicited, by the patriot John Wilkes, a few years before. In a 
 time of profound peace, the restless spirit of men, deprived of other 
 objects of public curiosity, seized with avidity on those questions which 
 
 * In reference to this part of Mr. Southey's poem, the Eclectic 
 Reviewer, we believe the late Rev. Robert Hall, said :— " Mr. Southey's 
 1 Vision of Judgment' is unquestionably a profane poem. The asser- 
 tion will stagger those only who do not consider what is the import 
 of the word. Profaneness is the irreverent use of sacred means and 
 things. A burlesque of things sacred, whether sacred or not, is 
 profaneness. To apply the language of Scripture in a ludicrous con- 
 nection is to profane it. The mummery of prayer on the stage, though 
 in a serious play, is a gross profanation of sacred things. .And all acts 
 which come under the taking of God's name in vain are acts of 
 profaneness. According to this definition of the word, the Laureate's 
 'Vision of Judgment' is a poem grossly and unpardonably profane. 
 Mr. Southey's intention was, we are well persuaded, very far from 
 being irreligious ; and, indeed, the profaneness of the poem partly 
 arises from the ludicrous effect produced by the bad, taste and imbecility 
 of the performance, for which his intentions are clearly net answerable. 
 Whatever liberties a poet may claim to take, in representations partly 
 allegorical, with the invisible realities of the world to come theisms 
 fatuus of political zeal has, in this instance, carried Mr. South ey far 
 beyond any assignable bounds of poetical license. It would have been 
 enough to celebrate the apotheosis of the monarch; but, when he 
 proceeds to travestie the final judgment, and to convert the awful 
 tribunal of Heaven iuto a drawing-room levee, Where he, the Poet 
 Laureate, takes upon himsalf to play the part of a lord i'n waiting 
 presenting one Georgian worthy after another to kiss hands on promo- 
 tion,— what should be grave is, indeed, turned to farce " 
 
24 VISION OF JUDGMENT. 
 
 were then agitated with so much violence in England, touching th< 
 
 rights of the people and of the government, and the nature ol | 
 The end of the political drama was in favour of what was called, and 
 in some respects was, the liberty of the people. Encouraged by th< 
 success of this great comedian, the curtain was no sooner dropped on 
 the scene of Europe, than new actors hastened to raise it again in 
 America, and to give the world a new play, infinitely more intei 
 and more brilliant than the first."— M. Si'mokd, 
 
 (i) King Alfonso, speaking of the Ptolomean system, said, that "had 
 he been consulted at the creation of the world, he would have spared 
 the Maker some absurdities." 
 
 (k) See Aubery's account of the apparition which disappeared ' with 
 a curious perfume and a melodious twang;' or see the Antiquarv, 
 Vol. I., p. 225. 
 
 fl) A drowned body lies at the bottom till rotten; it then floats, as 
 most people know. 
 
 (m) Southey's Vision of Judgment appears to us to be an ill-judged, 
 and not a well-executed work. It certainly has added nothing to the 
 reputation of its author in any respect. The nobleness of its motive 
 does not atone for the indiscretion of putting it into so reprehensible 
 a form. Milton's example will, perhaps, be pleaded in his vindication ; 
 but Milton alone has ever founded a fiction on the basis of revelation, 
 without degrading his subject. He alone had succeeded in carrying 
 his readers into the spiritual world. No other attempt of the kind 
 has ever appeared that can be read without a constant feeling of 
 something like burlesqtie, and a wish that the Tartarus and Elysium 
 of the idolatrous Greeks should still be the hell and the heaven of 
 poetry. A smile at the puerilities, and a laugh at the absurdi 
 the poet, might then be enjoyed by the reader, without an apprehension 
 that he was guilty of profanity in giving it. Milton has been blamed 
 by the most judicious critics, and his warmest admirers, for expressing 
 the counsels of Eternal Wisdom, and the decrees of Almighty Power, 
 by words assigned to the Deity. It offends against poetical propriety 
 and poetical probability. It is impossible to deceive ourselves into a 
 momentary and poetical belief that words proceeded from the Holy 
 Spirit, except on the warrant of inspiration itself. It is here only that 
 Milton fails, and here Milton sometimes shocks. The language and. 
 conduct ascribed by Milton to his inferior spirits, accord so we'll with 
 our conceptions and belief respecting their nature and existence, that 
 in many places we forget that they are, in any respGct, the creatines 
 of imagination. The blasphemies of Milton's devils offend not a pious 
 car, because they are devils who utter them. Nor are we displeased 
 with the poet's presumption in feigning language for heavenly spirits, 
 because it is a language that lifts the soul to heaven ; and wc more 
 than believe, we know and feel, that, whatever may be the nature of 
 the language of angels, the language of the poet truly interprets 
 their sentiment's. The words are human ; but the truths they express, 
 and the doctrines they teach are divine. Nothing of the same hind 
 can be said of any other fable, serious or ludicrous, pious or profane, 
 that has yet been written in any age or language.— Blackwood, 1822. 
 
 Johnston, Printer, Lovelt's Court, i>t. Paul's, 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or 
 
 on the date to which renewed. 
 
 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 
 
 jaoa3fc,f 
 
 *tc 
 
 PLn 
 
 REOD LP ^30 '65 
 
 OCT 20 195P - 
 
 CIB.JOH 9 77 
 
 Mf 
 
 fiwuww 
 
 OCT 1 8 1933 
 
 
 MflMscDEWgo 
 
 IW1 ^'64 5PM 
 
 T70cf65AT 
 
 '* STACKS 
 
 LD 21-100m-6,'56 
 (B9311sl0)476 
 
 General Library 
 
 University of California 
 
 Berkeley