And the Devil looked wise as he saw how the while, It cut its own throat. "There!" quoth he, with a smile, "Goes England's commercial prosperity."

IX.

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 Hell.

X.

He saw a Turnkey in a trice

Unfetter a troublesome blade;

"Nimbly" quoth he, " do the fingers move If a man be but used to his trade."

XI.

He saw the same Turnkey unfetter a man
With but little expedition,

Which put him in mind of the long debate
On the slave-trade abolition.

gestion which I owe to a young retailer in the hosiery line, who on hearing a description of the net profits, dinner parties, country houses, &c. of the trade, exclaimed, “Ay! that's what I call Life now!"-This " Life, our Death," is thus happily contrasted with the fruits of authorship.-Sic nos non nobis mellificamus apes.

Of this poem, which, with the " Fire, Famine, and Slaughter," first appeared in the Morning Post, the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 9th, and 16th stanzas were dictated by Mr. Southey. See Apologetic Preface.

meant, the Au

If any one should ask who General thor begs leave to inform him, that he did once see a redfaced person in a dream whom by the dress he took for a General; but he might have been mistaken, and most certainly he did not hear any names mentioned. In simple verity, the Author never meant any one, or indeed any thing but to put a concluding stanza to his doggerel.

XII.

He saw an old acquaintance

As he passed by a Methodist meeting;

She holds a consecrated key,

And the Devil nods her a greeting.

XIII.

She turned up her nose, and said,
66 A vaunt! my name's Religion,"

And she looked to Mr.

And leered like a love-sick pigeon.

The Devil quoted Genesis,

Like a very learned clerk,

How "Noah and his creeping things

Went up into the Ark."

XVI.

He took from the poor,

And he gave to the rich,

And he shook hands with a Scotchman,

For he was not afraid of the

He saw with consternation,

And back to hell his way did he take,
For the Devil thought by a slight mistake
It was general conflagration.

AN ODE TO THE RAIN.

COMPOSED BEFORE DAYLIGHT, ON THE MORNING
APPOINTED FOR THE DEPARTURE

OF A VERY WORTHY, BUT NOT VERY PLEASANT
VISITOR, WHOM IT WAS FEARED THE
RAIN MIGHT DETAIN.

I

KNOW it is dark; and though I have lain,
Awake, as I guess, an hour or twain,

I have not once opened the lids of my eyes,
But I lie in the dark, as a blind man lies.
O Rain! that I lie listening to,

You're but a doleful sound at best:
I owe you little thanks, 'tis true,
For breaking thus my needful rest!
Yet if, as soon as it is light,

O Rain! you will but take your flight,
I'll neither rail, nor malice keep,
Though sick and sore for want of sleep.

But only now, for this one day,

Do

go, dear Rain! do go away

!

O Rain! with your dull two-fold sound,

The clash hard by, and the murmur all round!

You know, if you know aught, that we,

Both night and day, but ill agree:

For days and months, and almost years,
Have limped on through this vale of tears,
Since body of mine, and rainy weather,
Have lived on easy terms together.
Yet if, as soon as it is light,

O Rain! you will but take your flight,

Though you should come again to-morrow,
And bring with you both pain and sorrow;
Though stomach should sicken and knees should
swell-

I'll nothing speak of you but well.
But only now for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

Dear Rain! I ne'er refused to say
You're a good creature in your way;
Nay, I could write a book myself,
Would fit a parson's lower shelf,
Showing how very good you are.—
What then? sometimes it must be fair!
And if sometimes, why not to-day?
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

Dear Rain! if I've been cold and shy,
Take no offence! I'll tell you why.
A dear old Friend e'en now is here,
And with him came my sister dear;
After long absence now first met,
Long months by pain and grief beset-
With three dear friends! in truth, we groan-
Impatiently to be alone.

We three, you mark! and not one more !

The strong wish makes my spirit sore.

We have so much to talk about,

So many sad things to let out;
So many tears in our eye-corners,
Sitting like little Jacky Horners—
In short, as soon as it is day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away.

And this I'll swear to you, dear Rain!
Whenever you shall come again,
Be you as dull as e'er you could,
(And by the bye 'tis understood,
You're not so pleasant as you're good)
Yet, knowing well your worth and place,
I'll welcome you with cheerful face;
And though you stayed a week or more,
Were ten times duller than before;
Yet with kind heart, and right good will,
I'll sit and listen to you still;

Nor should you go away, dear Rain!
Uninvited to remain.

TO A COMIC AUTHOR, ON AN ABUSIVE REVIEW.

WHAT

HAT though the chilly wide-mouthed quack-
ing chorus

From the rank swamps of murk Review-land croak.
So was it, neighbour, in the times before us,
When Momus, throwing on his Attic cloak,
Romped with the Graces; and each tickled Muse
(That Turk, Dan Phoebus, whom bards call divine,
Was married to at least, he kept-all nine)
Fled, but still with reverted faces ran;
Yet, somewhat the broad freedoms to excuse,
They had allured the audacious Greek to use,
Swore they mistook him for their own good man.
This Momus-Aristophanes on earth