His holy friends then came about,

And with long preaching and persuasion Convinced the patient that, without The smallest shadow of a doubt,

He was predestined to damnation :

They said " Thy name is Peter Bell;
Thy skin is of a brimstone hue;
Alive or dead-ay, sick or well—
The one God made to rhyme with hell;
The other, I think, rhymes with you."

Then Peter set up such a yell!

The nurse, who with some water gruel Was climbing up the stairs, as well

As her old legs could climb them—fell

And broke them both-the fall was cruel.

The Parson from the casement leapt
Into the lake of Windermere ;
And many an eel-though no adept
In God's right reason for it-kept
Gnawing his kidneys half a year.

And all the rest rushed through the door,
And tumbled over one another,
And broke their skulls.-Upon the floor
Meanwhile sat Peter Bell, and swore,

And cursed his father and his mother;

And raved of God, and sin, and death,
Blaspheming like an infidel;

And said, that with his clenched teeth,
He'd seize the earth from underneath,
And drag it with him down to hell.

As he was speaking came a spasm,
And wrenched his gnashing teeth asunder;
Like one who sees a strange phantasm
He lay, there was a silent chasm
Betwixt his upper jaw and under.

And yellow death lay on his face;

And a fixed smile that was not human
Told, as I understand the case,

That he was gone to the wrong place :-
I heard all this from the old woman.

Then there came down from Langdale Pike
A cloud, with lightning, wind and hail;
It swept over the mountains like

An ocean, and I heard it strike

The woods and crags of Grasmere vale.

And I saw the black storm come

Nearer, minute after minute;

Its thunder made the cataracts dumb;
With hiss, and clash, and hollow hum,
It neared as if the Devil was in it.

The Devil was in it :-he had bought

Peter for half-a-crown; and when The storm which bore him vanished, nought That in the house that storm had caught Was ever seen again.

The gaping neighbours came next day.
They found all vanished from the shore:
The Bible, whence he used to pray,
Half scorched under a hen-coop lay;
Smashed glass-and nothing more!

PART THE SECOND.

THE DEVIL.

THE DEVIL, I safely can aver,

Has neither hoof, nor tail, nor sting;

Nor is he, as some sages swear,
A spirit, neither here nor there,
In nothing-yet in everything.

He is what we are; for sometimes
The Devil is a gentleman;
At others a bard bartering rhymes
For sack; a statesman spinning crimes ;
A swindler, living as he can:

A thief, who cometh in the night,

With whole boots and net pantaloons, Like some one whom it were not right To mention ;-or the luckless wight, From whom he steals nine silver spoons.

But in this case he did appear

Like a slop-merchant from Wapping,
And with smug face, and eye severe,
On every side did perk and peer
Till he saw Peter dead or napping.

He had on an upper Benjamin
(For he was of the driving schism)
In the which he wrapt his skin
From the storm he travelled in,
For fear of rheumatism.

He called the ghost out of the corse;
It was exceedingly like Peter,
Only its voice was hollow and hoarse ;
It had a queerish look of course;
Its dress too was a little neater.

The Devil knew not his name and lot,
Peter knew not that he was Bell:
Each had an upper stream of thought,
Which made all seem as it was not

Fitting itself to all things well

Peter thought he had parents dear,
Brothers, sisters, cousins, cronies,
In the fens of Lincolnshire;
He perhaps had found them there
Had he gone and boldly shown his

Solemn phiz in his own village;

Where he thought oft when a boy He'd clomb the orchard walls to pillage The produce of his neighbour's tillage, With marvellous pride and joy.

And the Devil thought he had,
'Mid the misery and confusion

Of an unjust war, just made

A fortune by the gainful trade

Of giving soldiers rations bad

The world is full of strange delusion

That he had a mansion planned

In a square like Grosvenor-square,
That he was aping fashion, and
That he now came to Westmoreland
To see what was romantic there.

And all this, though quite ideal,
Ready at a breath to vanish,

Was a state not more unreal
Than the peace he could not feel,

Or the care he could not banish.