Classic Poem

For a space the starry splendour
Flash'd upon him out of Heaven,
As, with eager arms extended,
Angel-like he upward gazed;

Then again the cloud of sorrow
Fell upon him; darkly drooping,
Grew his form more sadly human,
As he proudly spoke again.

‘While the tribes of priests and liars
Rear'd their shrines and lazar-houses,
Sold their charms and absolutions,
Did their clumsy Miracles,

‘I to shame their winking Virgins,
Sweating Christs, and minor marvels,
Was with all my might preparing
For a miracle indeed!

‘Of my letters cabalistic
Tiny blocks of wood I fashion'd,
Ranged them patiently in order
(Chuckling slyly up my sleeve);

‘Then I fasten'd them together,
Smart'd them o'er with ink from Hades,
Stamp'd the words on leaves papyric—
And the Miracle was done!

‘I, the Devil, invented printing!
Calling to my aid the youngest
Of my sons, my little darling
Benjamin, the Printer's Devil.

‘First I printed (mark my cunning!)
God's own Book, the Christian Bible,
Turn'd it out in fine black-letter,
So that he who ran might read!

‘Thus, observe, I pin'd the churchmen
Down to very verse and chapter!
Thus, sir, for the good times coming,
I was nailing Lie on Lie!

‘This was only the beginning
Of my Miracle! The moment
I produced that great invention,
Light and Liberty were born!

‘Suddenly arose and blossom'd
Man's new Tree of Good and Evil,
Shedding forth its leaves abundant,
Ripening to golden fruit!

‘Large it grew and ever larger,
Ever putting forth fresh members,—
“Lop it! cut it down! destroy it!”
Cried the churchmen, shriek'd the Popes.

‘All the priests of all the Churches
Rush'd to smite it with their axes,—
Fools! for every twig so smitten
Out there sprang a magic branch!

‘As from some strong oak, moreover,
Growing in the merry greenwood,
From my Tree of Good and Evil
Acorns dropt, and oaklings sprouted;

‘Little birds pick'd up the acorns,
Dropt them down in distant places.—
Wheresoe'er the seed was carried,
New trees rose, till forests grew!

‘“Shun that leafage diabolic!
‘Ware that wicked fruit of Knowledge!”
Croak'd the ravens of the Churches,
Hovering o'er it in the air;

‘But the maiden and the lover
Sat beneath its shade and listen'd,
While the merry leaves were lisping
Songs that shepherds sang of yure;

‘Here the footsore and the weary,
Creeping from the dusty highway,
Lay beneath and hearken'd smiling
To the magic talking branches;

‘Kings arrived with trains attendant
Saying “Here at least 'tis pleasant!”
From my magic Tree they gather'd
Runes of Norseland, tales of Troy.

‘Reaching to my Tree, Erasmus
Gather'd gentle leaves of learning,
On the greensward underneath it
Petrarch and his Laura walk'd!

‘Even rough old Martin Luther
Pluck'd a leaf and smiled approval!
Gazing upward in the starlight,
Abelard wept, and Tasse sang!

‘Nay, the very monks came flocking
Open-mouth'd to look and listen,—
Charm'd they slyly sow'd my seedlings
In the monastery garden!

‘Wheresoe'er my Tree enchanted
Spread its branches cabalistic,
Gladness grew, and wise men gather'd,
And 'twas Fairyland once more!

‘Vain were all their winking Virgins,
Sweating Christs, and minor marvels,—
I, the Devil, had done the latest,
Greatest Miracle of all!—