24
All the glory of the angel
Now had utterly departed—
Quietly he now addressed me,
Calm and modern as at first;
On the lonely Heath at Hampstead
Sat my Devil, grimly smiling,
In his hand the evening journal,
Spectacles upon his nose. . . .
‘Troubled by the devastation
Laying waste my little kingdom,
Showing that the Lord Almighty
Wrought against me as of old;
‘Sick because the blinded masses
Clamour'd still for signs and portents,
“Time it surely is,” I mutter'd,
“For another Miracle!”
‘So, my Benjamin assisting,
I the Newspaper invented—
'Gainst the Church's red battalions
Rose at last the thin black line!
‘Nought that Priests and Tyrants plotted,
Nought that mortals did or suffer'd,
Nought that passes on this planet,
Any more remained in darkness!
‘Nay, I tamed the very Lightning
To assist my revelations—
Thro' the night it took its tidings
Flashing into fiery words:
‘On the walls of hut and palace
Flamed my messages to mortals—
Startled 'mid the feast, Earth's rulers
Looked aghast at one another!
‘All the affairs of Hell and Heaven
By my servants were recorded,—
I had watchful correspondents
Even in the Vatican!
‘For the first time human creatures
Knew the affliction of their fellows—
Tyrants blush'd to find recorded
Deeds they had not blush'd to do!
‘O my Benjamin, the youngest
Of my sons, the Printer's Devil!
I myself at times was startled
At the rogue's irreverence!
‘Nought that God had done in darkness
Could escape his circumspection!
All the evils God created
Now were patent to the world!’
‘Even so,’ I answer'd quickly,
‘Thanks to thee, O woeful Spirit,
Ever prying and denying,
Nought is hid from eyes profane:
‘Ignorance is at last completed
By this thing of thy creation,—
Foul as any other priestcraft
Is the priestcraft of the Press!
‘Clamour of thy Printer's Devil
Silences the wise and holy,
Life grows hideous, while his shameful,
Shameless scandals fill the air;
‘By the filth thou namest Knowledge
All the springs of life are poison'd,—
Foul St. Simeons of the column
Pose, and proffer absolution!
‘Poison of thy fiends was scatter'd
On the world-worn eyes of Coleridge;
Poison'd daggers of thy devils
Stab'd to Keats's heart of hearts!
‘Foulest of all human follies
Is the Newspaper!’ I added—
‘Art and all things fair and holy
Fade at last before its breath!’
Scornfully he smiled upon me,—
‘Grant,’ he said, ‘my servant blunders;
In a scheme so democratic
Individual merit fails.
‘Yet, with all its limitations
This, the latest of my labours,
Is a boon of light and leading
To the woe-worn race of men.
‘Priests have cried, “Let there be darkness!
Hide away the truths thou fearest!”
I, the Devil, being wiser,
Cry, “Let Truth and Light prevail!”
‘By the printed words, the record
Of the conscience of the people,
By my clamouring Printer's Devil,
Freedom spreads from land to land:
‘Deeds of night no more are hidden,
Deeds of grace are multiplying;
Light into the dungeon flowing
Strikes the fetters of the slave.
‘At my printed protestation
On his throne the Tyrant trembles;
Words of hope for Freedom utter'd,
Shake the footstool of the Czar!
‘Even the lying leader writer
Pillories the God he praises!
Even the critic speeds the triumph
Of the Seer he mocks and scorns!
‘Ever in my open daylight
Truth and falsehood stand together—
In the daylight Falsehood withers,
Truth is known and justified!
‘Those who serve your God Almighty
Cry aloud “The Light is hateful!”
In the night His Church has flourish'd,
In the daylight it doth fall!
‘War not, in thy soul's impatience,
‘Gainst my busy benediction!
Rail not, Poet, 'gainst my Devils,
Wroth because they will not praise thee!
‘If thy soul be just and gentle,
Be thou sure that men shall know it!
If thy song be great and deathless,
God nor devil can destroy it!
‘I, the Devil, refuse to foster
Vanity in God or poets!
Both believe in loaves and fishes
And in fulsome adulation.
‘I, the Devil, am democratic!
For the general good I labour—
Those who would be prais'd and petted
I relinquish to the Tories.
‘Tennyson I liked extremely
(Even pardon'd him for praising
That white sepulchre, King Arthur)
Till he join'd the House of Lords.
‘Light and Knowledge for the masses,
Speech for Wisdom and for Folly,
These I claim, and even the zany
May announce his zanyhood;
‘Busily my printing presses
Publish all things, good or evil:
When my printer's Devil blunders
'Tis at least in open day.
‘Light is Death to Falsehood ever!
Light illumes my printing presses!
Ev'n thro' fools my truth shall triumph
And my Demos witch the world!’
Now had utterly departed—
Quietly he now addressed me,
Calm and modern as at first;
On the lonely Heath at Hampstead
Sat my Devil, grimly smiling,
In his hand the evening journal,
Spectacles upon his nose. . . .
‘Troubled by the devastation
Laying waste my little kingdom,
Showing that the Lord Almighty
Wrought against me as of old;
‘Sick because the blinded masses
Clamour'd still for signs and portents,
“Time it surely is,” I mutter'd,
“For another Miracle!”
‘So, my Benjamin assisting,
I the Newspaper invented—
'Gainst the Church's red battalions
Rose at last the thin black line!
‘Nought that Priests and Tyrants plotted,
Nought that mortals did or suffer'd,
Nought that passes on this planet,
Any more remained in darkness!
‘Nay, I tamed the very Lightning
To assist my revelations—
Thro' the night it took its tidings
Flashing into fiery words:
‘On the walls of hut and palace
Flamed my messages to mortals—
Startled 'mid the feast, Earth's rulers
Looked aghast at one another!
‘All the affairs of Hell and Heaven
By my servants were recorded,—
I had watchful correspondents
Even in the Vatican!
‘For the first time human creatures
Knew the affliction of their fellows—
Tyrants blush'd to find recorded
Deeds they had not blush'd to do!
‘O my Benjamin, the youngest
Of my sons, the Printer's Devil!
I myself at times was startled
At the rogue's irreverence!
‘Nought that God had done in darkness
Could escape his circumspection!
All the evils God created
Now were patent to the world!’
‘Even so,’ I answer'd quickly,
‘Thanks to thee, O woeful Spirit,
Ever prying and denying,
Nought is hid from eyes profane:
‘Ignorance is at last completed
By this thing of thy creation,—
Foul as any other priestcraft
Is the priestcraft of the Press!
‘Clamour of thy Printer's Devil
Silences the wise and holy,
Life grows hideous, while his shameful,
Shameless scandals fill the air;
‘By the filth thou namest Knowledge
All the springs of life are poison'd,—
Foul St. Simeons of the column
Pose, and proffer absolution!
‘Poison of thy fiends was scatter'd
On the world-worn eyes of Coleridge;
Poison'd daggers of thy devils
Stab'd to Keats's heart of hearts!
‘Foulest of all human follies
Is the Newspaper!’ I added—
‘Art and all things fair and holy
Fade at last before its breath!’
Scornfully he smiled upon me,—
‘Grant,’ he said, ‘my servant blunders;
In a scheme so democratic
Individual merit fails.
‘Yet, with all its limitations
This, the latest of my labours,
Is a boon of light and leading
To the woe-worn race of men.
‘Priests have cried, “Let there be darkness!
Hide away the truths thou fearest!”
I, the Devil, being wiser,
Cry, “Let Truth and Light prevail!”
‘By the printed words, the record
Of the conscience of the people,
By my clamouring Printer's Devil,
Freedom spreads from land to land:
‘Deeds of night no more are hidden,
Deeds of grace are multiplying;
Light into the dungeon flowing
Strikes the fetters of the slave.
‘At my printed protestation
On his throne the Tyrant trembles;
Words of hope for Freedom utter'd,
Shake the footstool of the Czar!
‘Even the lying leader writer
Pillories the God he praises!
Even the critic speeds the triumph
Of the Seer he mocks and scorns!
‘Ever in my open daylight
Truth and falsehood stand together—
In the daylight Falsehood withers,
Truth is known and justified!
‘Those who serve your God Almighty
Cry aloud “The Light is hateful!”
In the night His Church has flourish'd,
In the daylight it doth fall!
‘War not, in thy soul's impatience,
‘Gainst my busy benediction!
Rail not, Poet, 'gainst my Devils,
Wroth because they will not praise thee!
‘If thy soul be just and gentle,
Be thou sure that men shall know it!
If thy song be great and deathless,
God nor devil can destroy it!
‘I, the Devil, refuse to foster
Vanity in God or poets!
Both believe in loaves and fishes
And in fulsome adulation.
‘I, the Devil, am democratic!
For the general good I labour—
Those who would be prais'd and petted
I relinquish to the Tories.
‘Tennyson I liked extremely
(Even pardon'd him for praising
That white sepulchre, King Arthur)
Till he join'd the House of Lords.
‘Light and Knowledge for the masses,
Speech for Wisdom and for Folly,
These I claim, and even the zany
May announce his zanyhood;
‘Busily my printing presses
Publish all things, good or evil:
When my printer's Devil blunders
'Tis at least in open day.
‘Light is Death to Falsehood ever!
Light illumes my printing presses!
Ev'n thro' fools my truth shall triumph
And my Demos witch the world!’
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