"---a valley, where he sees
Things that on earth were lost."
MILTON.
1828.
Knowest thou not him[1] the poet sings,
Who flew to the moon's serene domain,
And saw that valley where all the things,
That vanish on earth are found again--
The hopes of youth, the resolves of age,
The vow of the lover, the dream of the sage,
The golden visions of mining cits,
The promises great men strew about them;
And, packt in compass small, the wits
Of monarchs who rule as well without them!--
Like him, but diving with wing profound,
I have been to a Limbo underground,
Where characters lost on earth, (and _cried_,
In vain, like Harris's, far and wide,)
In heaps like yesterday's orts, are thrown
And there, so worthless and flyblown
That even the imps would not purloin them,
Lie till their worthy owners join them.
Curious it was to see this mass
Of lost and torn-up reputations;--
Some of them female wares, alas!
Mislaid at _innocent_ assignations;
Some, that had sighed their last amen
From the canting lips of saints that would be;
And some once owned by "the best of men,"
Who had proved-no better than they should be.
'Mong others, a poet's fame I spied,
Once shining fair, now soakt and black--
"No wonder" (an imp at my elbow cried),
"For I pickt it out of a butt of sack!"
Just then a yell was heard o'er head,
Like a chimney-sweeper's lofty summons;
And lo! a devil right downward sped,
Bringing within his claws so red
Two statesmen's characters, found, he said,
Last night, on the floor of the House of Commons;
The which, with black official grin,
He now to the Chief Imp handed in;--
_Both_ these articles much the worse
For their journey down, as you may suppose;
But _one_ so devilish rank--"Odd's curse!".
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