'Twas at that sober hour when the light of day is receding, I alone in Slop's Office was left; and, in trouble of spirit, I mused on old times, till my comfort of heart had departed. Pensile at least I shall be, methought--_sus. per coll._ surely! And therewithal felt I my neckcloth; when lo! on a sudden, There came on my eyes, hanging mid-way 'twixt heav'n and St. James's, The book call'd the _Pension List_. There did I see my name written, Yea ev'n in that great book of life! It was sweet to my eyelids, As dew from a tax! and _Infinity_ seem'd to be open, And I said to myself, 'Now a blessing be on thee, my Robert! And a blessing on thee too my pen! and on thee too my sack-but!' Now, as thus I was standing, mine ear heard a rap at the street-door, Ev'n such as a man might make bold with, half gentle half footman; And lo! up the stairs, dotting one, one, after the other, Came the leg of a wonder, hop! hop! through the silence of evening; And then a voice snarling from the throat of the him they call Murray, Who said, as he hopp'd, 'Must the _Muck Times_ be mournful at _all_ times? Lo, SLOP, I've a sop, for your mop; yes--hop! hop! I've a _story_, With which I'll light _you_ up, if you'll light me, Slop, up another.' 'Don't be so _bold!_ methought a _larking_ voice from the skylight Answer'd, and therewithal I felt fear as of frightening; Knowing not why, or how, my soul seem'd night-cap to my body. Then came again the voice, but then with a louder squalling-- 'Go to hell,' said the voice. 'What!,' said I, inwardly, 'I go!' When lo, and behold, a great wonder!--I, I, Robert Southey, Even I, Robert Southey, Esquire, LL.D. Poet Laureate, Member of the Royal Spanish Academy, of the Ditto of history too, of the Institute Royal Of Dutchland, and eke of the Welch Cymmodorion wonder, Author of Joan of Arc, of much Jacobin Verse, and Wat Tyler, Et cætera, et caetera, et caetera, et cætera, et cætera, (For it's unknown all the things that I am, and have written), I, as I said before, ev'n I, by myself, I, Unlike, in that single respect, to my great master Dante, (For Virgil went with him to help him), but like in all others, Rush'd up into Paradise boldly, which angels themselves don't, Yea ev'n into Paradise rush'd I, through showers of _flimsies_, All as good as the Bank, and for hailstones I found there were _Sovereigns_, Spick and span new; and anon was a body all glorified, Even all the great Host both of Church and State, Crosses, Grand Crosses, Commanders, Companions, and Knights of all possible orders, Commons and Peers, the souls of the sold, whom Pensions made perfect, DOCTOR [Illustration: 245] [Illustration: 246] Flocking {239}on either hand, a multitudinous army, Coronet, Crosier, and Mitre, in grand semicircle inclining, Tier over tier they took their place, aloft in the distance, Far as the sight could pierce, Stars, Garters, and Gold Sticks.