And the Court-newsman also was there-- (The Spirit now bids me write prose, but that, you know's all the same thine;) And Colburn with his Muck Monthly Magazine was there; And Ward, the Animal Painter, with a piece of spoil'd canvas, 35 feet wide by 21, was there; But Bird who, most disloyally, died of a broken heart, was not there; And the Duke of Wellington, with the Sword of State, was there; And Sir John Silvester, the Recorder of London, and his assistant, were there; And Messrs. Uundell and Bridge, the Jewellers who repair'd the Crown, were there; And the Pigtails out off from his Majesty's guards were there; And the Guards themselves in their neat uniforms, and new white gaiters, were there; And the State Coach and Coachmen and Horses were there; And the other Ministers of State in their new State Liveries were there; And the Clerks of the Council and the two Silver Inkstands were there; And all the Gentlemen of the Stock Exchange were there; And all the Gentlemen of the Shipping Interest were there; And all the Gentlemen of the Landed Interest were there; But all the people without Interest were not there; And all the Peers who voted the Queen of England guilty were-there; And all the Ministerial Members of the House of Commons were there; And Dr. Slop with 'fresh fig-leaves for Adam and Ere' was there; And the Royal Proclamation against Vice and Immorality was pasted up there. And behold, while I read it, thinking to put it, excellent as it was, Into language still better, Methought, in my vision, I dreamt--dream within dream intercircled--And seem'd to be hurried away, by a vehement whirlwind, To Flames and Sulphurous Darkness, where certain of my Minor Poems were scorching, Yet unconsum'd, in penal fire; and so was I purified For deeds done in the flesh, being, through them, burnt by proxy! There, too, roasted the Bishop of Osnaburgh's Doxy, But the Righteous-one, _the Prince Bishop himself_, was in Heaven; And two Boots were there, as a burnt-offering for peccadillo, But the Owner thereof was a glorified spirit above, Where, as in duty bound, I had sung to him 'Twang-a-dillo, He that loves a pretty girl, is a hearty good fellow!' And in Torment (but here the blest rage of the bard returns on me) And in torment was She, who, on earth, had been also tormented By Him who is never, nor can be accused, of aught vicious; With her were the friends of my childhood--not leaving out Coleridge; And they who were kill'd by the Manchester Yeomanry also; And Truth, the whole Truth, nothing but the Truth, suffered the burning. Then I turn'd my meek eyes, in their gladness, to Heaven, and my place there, And ascending, I flew back to Paradise, singing of Justice; Where, fill'd with divine expectation of merited favour, {241} The gathering host look'd to him, in whom all their hopes center'd, As the everlasting hand; and I, too, press'd forward to obtain--