The mind bold And independent, The purpose free, So we are told, 450 Must not think To have the ascendant. What's a saint? One whose breath Doth the air taint Before his death; A bundle of bones, Which fools adore, Ha! ha! When life is o'er, 460 Which rattle and stink, E'en in the flesh. We cry his pardon! No flesh hath he; Ha! ha! For it hath died, 'Tis crucified Day by day, Afresh, afresh, Ha! ha! 470 That holy clay, Ha! ha! This gains guerdon, So priestlings prate, Ha! ha! Before the Judge, And pleads and atones For spite and grudge, And bigot mood, And envy and hate, 480 And greed of blood. SOUL How impotent they are! and yet on earth They have repute for wondrous power and skill; And books describe, how that the very face Of the Evil One, if seen, would have a force Even to freeze the blood, and choke the life Of him who saw it. ANGEL In thy trial-state Thou hadst a traitor nestling close at home, Connatural, who with the powers of hell 490 Was leagued, and of thy senses kept the keys, And to that deadliest foe unlocked thy heart. And therefore is it, in respect to man, Those fallen ones show so majestical. But, when some child of grace, angel or saint, Pure and upright in his integrity Of nature, meets the demons on their raid, They scud away as cowards from the fight. Nay, oft hath holy hermit in his cell, Not yet disburdened of mortality, 500 Mocked at their threats and warlike overtures; Or, dying, when they swarmed, like flies, around, Defied them, and departed to his Judge. DEMONS Virtue and vice, A knave's pretence. 'Tis all the same; Ha! ha! Dread of hell-fire, Of the venomous flame, A coward's plea. 510 Give him his price, Saint though he be, Ha! ha! From shrewd good sense He'll slave for hire; Ha! ha! And does but aspire To the heaven above With sordid aim, And not from love. 520 Ha! ha! SOUL