The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
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THE LIMBO OF LOST REPUTATIONS.
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 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
274
THE LIMBO OF LOST REPUTATIONS.
A DREAM.
“Cio che si perde qui, làsi raguna.”
Ariosto.
“------ a valley, where he sees
Things that on earth were lost.”
Milton.
Things that on earth were lost.”
Milton.
1828.
Know'st thou not him
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, pack'd 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 under ground,
Where characters lost on earth, (and cried,
In vain, like H*rr*s's, far and wide,)
In heaps, like yesterday's orts, are thrown
And there, so worthless and fly-blown,
That even the imps would not purloin them,
Lie, till their worthy owners join them.
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, pack'd 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 under ground,
275
In vain, like H*rr*s's, far and wide,)
In heaps, like yesterday's orts, are thrown
And there, so worthless and fly-blown,
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 sigh'd their last amen
From the canting lips of saints that would be;
And some once own'd by “the best of men,”
Who had prov'd—no better than they should be.
'Mong others, a poet's fame I spied,
Once shining fair, now soak'd and black—
“No wonder” (an imp at my elbow cried),
“For I pick'd it out of a butt of sack!”
Of lost and torn-up reputations;—
Some of them female wares, alas,
Mislaid at innocent assignations;
Some, that had sigh'd their last amen
From the canting lips of saints that would be;
And some once own'd by “the best of men,”
Who had prov'd—no better than they should be.
'Mong others, a poet's fame I spied,
Once shining fair, now soak'd and black—
“No wonder” (an imp at my elbow cried),
“For I pick'd 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 dev'l 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!”
Said the Lord Chief Imp, and held his nose.
Like a chimney-sweeper's lofty summons;
And lo! a dev'l right downward sped,
Bringing, within his claws so red,
276
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!”
Said the Lord Chief Imp, and held his nose.
“Ho, ho!” quoth he, “I know full well
“From whom these two stray matters fell;”—
Then, casting away, with loathful shrug,
The' uncleaner waif (as he would a drug
The' Invisible's own dark hand had mix'd),
His gaze on the other firm he fix'd,
And trying, though mischief laugh'd in his eye,
To be moral, because of the young imps by,
“What a pity!” he cried—“so fresh its gloss,
“So long preserv'd—'tis a public loss!
“This comes of a man, the careless blockhead,
“Keeping his character in his pocket;
“And there—without considering whether
“There's room for that and his gains together—
“Cramming, and cramming, and cramming away,
“Till—out slips character some fine day!
“From whom these two stray matters fell;”—
Then, casting away, with loathful shrug,
The' uncleaner waif (as he would a drug
The' Invisible's own dark hand had mix'd),
His gaze on the other firm he fix'd,
And trying, though mischief laugh'd in his eye,
To be moral, because of the young imps by,
“What a pity!” he cried—“so fresh its gloss,
“So long preserv'd—'tis a public loss!
“This comes of a man, the careless blockhead,
“Keeping his character in his pocket;
277
“There's room for that and his gains together—
“Cramming, and cramming, and cramming away,
“Till—out slips character some fine day!
“However”—and here he view'd it round—
“This article still may pass for sound.
“Some flaws, soon patch'd, some stains are all
“The harm it has had in its luckless fall.
“Here, Puck!”—and he call'd to one of his train—
“The owner may have this back again.
“Though damag'd for ever, if us'd with skill,
“It may serve, perhaps, to trade on still;
“Though the gem can never, as once, be set,
“It will do for a Tory Cabinet.”
“This article still may pass for sound.
“Some flaws, soon patch'd, some stains are all
“The harm it has had in its luckless fall.
“Here, Puck!”—and he call'd to one of his train—
“The owner may have this back again.
“Though damag'd for ever, if us'd with skill,
“It may serve, perhaps, to trade on still;
“Though the gem can never, as once, be set,
“It will do for a Tory Cabinet.”
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |