XII.

He had also dim recollections Of pedlars tramping on their rounds; Milk-pans and pails; and odd collections Of saws, and proverbs; and reflections Old parsons make in burying-grounds.

But Peter's verse was clear, and came Announcing from the frozen hearth Of a cold age, that none might tame The soul of that diviner flame It augured to the Earth:

Like gentle rains, on the dry plains, Making that green which late was gray, Or like the sudden moon, that stains Some gloomy chamber's window-panes With a broad light like day.

For language was in Peter's hand Like clay while he was yet a potter, And he made songs for all the land, Sweet both to feel and understand, As pipkins late to mountain Cotter.

And Mr. ----, the bookseller, Gave twenty pounds for some;--then scorning A footman's yellow coat to wear, Peter, too proud of heart, I fear, Instantly gave the Devil warning.