Classic Poem

Would you know how I, Buchanan,
Met the Devil here in London
Chatted with him, interview'd him?
Listen, then, and you shall her!

Not in great heroic measures
Shall I sing on this occasion,
But in roguish rhymeless stanzas
Much esteem'd by Greeks and Germans.

Genius of the Greeks and Germans,
Lend me, then, your light trochaics,
Loose, an easy-fitting raiment
Fit to lounge in, as I sing!

For my perilous subject-matter
Mingled is of jest and earnest,
To be treated in a manner
Jaunty, free, yet philosophic;

Bold it is, — you'll cease to doubt it,
When I once am fairly started!
Sad it is, — and yet its sadness
Trembles on the verge of laughter!

Other bards in days departed
Have (they tell us) met the Devil;
Often I'm inclined to doubt it
Since they libel'd him so grossly.

No! the fiends of their acquaintance
Were but small inferior Devils,
Feeble foolish masqueraders,
Tho' their talk was often clever;

Tho' to other generations
They might seem appalling creatures,
Really they were not authentic,
Not the Great O RIGINAL !

For the first time, I assure you,
He, the real and only Devil,
Sick of being by poets libel'd,
Has to utterance condescended;

Wherefore, I entreat you, Reader,
Listen to his explanations!
Judge with kindness and discretion
Interview'd and Interviewer!

I, the Interviewer, hated
Cordially by cliques and critics,
Rail'd at in a hundred journals
As a Scotchman lost and lorn;

He, the Interview'd, for ages
Outlaw'd by the cliques of Heaven,
Who for ever and for ever
Roll the Log and praise the Lord!

I, the Interviewer, banish'd
From the Eden of the poets,
Where the stainless laurel-wearers
Wander innocent and nude;

He, the Interview'd, for ever
Boycotted by God Almighty,
Curst in leader-writer's thunder
By the great celestial Times .

Neither of us, I assure you,
Has been reasonably treated;
Neither of us is so naughty
As the public prints assever.

Both began with warm approval
Of the Church and ruling classes;
I was praised by the Spectator ,
He was orthodox and holy!

Both, alas! have wholly fallen!
I, from gulfs of impious thinking,
See the Heav'n of Poetasters
Guarded still by Hutton's sword;

He, the greater grander Devil,
Prowling in the outer darkness,
Sadly eyes the loaves and fishes
On the Thunderer's banquet-table.

Still, we keep as our possession
One thing even the Angels envy —
Power to stand erect, while cravens
Roll the Log and bend the knee;

Power to feel and strength to suffer,
Will to fight for freedom only,
Zeal to speak the truth within us,
While the slaves of Heaven are dumb.

But ... your pardon, Gentle Reader!
I'm anticipating somewhat —
All impatient waits my Devil,
Swishing tail and grimly smiling:

What he is , himself shall tell you —
What he thinks, you soon shall gather,
When I say, the Judge saluting,
" I'm, my lud, for the Defendant!"