XXV.

  As he drew near, he gazed upon the gate
    Ne’er to be enter’d more by him or Sin,
  With such a glance of supernatural hate,
    As made St. Peter wish himself within: 
  He patter’d with his keys at a great rate,
    And sweated through his apostolic skin: 
  Of course his perspiration was but ichor,
  Or some such other spiritual liquor.

  XXVI.

  The very cherubs huddled all together,
    Like birds when soars the falcon; and they felt
  A tingling to the tip of every feather,
    And form’d a circle like Orion’s belt
  Around their poor old charge; who scarce knew whither
    His guards had led him, though they gently dealt
  With royal manes (for by many stories,
  And true, we learn the angels all are Tories).

  XXVII.

  As things were in this posture, the gate flew
    Asunder, and the flashing of its hinges
  Flung over space an universal hue
    Of many-color’d flame, until its tinges
  Reach’d even our speck of earth, and made a new
    Aurora Borealis spread its fringes
  O’er the North Pole, the same seen, when ice-bound,
  By Captain Perry’s crew, in “Melville’s Sound”.

  XXVIII.

  And from the gate thrown open issued beaming
    A beautiful and mighty Thing of Light,
  Radiant with glory, like a banner streaming
    Victorious from some world-o’erthrowing fight: 
  My poor comparisons must needs be teeming
    With earthly likenesses, for here the night
  Of clay obscures our best conceptions, saving
  Johanna Southcote, or Bob Southey raving.

  XXIX.

  ’Twas the archangel Michael:  all men know
    The make of angels and archangels, since
  There’s scarce a scribbler has not one to show,
    From the fiends’ leader to the angels’ prince. 
  There also are some altar-pieces, though
    I really can’t say that they much evince
  One’s inner notions of immortal spirits;
  But let the connoisseurs explain their merits.

  XXX.

  Michael flew forth in glory and in good,
    A goodly work of Him from whom all glory
  And good arise:  the portal pass’d—­he stood
    Before him the young cherubs and saints hoary—­
  (I say young, begging to be understood
    By looks, not years, and should be very sorry
  To state, they were not older than St. Peter,
  But merely that they seem’d a little sweeter).

  XXXI.

  The cherubs and the saints bow’d down before
    That archangelic hierarch, the first
  Of essences angelical, who wore
    The aspect of a god; but this ne’er nursed
  Pride in his heavenly bosom, in whose core
    No thought, save for his Maker’s service, durst
  Intrude, however glorified and high;
  He knew him but the viceroy of the sky.

  XXXII.