The Ballad Of Hampstead Heath

From Heaven's Gate to Hampstead Heath Young Bacchus and his crew Came tumbling down, and o'er the town Their bursting trumpets blew.

The silver night was wildly bright, And madly shone the Moon To hear a song so clear and strong, With such a lovely tune.

From London's houses, huts and flats, Came busmen, snobs, and Earls, And ugly men in bowler hats With charming little girls.

Sir Moses came with eyes of flame, Judd, who is like a bloater, The brave Lord Mayor in coach and pair, King Edward, in his motor.

Far in a rosy mist withdrawn The God and all his crew, Silenus pulled by nymphs, a faun, A satyr drenched in dew,

Smiled as they wept those shining tears Only Immortals know, Whose feet are set among the stars, Above the shifting snow.

And one spake out into the night, Before they left for ever, "Rejoice, rejoice!" and his great voice Rolled like a splendid river.

He spake in Greek, which Britons speak Seldom, and circumspectly; But Mr. Judd, that man of mud, Translated it correctly.

And when they heard that happy word, Policemen leapt and ambled: The busmen pranced, the maidens danced, The men in bowlers gambolled.

A wistful Echo stayed behind To join the mortal dances, But Mr Judd, with words unkind, Rejected her advances.

And passing down through London Town She stopped, for all was lonely, Attracted by a big brass plate Inscribed, FOR MEMBERS ONLY.

And so she went to Parliament, But those ungainly men Woke up from sleep, and turned about, And fell asleep again.

LITANY TO SATAN (from Baudelaire.)

O grandest of the Angels, and most wise, O fallen God, fate-driven from the skies, Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

O first of exiles who endurest wrong, Yet growest, in thy hatred, still more strong, Satan, at last take pity on our pain!

O subterranean King, omniscient, Healer of man's immortal discontent, Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

To lepers and to outcasts thou dost show That Passion is the Paradise below. Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou by thy mistress Death hast given to man Hope, the imperishable courtesan. Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou givest to the Guilty their calm mien Which damns the crowd around the guillotine. Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou knowest the corners of the jealous Earth Where God has hidden jewels of great worth. Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou dost discover by mysterious signs Where sleep the buried people of the mines. Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou stretchest forth a saving hand to keep Such men as roam upon the roofs in sleep. Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thy power can make the halting Drunkard's feet Avoid the peril of the surging street. Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thou, to console our helplessness, didst plot The cunning use of powder and of shot. Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Thy awful name is written as with pitch On the unrelenting foreheads of the rich. Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

In strange and hidden places thou dost move Where women cry for torture in their love. Satan, at last take pity on our pain.

Father of those whom God's tempestuous ire Has flung from Paradise with sword and fire, Satan, at last take pity on our pain.