THE POEMS OF WILLIAM BLAKE 245 can easily be distinguished : the grotesque but hor- rible cry of misery wrung from the heart of the poor, half-witted, cruelly treated vagabond ; the intentional fooling of the beggar and mountebank, baiting for the charity that is caught with a laugh in its mouth, maddening for his bread; the genuine lunacy of a wild and over-excited imagination, ungoverned so long that it is now quite ungovernable. The first gives us such lines as these : — " In the lovely lofts of Bedlam, In stubble soft and dainty ; Brave bracelets strong, Sweet whips ding-dong. And a wholesome hunger plenty." The second such as these : — " Of thirty bare years have I Twice twenty been enraged ; And of forty been Three times fifteen In durance soundly cagM." The third such as these, which Edgar Allan Poe (a fine artist even in the choice of his mottoes) prefixed to his " Unparalleled Adventure of one Hans Pfaall " — "With a heart of furious fancies Whereof I am commander ; With a burning spear, And a horse of air, To the wilderness I wander." Or these " I know more than Apollo ; For oft when he lies sleeping, I behold the stars At mutual wars. And the rounded welkin weeping.'
