The Goat

When Lucifer fled from Salem
He rode a reverend goat
Who talked like the beast of Baalam
And knew all magic by rote.

No steed had ever such motion,
Or strength, or terrible mien;
He vaulted mountain and ocean,
He frighted as soon as seen.

Wherever his footfalls dallied
They withered the blooms and grass;
The comets and stars went pallid
With horror to see him pass.

The witches welcomed his coming,
The dead arose from their graves,
The fiends fled hustling and humming
From Sheol's shadiest caves.

The goat got prouder and prouder,
He fancied this power his own;
Each minute he boasted louder,
And talked of himself alone.

"Dear Satan, the day is breaking
When earth will know me," he said;
The stars in the sky are quaking
Already to hear my tread.

My force and knowledge of magic
Are surely beyond compare;
I long to do something tragic
And make the universe stare.

I long to throw down a quarter,
Or so, of the heavenly host,
And trample the trash to mortar,
To show who governs the roast.

Just then the pilgrimage ended
Beside the portal of Hell;
In silence Satan descended,
Scarce nodding the goat farewell.

That moment his gifts departed —
Gab, sorcery, speed and pluck;
No longer Creation started
Whenever he reared to buck.