“All hail, M. P.! from whose infernal brainThin-sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train;At whose command "grim women" throng in crowds,And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds,With "small gray men," "wild yagers," and what not,To crown with honour thee and Walter Scott;Again all hail! if tales like thine may please,St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease;Even Satan's self with thee might dread to dwell,And in thy skull discern a deeper hell.”