To Carey, on His Appointment to a Low Office in the British Museum

Carey ! I fear the fruits are scanty
Thou gatherest from the fields of Dante,
But thou hast found at least a shed
Wherin to cram thy truckle-bed ;
The porter's lodge of the Museum
May daily hear thee sing Te Deum,
Peaches and grapes are mostly found
Richest the nearest to the ground :
Our gardeners take especial care
To keep down low all boughs that bear.
Dante's long labyrinthine line
Is straiten'd and drawn tight by thine :
Hell, devil, dog, in force remain,
And Paradise blooms fresh again.