We've reached at last the promised Tale;) One beautiful November night, When the full moon was shining bright Upon the rapid river Swale, 325

Along the river's winding banks Peter was travelling all alone; Whether to buy or sell, or led By pleasure running in his head, To me was never known. 330

He trudged along through copse and brake, He trudged along o'er hill and dale; Nor for the moon cared he a t.i.ttle, And for the stars he cared as little, And for the murmuring river Swale. 335

But, chancing to espy a path That promised to cut short the way; As many a wiser man hath done, He left a trusty guide for one That might his steps betray. 340

To a thick wood he soon is brought Where cheerily [26] his course he weaves, And whistling loud may yet be heard, Though often buried, like a bird Darkling, among the boughs and leaves. 345

But quickly Peter's mood is changed, And on he drives with cheeks that burn In downright fury and in wrath;-- There's little sign the treacherous path Will to the road return! 350

The path grows dim, and dimmer still; Now up, now down, the Rover wends, With all the sail that he can carry, Till brought to a deserted quarry--[27]

And there the pathway ends. 355

[28]

He paused--for shadows of strange shape, Ma.s.sy and black, before him lay; But through the dark, and through the cold, [29]

And through the yawning fissures old, Did Peter boldly press his way 360

Right through the quarry;--and behold A scene of soft and lovely hue!

Where blue and grey, and tender green, Together make [30] as sweet a scene As ever human eye did view. 365

Beneath the clear blue sky he saw A little field of meadow ground; But field or meadow name it not; Call it of earth a small green plot, With rocks encompa.s.sed round. 370

The Swale flowed under the grey rocks, But he flowed quiet and unseen;-- You need a strong and stormy gale To bring the noises of the Swale To that green spot, so calm and green! 375

[31]

And is there no one dwelling here, No hermit with his beads and gla.s.s?

And does no little cottage look Upon this soft and fertile nook?

Does no one live near this green gra.s.s? 380

Across the [32] deep and quiet spot Is Peter driving through the gra.s.s-- And now has reached the skirting trees; [33]

When, turning round his head, he sees A solitary a.s.s. 385

[34]

"A prize!" cries Peter--but he first Must spy about him far and near: [35]

There's not a single house in sight, No woodman's hut, no cottage light-- Peter, you need not fear! 390

There's nothing to be seen but woods, And rocks that spread a h.o.a.ry gleam, And this one Beast, that from the bed Of the green meadow hangs his head Over the silent stream. 395

His head is with a halter bound; The halter seizing, Peter leapt Upon the Creature's back, [36] and plied With ready heels his s.h.a.ggy side; [37]

But still the a.s.s his station kept. 400

[38]

Then Peter gave a sudden jerk, A jerk that from a dungeon-floor Would have pulled up an iron ring; But still the heavy-headed Thing Stood just as he had stood before! 405

Quoth Peter, leaping from his seat, "There is some plot against me laid"; Once more the little meadow-ground And all the h.o.a.ry cliffs around He cautiously surveyed. 410

All, all is silent--rocks and woods, All still and silent--far and near!

Only the a.s.s, with motion dull, Upon the pivot of his skull Turns round his long left ear. 415

Thought Peter, What can mean all this?

Some ugly witchcraft must be here!

--Once more the a.s.s, with motion dull, Upon the pivot of his skull Turned round his long left ear. 420

Suspicion ripened into dread; Yet with deliberate action slow, His staff high-raising, in the pride Of skill, upon the sounding hide, [39]

He dealt a st.u.r.dy blow. 425

The poor a.s.s staggered with the shock; And then, as if to take his ease, [40]

In quiet uncomplaining mood, Upon the spot where he had stood, Dropped gently down upon his knees; 430

As gently on [41] his side he fell; And by the river's brink did lie; And, while [42] he lay like one that mourned, The patient Beast on Peter turned His shining hazel eye. [43] 435

'Twas but one mild, reproachful look, A look more tender than severe; And straight in sorrow, not in dread, He turned the eye-ball in his head Towards the smooth river [44] deep and clear. 440

Upon the Beast the sapling rings; His lank sides heaved, [45] his limbs they stirred; He gave a groan, and then another, Of that which went before the brother, And then he gave a third. 445

All by the moonlight river side He gave three miserable groans; And not till now hath Peter seen How gaunt the Creature is,--how lean And sharp his staring bones! [46] 450

With legs stretched out and stiff he lay:-- No word of kind commiseration Fell at the sight from Peter's tongue; With hard contempt his heart was wrung, With hatred and vexation. 455

The meagre beast lay still as death; And Peter's lips with fury quiver; Quoth he, "You little mulish dog, I'll fling your carca.s.s like a log Head-foremost down the river!" 460

An impious oath confirmed the threat-- Whereat from the earth on which he lay [47]

To all the echoes, south and north, And east and west, the a.s.s sent forth A long and clamorous bray! [48] 465

This outcry, on the heart of Peter, Seems like a note of joy to strike,-- Joy at [49] the heart of Peter knocks; But in the echo of the rocks Was something Peter did not like. 470

Whether to cheer his coward breast, Or that he could not break the chain, In this serene and solemn hour, Twined round him by demoniac power, To the blind work he turned again. 475

Among the rocks and winding crags; Among the mountains far away; Once more the a.s.s did lengthen out More ruefully a deep-drawn shout, The hard dry see-saw of his horrible bray! [50] 480

What is there now in Peter's heart!

Or whence the might of this strange sound?

The moon uneasy looked and dimmer, The broad blue heavens appeared to glimmer, And the rocks staggered all around--485

From Peter's hand the sapling dropped!

Threat has he none to execute; "If any one should come and see That I am here, they'll think," quoth he, "I'm helping this poor dying brute." 490

He scans the a.s.s from limb to limb, And ventures now to uplift his eyes; More steady looks the moon, and clear, More like themselves the rocks appear And touch more quiet skies. [51] 495

His scorn returns--his hate revives; He stoops the a.s.s's neck to seize With malice--that again takes flight; For in the pool a startling sight Meets him, among the inverted trees. [52] 500

Is it the moon's distorted face?

The ghost-like image of a cloud?

Is it a gallows [53] there portrayed?