That unintelligible cry Hath left him high in preparation,-- Convinced that he, or soon or late, This very night will meet his fate-- And so he sits in expectation! 695

[75]

The strenuous Animal hath clomb With the green path; and now he wends Where, shining like the smoothest sea, In undisturbed immensity A [76] level plain extends. 700

But whence this faintly-rustling sound By which the journeying pair are chased?

--A withered leaf is close behind, [77]

Light plaything for the sportive wind Upon that solitary waste. 705

When Peter spied the moving thing, It only doubled his distress; [78]

"Where there is not a bush or tree, The very leaves they follow me-- So huge hath been my wickedness!" 710

To a close lane they now are come, Where, as before, the enduring a.s.s Moves on without a moment's stop, Nor once turns round his head to crop A bramble-leaf or blade of gra.s.s. 715

Between the hedges as they go, The white dust sleeps upon the lane; And Peter, ever and anon Back-looking, sees, upon a stone, Or in the dust, a crimson stain. 720

A stain--as of a drop of blood By moonlight made more faint and wan; Ha! why these sinkings of despair? [79]

He knows not how the blood comes there-- And Peter is a wicked man. 725

At length he spies a bleeding wound, Where he had struck the a.s.s's head; [80]

He sees the blood, knows what it is,-- A glimpse of sudden joy was his, But then it quickly fled; 730

Of him whom sudden death had seized He thought,--of thee, O faithful a.s.s!

And once again those ghastly pains, Shoot to and fro through heart and reins, And through his brain like lightning pa.s.s. [81] 735

PART THIRD

I've heard of one, a gentle Soul, Though given to sadness and to gloom, And for the fact will vouch,--one night It chanced that by a taper's light This man was reading in his room; 740

Bending, as you or I might bend At night o'er any pious book, [82]

When sudden blackness overspread The snow white page on which he read, And made the good man round him look. 745

The chamber walls were dark all round,-- And to his book he turned again; --The light had left the lonely taper, [83]

And formed itself upon the paper Into large letters--bright and plain! 750

The G.o.dly book was in his hand-- And, on the page, more black than coal, Appeared, set forth in strange array, A _word_--which to his dying day Perplexed the good man's gentle soul. 755

The ghostly word, thus plainly seen, [84]

Did never from his lips depart; But he hath said, poor gentle wight!

It brought full many a sin to light Out of the bottom of his heart. 760

Dread Spirits! to confound the meek [85]

Why wander from your course so far, Disordering colour, form, and stature!

--Let good men feel the soul of nature, And see things as they are. 765

Yet, potent Spirits! well I know, How ye, that play with soul and sense, Are not unused to trouble friends Of goodness, for most gracious ends--[86]

And this I speak in reverence! 770

But might I give advice to you, Whom in my fear I love so well; From men of pensive virtue go, Dread Beings! and your empire show On hearts like that of Peter Bell. 775

Your presence often have I [87] felt In darkness and the stormy night; And, with like force, [88] if need there be, Ye can put forth your agency When earth is calm, and heaven is bright. 780

Then, coming from the wayward world, That powerful world in which ye dwell, Come, Spirits of the Mind! and try, To-night, beneath the moonlight sky, What may be done with Peter Bell! 785

--O, would that some more skilful voice My further labour might prevent!

Kind Listeners, that around me sit, I feel that I am all unfit For such high argument. 790

I've played, I've danced, [89] with my narration; I loitered long ere I began: Ye waited then on my good pleasure; Pour out indulgence still, in measure As liberal as ye can! 795

Our Travellers, ye remember well, Are thridding a sequestered lane; And Peter many tricks is trying, And many anodynes applying, To ease his conscience of its pain. 800

By this his heart is lighter far; And, finding that he can account So snugly [90] for that crimson stain, His evil spirit up again Does like an empty bucket mount. 805

And Peter is a deep logician Who hath no lack of wit mercurial; "Blood drops--leaves rustle--yet," quoth he, "This poor man never, but for me, Could have had Christian burial. 810

"And, say the best you can, 'tis plain, That here has [91] been some wicked dealing; No doubt the devil in me wrought; I'm not the man who could have thought An a.s.s like this was worth the stealing!" 815

So from his pocket Peter takes His shining horn tobacco-box; And, in a light and careless way, As men who with their purpose play, Upon the lid he knocks. 820

Let them whose voice can stop the clouds, Whose cunning eye can see the wind, Tell to a curious world the cause Why, making here a sudden pause, The a.s.s turned round his head, and _grinned_. 825

Appalling process! I have marked The like on heath, in lonely wood; And, verily, have seldom met A spectacle more hideous--yet It suited Peter's present mood. 830

And, grinning in his turn, his teeth He in jocose defiance showed-- When, to upset [92] his spiteful mirth, A murmur, pent within the earth, In the dead earth beneath the road, 835

Rolled audibly! it swept along, A m.u.f.fled noise--a rumbling sound!-- 'Twas by a troop of miners made, Plying with gunpowder their trade, Some twenty fathoms underground. 840

Small cause of dire effect! for, surely, If ever mortal, King or Cotter, Believed that earth was charged to quake And yawn for his unworthy sake, 'Twas Peter Bell the Potter. 845

But, as an oak in breathless air Will stand though to the centre hewn; Or as the weakest things, if frost Have stiffened them, maintain their post; So he, beneath the gazing moon!--850

The Beast bestriding thus, he reached A spot where, in a sheltering cove, [93]

A little chapel stands alone, With greenest ivy overgrown, And tufted with an ivy grove; 855

Dying insensibly away From human thoughts and purposes, It seemed--wall, window, roof and tower [94]-- To bow to some transforming power, And blend with the surrounding trees. 860

As ruinous a place it was, Thought Peter, in the shire of Fife That served my turn, when following still From land to land a reckless will [95]

I married my sixth wife! 865

The unheeding a.s.s moves slowly on, And now is pa.s.sing by an inn Brim-full of a carousing crew, That make, [96] with curses not a few, An uproar and a drunken din. 870

I cannot well express the thoughts Which Peter in those noises found;-- A stifling power compressed his frame, While-as a swimming darkness came [97]

Over that dull and dreary sound. 875

For well did Peter know the sound; The language of those drunken joys To him, a jovial soul, I ween, But a few hours ago, had been A gladsome and a welcome noise. 880

_Now_, [98] turned adrift into the past, He finds no solace in his course; Like planet-stricken men of yore, He trembles, smitten to the core By strong compunction and remorse. 885