All, all is silent, rocks and woods. - All still and silent, far and near! Only the Ass, with motion dull, Turns round his long left ear. Thought Peter, What can mean all this? Some ugly witchcraft must be here! Once more the Ass, with motion dull, Upon the pivot of his skull Turned round his long left ear. Suspicion ripened into dread; The poor Ass staggered with the shock; And then, as if to take his ease, In quiet, uncomplaining mood, Upon the spot where he had stood, As gently on his side he fell, And by the river's brink did lie; And, while he lay like one that mourned, The patient Beast on Peter turned His shining hazel eye. "T was but one mild, reproachful look, And straight in sorrow, not in dread, Upon the Beast the sapling rings; His lank sides heaved, his limbs they stirred; He gave a groan, and then another, Of that which went before the brother, And then he gave a third. All by the moonlight river-side gave three miserable groans; He And not till now hath Peter seen And sharp his staring bones! 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. The meagre Beast lay still as death; An impious oath confirmed the threat, This outcry, on the heart of Peter, Whether to cheer his coward breast, Among the rocks and winding crags; What is there now in Peter's heart? Or whence the might of this strange sound? 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.” He scans the Ass from limb to limb, His scorn returns, his hate revives; With malice that again takes flight; For in the pool a startling sight Meets him, among the inverted trees. Is it the moon's distorted face? A grisly idol hewn in stone? Is it a fiend that to a stake Of fire his desperate self is tethering? Ten thousand miles from all his brethren ? Never did pulse so quickly throb, Ah, well-a-day for Peter Bell! His hat is up, - and every hair He looks, he ponders, looks again; eyes will burst, his heart will break He gives a loud and frightful shriek, And back he falls, as if his life were flown! PART SECOND. WE left our Hero in a trance, Beneath the alders, near the river; |