£^v EM f^H- DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Treasure %gpm Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2013 http://archive.org/details/peterbelltaleinvOOword PETER BELL PETER BELL, %alt in Wltw, BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. LONDON: Printed by Strahan and Spottiswoode, Printers- Street ; FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 1819. kn TV. VV3: TO ROBERT SOUTHEY, Esq. P.L. MY DEAR FRIEND, The Tale of Peter Bell, which I now introduce to your notice, and to that of the Public, has, in its Manuscript state, nearly survived its minority / — for it first saw the light in the summer of 1798. During this long inter- val, pains have been taken at different times to make the production less unworthy of a favour- able reception; or, rather, to fit it for filling permanently a station, however humble, in the Literature of my Country. This has, indeed, Q 9 1 r: n -,- IV DEDICATION. , been the aim of all my endeavours in Poetry, which, you know, have been sufficiently labo- rious to prove that I deem the Art not lightly to be approached ; and that the attainment of excellence in it, may laudably be made the principal object of intellectual pursuit by any man, who, with reasonable consideration of cir- cumstances, has faith in his own impulses. The Poem of Peter Bell, as the Prologue will shew, was composed under a belief that the Imagination not only does not require for its exercise the intervention of supernatural agency, but that, though such agency be excluded, the faculty may be called forth as imperiously, and for kindred results of pleasure, by incidents, within the compass of poetic probability, in the humblest departments of daily life. Since that Prologue was written, you have exhibited most DEDICATION. V splendid effects of judicious daring, in the oppo- site and usual course. Let this acknowledg- ment make my peace with the lovers of the supernatural ; and I am persuaded it will be admitted, that to you as a Master in that pro- vince of the art, the following Tale, whether from contrast or congruity, is a not unappro- priate offering. Accept it then as a public tes- timony of affectionate admiration from one with whose name your's has been often coupled (to use your own words) for evil and for good j and believe me to be, with earnest wishes that life and health may be granted you to complete the many important works in which you are engaged, and with high respect, Most faithfully your's, William Wordswort& 9 Rydal Mount, April 7. 1819. *\9 PROLOGUE. FT! 1 here's something in a flying horse, And something in a huge balloon ; But through the clouds I'll never float Until I have a little Boat, Whose shape is like the crescent-moon. And now I have a little Boat, In shape a very crescent-moon : — Fast through the clouds my Boat can sail ; But if perchance your faith should fail, Look up — and you shall see me soon ! PETER BELL. Prologue, The woods, my Friends, are round you roaring, Rocking and roaring like a sea; The noise of danger fills your ears, And ye have all a thousand fears Both for my little Boat and me ! Meanwhile I from the helm admire The pointed horns of my canoe ; And, did not pity touch my breast, To see how ye are all distrest, Till my ribs ach'd, Fd laugh at you ! Away we go, my Boat and I — Frail man ne'er sate in such another ; Whether among the winds we strive, Or deep into the heavens we dive, Each is contented with the other. Prologue. PETER BELL. Away we go — and what care we For treasons, tumults, and for wars ? We are as calm in our delight As is the crescent-moon so bright Among the scattered stars. Up goes my Boat between the stars Through many a breathless field of light, Through many a long blue field of ether, Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her, Up goes my little Boat so bright ! The Crab — the Scorpion — and the Bull We pry among them all — have shot High o'er the red-hair'd race of Mars Cover'd from top to toe with scars ; Such company I like it not ! b 2 PETER BELL. Prologue. The towns in Saturn are ill-built, But proud let him be who has seen them ; The Pleiads, that appear to kiss Each other in the vast abyss, With joy I sail between them ! Swift Mercury resounds with mirth, Great Jove is full of stately bowers ; But these, and all that they contain, What are they to that tiny grain, That darling speck of ours ! Then back to Earth, the dear green Earth ; Whole ages if I here should roam, The world for my remarks and me Would not a whit the better be ; I've left my heart at home. Prologue. PETER BELL. And there it is, the matchless Earth ! There spreads the fam'd Pacific Ocean ! Old Andes thrusts yon craggy spear Through the grey clouds — the Alps are here , Like waters in commotion ! Yon tawny slip is Lybia's sands — That silver thread the river Dnieper — And look, where cloth'd in brightest green Is a sweet Isle, of isles the queen ; Ye fairies from all evil keep her ! And see the town where I was born ! Around those happy fields we span In boyish gambols — I was lost Where I have been, but on this coast I feel I am a man. B 3 PETER BELL. Prologue, Never did fifty things at once Appear so lovely, never, never, — How tunefully the forests ring ! To hear the earth's soft murmuring Thus could I hang for ever [ " Shame on you," cried my little Boat, " Was ever such a heartless loon, Within a living Boat to sit, And make no better use of it, A Boat twin-sister of the crescent-moon I Out — out — ■ and, like a brooding hen. Beside your sooty hearth-stone cower ; Go, creep along the dirt, and pick Your way with your good walking-stick, Just three good miles an hour ! Prologue. PETER BELL. Ne'er in the breast of full-grown Poet Flutter'd so faint a heart before — * Was it the music of the spheres That overpower'd your mortal ears ? -7 Such din shall trouble them no more. These nether precincts do not lack Charms of their own ; — then come with me I want a comrade, and for you There's nothing that I would not do ; Nought is there that you shall not see. Haste ! and above Siberian snows We'll sport amid the boreal morning, Will mingle with her lustres gliding Among the stars, the stars now hiding And now the stars adorning. b 4 PETER BELL. Prologue- I know the secrets of a land Where human foot did never stray ; Fair is the land as evening skies, And cool, — though in the depth it lies Of burning Africa. Or we'll into the realm of Faery, Among the lovely shades of things ; The shadowy forms of mountains bare, And streams, and bowers, and ladies fair ; The shades of palaces and kings \ Or, if you thirst with hardy zeal Less quiet regions to explore, Prompt voyage shall to you reveal How earth and heaven are taught to feel The might of magic lore f" Prologue. PETER BELL, " My little vagrant Form of light, My gay and beautiful Canoe, Well have you play'd your friendly part; As kindly take what from my heart Experience forces— - then adieu ! Temptation lurks among your words ; But, while these pleasures you're pursuing Without impediment or let, My radiant Pinnace, you forget What on the earth is doing. There was a time when all mankind Did listen with a faith sincere To tuneful tongues in mystery vers'd ; Then Poets fearlessly rehears'd The wonders of a wild career. 10 PETER BELL. Prologue. Go — but the world's a sleepy world And 'tis, I fear, an age too late; Take with you some ambitious Youth, For I myself, in very truth, Am ail unfit to be your mate. Long have I lov'd what I behold, The night that calms, the day that cheers : The common growth of mother earth Suffices me — her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears. The dragon's wing, the magic ring, I shall not covet for my dower, If I along that lowly way With sympathetic heart may stray And with a soul of power. Prologue. PETER BELL. 11 These given, what more need I desire, To stir — to sooth — or elevate ? What nobler marvels than the mind May in life's daily prospect find, May find or there create ? A potent wand doth Sorrow wield ; What spell so strong as guilty Fear ! Repentance is a tender sprite ; If aught on earth have heavenly might, 'Tis lodg'd within her silent tear. But grant my wishes, — let us now Descend from this ethereal height ; Then take thy way, adventurous Skiff, More daring far than Hippogriffi And be thy own delight ! 12 PETER BELL. Prologue- To the stone-table in my garden, Lov'd haunt of many a summer hour, The Squire is come ; — his daughter Bess Beside him in the cool recess Sits blooming like a flower. With these are many more convened ; They know not I have been so far — I see them there in number nine Beneath the spreading Weymouth pine — I see them — there they are ! There sits the Vicar, and his Dame; And there my good friend, Stephen Otter : And, ere the light of evening fail, To them I must relate the Tale Of Peter Bell the Potter." Prologue. PETER BELL. 13 Off flew my sparkling Boat in scorn, Yea in a trance of indignation ! And I, as well as I was able, On two poor legs, to my stone-table Limp'd on with some vexation. " O, here he is !" cried little Bess — She saw me at the garden door, " We've waited anxiously and long," They cried, and all around me throng, Full nine of them, or more ! Reproach me not — your fears be still I Be thankful we again have met ; — Resume, my Friends ! within the shade Your seats, and promptly shall be paid The well-remembered debt. U PETER BELL. Prologue. Breath fail'd me as I spake — but soon With lips, no doubt, and visage pale, And sore too from a slight contusion, Did I, to cover my confusion, Begin the promised Tale. PART FIRST. All by the moonlight river side It gave three miserable groans ; ♦ " 'Tis come then to a pretty pass," Said Peter to the groaning Ass, " But I will bang your bones !" " Good Sir !" — the Vicar's voice exclaim'd, " You rush at once into the middle ;" And little Bess, with accent sweeter, Cried, " O dear Sir ! but who is Peter?" Said Stephen, — " 'Tis a downright riddle !" 1(5 PETER BELL. Part I. The Squire said, " Sure as paradise " Was lost to man by Adam's sinning, " This leap is for us all too bold ; " Who Peter was, let that be told, " And start from the beginning." A potter, Sir, he was by trade, Said I, becoming quite collected ; And/ wheresoever he appeared, Full twenty times was Peter feared For once that Peter was respected. He two and thirty years or more Had been a wild and woodland rover ; Had heard the Atlantic surges roar On farthest Cornwall's rocky shore, And trod the cliffs of Dover. Part I. PETER BELL. 17 And he had seen Caernarvon's towers, And well he knew the spire of Sarum ; And he had been where Lincoln bell I Flings o'er the fen its ponderous knell, Its far-renowned alarum ! At Doncaster, at York, and Leeds, And merry Carlisle had he been ; And all along the Lowlands fair, All through the bonny shire of Ayr — And far as Aberdeen. And he had been at Inverness ; And Peter, by the mountain rills, Had danced his round with Highland lasses ; And he had lain beside his asses On lofty Cheviot Hills : 18 PETER BELL. Part I And he had trudg'd through Yorkshire dales, Among the rocks and winding scar$ ; Where deep and low the hamlets lie Beneath their little patch of sky And little lot of stars : And all along the indented coast, Bespattered with the salt-sea foam ; Where'er a knot of houses lay, On headland, or in hollow bay ^ — Sure never man like him did roam ! As well might Peter, in the Fleet, Have been fast bound, a begging debtor ; — He travelled here, he travelled there ; — But not the value of a hair Was heart or head the better. Part I. PETER BELL. 19 He rov'd among the vales and streams, In the green wood and hollow dell; They were his dwellings night and day, — But Nature ne'er could find the way Into the heart of Peter Bell. In vain, through every changeful year, Did Nature lead him as before ; A primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him, And it was nothing more. Small change it made in Peter's heart To see his gentle pannier'd train With more than vernal pleasure feeding, Where'er the tender grass was leading Its earliest green along the lane. c 2 20 PETER BELL, Part I. In vain, through water, earth, and air, The soul of happy sound was spread, When Peter, on some April morn, Beneath the broom or budding thorn, Made the warm earth his lazy bed. At noon, when by the forest's edge He lay beneath the branches high, The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart, — he never felt I The witchery of the soft blue sky ! On a fair prospect some have look'd And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as stedfast as the scene On which they gaz'd themselves away. Part I. PETER BELL. 21 With Peter Bell, I need not tell That this had never been the case ; — He was a Carl as wild and rude As ever hue-and-cry pursued, As ever ran a felon's race. Of all that lead a lawless life, Of all that love their lawless lives, In city or in village small, He was the wildest far of all; — He had a dozen wedded wives. Nay start not ! — wedded wives — and twelve ! But how one wife could e'er come near him, In simple truth I cannot tell ; For be it said of Peter Bell To see him was to fear him. c 3 22 PETER BELL. Part I. Though Nature could not touch his heart By lovely forms and silent weather, And tender sounds, yet you might see At once that Peter Bell and she Had often been together. A savage wildness round him hung As of a dweller out of doors ; In his whole figure and his mien A savage character was seen, Of mountains and of dreary moors. To all the unshap'd half human thoughts Which solitary Nature feeds 'Mid summer storms or winter's ice, Had Peter join'd whatever vice The cruel city breeds. Part L PETER BELL. 23 His face was keen as is the wind That cuts along the hawthorn fence; Of courage you saw little there, But, in its stead, a medley air Of cunning and of impudence. He had a dark and sidelong walk, And long and slouching was his gait ; Beneath his looks so bare and bold, You might perceive, his spirit cold Was playing with some inward bait. His forehead wrinkled was and furr'd ; A work one half of which was done By thinking of his whens and hotvs ; And half by knitting of his brows Beneath the glaring sun. c 4 24 PETER BELL. Part I, There was a hardness in his cheek ? There was a hardness in his eye, As if the man had fix'd his face, In many a solitary place, Against the wind and open sky I One night, (and now, my little Bess [ We've reach'd at last the promis'd Tale;) One beautiful November night, When the full moon was shining bright Upon the rapid river Swale, 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» Part I. PETER BELL. 25 He trudg'd along through copse and brake, He trudg'd along o'er hill and dale ; Nor for the moon car'd he a tittle, And for the stars he car'd as little, And for the murmuring river Swale. But chancing to espy a path That promis'd to cut short the way, As many a wiser man hath done, He left a trusty guide for one That might his steps betray. To a thick wood he soon is brought Where cheerfully his course he weaves, And whistling loud may yet be heard, Though often buried, like a bird Darkling among the boughs and leaves. 26 PETER BELL. Part I. But quickly Peter's mood is chang'd, 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 ! The path grows dim, and dimmer still; Now up — now down — the rover wends With all the sail that he can carry ; Till lie is brought to an old quarry, And there the pathway ends. " What ! would'st thou daunt me grisly den ? " Back must I, having come so far ? " Stretch as thou wilt thy gloomy jaws, " I'll on, nor would I give two straws " For lantern or for star !" Part I. PETER BELL. 27 And so, where on the huge rough stones The black and massy shadows lay, And through the dark, and through the cold, And through the yawning fissures old. Did Peter boldly press his way Right through the quarry ; — and behold A scene of soft and lovely hue ! Where blue, and grey, and tender green, Together made as sweet a scene As ever human eye did view. 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 encompass'd round. 28 PETER BELL. Part I. The Swale flow'd under the grey rocks, But he flow'd 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 ! Now you'll suppose that Peter Bell Felt small temptation here to tarry, And so it was, — but I must add, His heart was not a little glad When he was out of the old quarry. And is there no one dwelling here, No hermit with his beads and glass? And does no little cottage look Upon this soft and fertile nook ? Does no one live near this green grass ? Part I. PETER BELL. 29 Across that deep and quiet spot Is Peter driving through the grass — And now he is among the trees ; When, turning round his head, he sees A solitary Ass. " No doubt I'm founder'd in these woods — " For once," quoth he, " I will be wise, " With better speed I'll back again — " And, lest the journey should prove vain, " Will take yon Ass, my lawful prize I" Off Peter hied, — "A comely beast ! " Though not so plump as he might be ; " My honest friend, with such a platter, ct You should have been a little fatter, " But come, Sir, come with me !" 30 PETER BELL. Part I. But first doth Peter deem it fit To spy about him far and near ; There's not a single house in sight, No woodman's hut, no cottage light — Peter you need not fear ! There's nothing to be seen but woods And rocks that spread a hoary gleam, And this one beast that from the bed Of the green meadow hangs his head Over the silent stream. His head is with a halter bound; The halter seizing, Peter leapt Upon the Ass's back, and plied With ready heel the creature's side ; But still the Ass his station kept. Part I. PETER BELL. 31 " What's this !" cried Peter, brandishing A new-peel'd sapling white as cream ; The Ass knew well what Peter said, But, as before, hung down his head Over the silent stream. Then Peter gave a sudden jirk, A jirk 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 ! Quoth Peter, leaping from his seat, " There is some plot against me laid ;" Once more the little meadow ground And all the hoary cliffs around He cautiously survey'd. 32 PETER BELL. Part I. All, all is silent, rocks and woods, All still and silent — far and near ; Only the Ass, with motion dull, Upon the pivot of his skull 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 Turn'd round his long left ear. " I'll cure you of these desperate tricks" — And, with deliberate action slow, His staff high-raising, in the pride Of skill, upon the Ass's hide He dealt a sturdy blow. Part I. PETER BELL. What followed ? — yielding to the shock The Ass, as if to take his ease, In quiet uncomplaining mood Upon the spot where he had stood Dropt gently down upon his knees. And then upon his side he fell And by the river's brink did lie And, as he lay like one that mourn'd, The patient beast on Peter turn'd His shining hazel eye. Twas but one mild, reproachful look, A look more tender than severe ; And straight in sorrow, not in dread, He turn'd the eye-ball in his head Towards the river deep and clear. D 3± PETER BELL. Part I. Upon the beast the sapling rings, — Heav'd his lank sides, his limbs they stirr'd; 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 He gave three miserable groans, " 'Tis come then to a pretty pass," Said Peter to the groaning ass, " But I will bang your bones !" And Peter halts to gather breath. And now full clearly was it shown (What he before in part had seen) How gaunt was the poor Ass and lean* Yea wasted to a skeleton ! Part I. PETER BELL. 35 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 — And Peter's lips with fury quiver — Quoth he, " You little mulish dog, " I'll fling your carcase like a log " Head foremost down the river i" An impious oath confirmed the threat — But, while upon the ground he lay, To all the echoes, south and north, And east and west, the Ass sent forth A loud and piteous bray ! d 2 36 PETER BELL. Part I. This outcry, on the heart of Peter, Seems like a note of joy to strike, — Joy on the heart of Peter knocks ; — But in the echo of the rocks Was something Peter did not like* Whether to cheer his coward breast r Or that he could not break the chain, In this serene and solemn hour, Twin'd round him by demoniac power,, To the blind work he turn'd again. — Among the rocks and winding crags — * Among the mountains far away — Once more the Ass did lengthen out More ruefully an endless shout, The long dry see-saw of his horrible bray I Parti. PETER BELL. *37 What is there now in Peter's heart ? Or whence the might of this strange sound ? The moon uneasy look'd and dimmer, The broad blue heavens appear'd to glimmer, And the rocks stagger'd all around. From Peter's hand the sapling dropp'd ! 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 ; And Peter now uplifts his eyes ; — Steady the moon doth look and clear, And like themselves the rocks appear, And tranquil are the skies. d 3 38 PETER BELL. Part I. Whereat, in resolute mood, once more He stoops the Ass's neck to seize — Foul purpose, quickly put to flight ! For in the pool a startling sight Meets him, beneath the shadowy trees. Is it the moon's distorted face ? The ghost-like image of a cloud ? Is it a gallows there pourtray'd t Is Peter of himself afraid ? Is it a coffin, — or a shroud ? A grisly idol hewn in stone ? Or imp from witch's lap let fall ? Or a gay ring of shining fairies, Such as pursue their brisk vagaries In sylvan bower, or haunted hall ? Part I. PETER BELL. 39 It is a fiend that to a stake Of fire his desperate self is tethering ? Or stubborn spirit doom'd to yell In solitary ward or cell, Ten thousand miles from all his brethren ? Is it a party in a parlour ? Cramm'd just as they on earth were cramm'd — Some sipping punch, some sipping tea, But, as you by their faces see, All silent and all damn'd ! A throbbing pulse the Gazer hath — Puzzled he was, and now is daunted ; He looks, he cannot choose but look ; Like one intent upon a book — A book that is enchanted. d 4 40 PETER BELL. Part I. Ah, well-a-day for Peter Bell ! — He will be turned to iron soon, Meet Statue for the court of Fear ! His hat is up — and every hair Bristles — and whitens in the moon I He looks — he ponders — looks again ; He sees a motion — hears a groan ; — His eyes will burst — his heart will break — He gives a loud and frightful shriek, And drops, a senseless weight, as if his life were flown ! PART SECOND. We left our Hero in a trance, Beneath the alders, near the river ; The Ass is by the river side, And, where the ieeble breezes glide, Upon the stream the moon-beams quiver. A happy respite ! — but he wakes •, — And feels the glimmering of the moon — - And to stretch forth his hands is trying ; - Sure, when he knows where he is lying, He'll sink into a second swoon. 42 PETER BELL. Part II. He lifts his head —he sees his staff; He touches — 'tis to him a treasure ! Faint recollection seems to tell That he is yet where mortals dwell — A thought receiv'd with languid pleasure ! His head upon his elbow propp'd, Becoming less and less perplex' d Sky- ward he looks — to rock and wood — And then — upon the placid flood His wandering eye is fix'd. Thought he, that is the face of one In his last sleep securely bound ! So, faltering not in this intent, He makes his staff an instrument The river's depth to sound — Part II. PETER BELL. 43 Now — like a tempest-shatter'd bark That overwhelm'd and prostrate lies And in a moment to the verge Is lifted of a foaming surge — Full suddenly the Ass doth rise ! His staring bones all shake with joy — And close by Peter's side he stands : While Peter o'er the river bends, The little Ass his neck extends, And fondly licks his hands. Such life is in the Ass's eyes — - Such life is in his limbs and ears — That Peter Bell, if he had been The veriest coward ever seen, Must now have thrown aside his fears, 44 PETER BELL. Part II. The Ass looks on — and to his work Is Peter quietly resign'd ; He touches here — he touches there — And now among the dead man's hair His sapling Peter has entwin'd. He pulls — and looks — and pulls again, And he whom the poor Ass had lost, The man who had been four days dead, Head foremost from the river's bed Uprises — like a ghost ! And Peter draws him to dry land ; And through the brain of Peter pass Some poignant twitches, fast and faster, " No doubt," quoth he, " he is the master " Of this poor miserable Ass !" Part II. PETER BELL. 45 The meagre Shadow all this while — What aim is his ? what is he doing ? His sudden fit of joy is flown, — He on his knees hath laid him down, As if he were his grief renewing. That Peter on his back should mount He shows a wish, well as he can, " I'll go, I'll go, whate'er betide — " He to his home m^t way will guide, " The cottage of the drowned man." This utter'd, Peter mounts forthwith Upon the pleas'd and thankful Ass ; And then, without a moment's stay, The earnest creature turn'd away, Leaving the body on the grass. 46 PETER BELL. Part II. Intent upon his faithful watch The beast four days and nights had pass'd ; A sweeter meadow ne'er was seen, And there the Ass four days had been, Nor ever once did break his fast ! Yet firm his step, and stout his heart ; The mead is cross'd — the quarry's mouth Is reach'd — but there the trusty guide Into a thicket turns aside, And takes his way towards the south. When hark, a burst of doleful sound ! And Peter honestly might say, The like came never to his ears Though he has been full thirty years A rover night and day ! Part II. PETER BELL. 47 'Tis not a plover of the moors, 'Tis not a bittern of the fen ; Nor can it be a barking fox — Nor night-bird chamber'd in the rocks — * Nor wild-cat in a woody glen ! The Ass is startled — and stops short Right in the middle of the thicket ; And Peter, wont to whistle loud Whether alone or in a crowd, Is silent as a silent cricket. What ails you now, my little Bess ? Well may you tremble and look grave ! This cry — that rings along the wood, This cry — that floats adown the flood, Comes from the entrance of a cave : 48 PETER BELL. Part II. I see a blooming Wood-boy there, And, if I had the power to say How sorrowful the wanderer is, Your heart would be as sad as his Till you had kiss'd his tears away ! Holding a hawthorn branch in hand, All bright with berries ripe and red ; Into the cavern's mouth he peeps — Thence back into the moon-light creeps; What seeks the boy ? — the silent dead ! His father ! — Him doth- he require, Whom he hath sought with fruitless pains. Among the rocks, behind the trees, Now creeping on his hands and knees, Now running o'er the open plains. Part II. PETER BELL. 49 And hither is he come at last, When he through such a day has gone, By this dark cave to be distrest Like a poor bird — her plunder'd nest Hovering around with dolorous moan ! Of that intense and piercing cry The listening Ass doth rightly spell ; Wild as it is he there can read Some intermingl'd notes that plead With touches irresistible ; But Peter, when he saw the Ass Not only stop but turn, and change The cherish'd tenor of his pace That lamentable noise to chase, It wrought in him conviction strange ; 50 PETER BELL. Part II. A faith that, for the dead man's sake And this poor slave who lov'd him well, Vengeance upon his head will fall, Some visitation worse than all Which ever till this night befel. Meanwhile the Ass to gain his end Is striving stoutly as he may; But, while he climbs the woody hill, The cry grows weak — and weaker still. And now at last it dies away ! So with his freight the creature turns Into a gloomy grove of beech, Along the shade with footstep true Descending slowly, till the two The open moonlight reach. Part IL PETER BELL. 51 And there, along a narrow dell, A fair smooth pathway you discern, A length of green and open road — As if it from a fountain flowed — Winding away between the fern. The rocks that tower on either side Build up a wild fantastic scene ; Temples like those among the Hindoos, And mosques, and spires, and abbey windows, And castles all with ivy green ! And, while the Ass pursues his way, Along this solitary dell, As pensively his steps advance, The mosques and spires change countenance, And look at Peter Belli E 2 52 PETER BELL. Part II. 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 ! The verdant pathway, in and out, Winds upwards like a straggling chain ; And, when two toilsome miles are past, Up through the rocks it leads at last Into a high and open plain. The strenuous animal hath clomb With the green path, — and now he wends Where, shining like the smoothest sea, In undisturbed immensity The level plain extends. Part II. PETER BELL. 53 How blank ! — but whence this rustling sound Which, all too long, the pair hath chased ! — A dancing leaf is close behind, Light plaything for the sportive wind Upon that solitary waste. When Peter spies the withered leaf, It yields no cure to his distress — " Where there is not a bush or tree,. " The very leaves they follow me — " So huge hath been my wickedness 1" To a close lane they now are come, Where, as before, the enduring Ass Moves on without a moment's stop, Nor once turns round his head to crop A bramble leaf or blade of grass. E 3 54 PETER BELL. Part IL 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* A stain — as of a drop of blood By moonlight made more faint and wan — Ha ! why this comfortless despair ? He knows not how the blood comes there, And Peter is a wicked man. At length he spies a bleeding wound, Where he had struck the Ass's head ; He sees the blood, knows what it is, — A glimpse of sudden joy was his, But then it quickly fled ; Part II. PETER BELL. 55 Of him whom sudden death had seized He thought, — of thee, O faithful Ass ! And once again those darting pains, As meteors shoot through heaven's wide plains, Pass through his bosom — and repass ! E 4 PART THIRD. I've heard of one, a gentle soul. Though given to sadness and to gloomy, And for the fact will vouch, one night It chanced that by a taper's light This man was reading in his room ; Reading, as you or I might read At night in any pious book, When sudden blackness overspread The snow-white page on which he read, And made the good man round him look. Part III. PETER BELL. £f The chamber walls were dark all round, — And to his book he turn'd again ; — The light had left the good man's taper, And form'd itself upon the paper, Into large letters — bright and plain ! The godly 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 Perplex'd the good man's gentle soul. The ghostly word, which thus was fram'd, 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. 58 PETER BELL. Part III. Dread Spirits ! to torment the good 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. I know you, potent Spirits ! well, How with the feeling and the sense Playing, ye govern foes or friends, Yok'd to your will, for fearful ends — And this I speak in reverence ! 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. Part HI. PETER BELL, 59 Your presence I have often felt In darkness and the stormy night ; And well I know, if need there be, Ye can put forth your agency When earth is calm, and heaven is bright. 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 ! — 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, , 60 PETER BELL. PartllL I've play'd and danc'd with my narration — I loiter'd long ere I began ; Ye waited then on my good pleasure, — Pour out indulgence still, in measure As liberal as ye can ! Our travellers, ye remember well, Are thridding a sequester'd lane ; And Peter many tricks is trying, And many anodynes applying, To ease his conscience of its pain. By this his heart is lighter far ; And, finding that he can account So clearly for that crimson stain, His evil spirit up again Does like an empty bucket mount. Part III. PETER BELL. §1 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. " And, say the best you can, 'tis plain " That here hath been some wicked dealing; " No doubt the devil in me wrought ; — " I'm not the man who could have thought " An Ass like this was worth the stealing !" 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. 62 PETER BELL. Part III. 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 Ass turn'd round his head — and grinrCd. Appalling process ! — I have mark'd The like on heath — in lonely wood, And, verily, have seldom met A spectacle more hideous — yet It suited Peter's present mood. And, grinning in his turn, his teeth He in jocose defiance show'd — When, to confound his spiteful mirth, A murmur, pent within the earth, In the dead earth beneath the road, Part III. PETER BELL. 63 Roll'd audibly ! — it swept along — A muffled noise — a rumbling sound ! 'Twas by a troop of miners made, Plying with gunpowder their trade, Some twenty fathoms under ground. Small cause of dire effect ! — for, surely, If ever mortal, King or Cotter, Believed that earth was charg'd to quake And yawn for his unworthy sake, 'Twas Peter Bell the Potter ! But, as an oak in breathless air Will stand though to the centre hewn, Or as the weakest things, if frost Have stiffen'd them, maintain their post, So he, beneath the gazing moon ! — 64 PETER BELL. Part III. But now the pair have reach'd a spot Where, shelter 1 d by a rocky cove, A little chapel stands alone, With greenest ivy overgrown, And tufted with an ivy grove. Dying insensibly away From human thoughts and purposes, The building seems, wall, roof, and tower To bow to some transforming power, \ And blend with the surrounding trees. Deep sighing as he pass'd along, Quoth Peter, " In the shire of Fife, 6 *'Mid such a ruin, following still " From land to land a lawless will, «* I married my sixth wife !" Part III. PETER BELL. 65 The unheeding Ass moves slowly on, And now is passing by an inn Brim-full of a carousing crew, Making, with curses not a few, An uproar and a drunken din. I cannot well express the thoughts Which Peter in those noises found ; — A stifling power compressed his frame, As if confusing darkness came Over that dull and dreary sound. 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* 66 PETER BELL. Part III. Now, turn'd 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. But more than all, his heart is stung To think of one, almost a child ; A sweet and playful Highland girl ? As light and beauteous as a squirrel* As beauteous and as wild ! A lonely house her dwelling was, A cottage in a heathy dell ; And she put on her gown of green- And left her mother at sixteen^ And followed Peter Bell, Part IIL PETER BELL. 67 But many good and pious thoughts Had she ; and, in the kirk to pray, Two long Scotch miles, through rain or snow. To kirk she had been used to go, Twice every sabbath-day. And, when she folio w'd Peter Bell, It was to lead an honest life ; For he, with tongue not used to falter, Had pledg'd his troth before the altar To love her as his wedded wife. A mother's hope is her's ; — but soon She droop'd and pin'd like one forlorn ; — - From Scripture she a name did borrow ; Benoni, or the child of sorrow, She calPd her babe unborn. F 2 PETER BELL. Part III. For she had learn'd how Peter hVd, And took it in most grievous part ; She to the very bone was worn, And, ere that little child was born, Died of a broken heart. And now the Spirits of the Mind Are busy with poor Peter Bell ; Distraction reigns in soul and sense, And reason drops in impotence From her deserted pinnacle [ Close by a brake of flowering furze (Above it shivering aspins play) He sees an unsubstantial creature, His very self in form and feature, Not four yards from the broad highway ; Part III. PETER BELL. 69 And stretch'd beneath the furze he sees The Highland girl — it is no other ; And hears her crying, as she cried The very moment that she died, " My mother ! oh my mother !" The sweat pours down from Peter's face, So grievous is his heart's contrition ; With agony his eye-balls ache While he beholds by the furze-brake This miserable vision ! Calm is the well-deserving brute, His peace, hath no offence betray'd ; — But now, while down that slope he wends, A voice to Peter's ears ascends, Resounding from the woody glade i F 3 70 PETER BELL, Part III. Though clamorous as a hunter's horn Re-echoed from a naked rock, 'Tis from that tabernacle — List ! Within, a fervent Methodist Is preaching to no heedless flock. " Repent ! repent ! he cries aloud, " While yet ye may find mercy ; ! — strive " To love the Lord with all your might j " Turn to him, seek him day and night, " And save your souls alive ! " Repent ! repent ! though ye have gone " Through paths of wickedness and woe " After the Babylonian harlot, " And though your sins be red as scarlet M They shall be white as snow !" Part III. PETER BELL. 71, Even as he pass'd the door, these words Did plainly come to Peter's ears ; And they such joyful tidings were The joy was more than he could bear — He melted into tears, Sweet tears of hope and tenderness ! And fast they fell, a plenteous shower ; His nerves, his sinews seem'd to melt f Through all his iron frame was felt A gentle, a relaxing power ! Each fibre of his frame was weak, Weak all the animal within, But in its helplessness grew mild And gentle as an infant child, An infant that has known no sin. f 4 72 PETER BELL. Part II£ 'Tis said, that through prevailing grace He not unmov'd did notice now The cross * upon thy shoulders scored Meek beast ! in memory of the Lord To whom all human-kind shall bow ; In memory of that solemn day When Jesus humbly deign'd to ride Entering the proud Jerusalem, By an immeasurable stream Of shouting people deified ! Meanwhile the persevering Ass, Towards a gate in open view Turns up a narrow lane ; his chest Against the yielding gate he pressed, And quietly pass'd through. * The notion is very general, that the Cross on the back and shoulders of this Animal has the origin here alluded to. Part III. PETER BELL. 73 And up the stony lane he goes ; No ghost more softly ever trod ; Among the stones and pebbles, he Sets down his hoofs inaudibly, As if with felt his hoofs were shod. Along the lane the trusty Ass Had gone two hundred yards, not more; When to a lonely house he came ; He turn'd aside towards the same And stopp'd before the door. Thought Peter, 'tis the poor man's home ! He listens — not a sound is heard Save from the trickling household rill ; But, stepping o'er the cottage-sill, Forthwith a little girl appear'd. 74? PETER BELL. Part III. She to the meeting-house was bound In hope some tidings there to gather — No glimpse it is — no doubtful gleam — She saw — and utter'd with a scream, " My father ! here's my father I" The very word was plainly heard, Heard plainly by the wretched Mother — Her joy was like a deep affright ; And forth she rush'd into the light, And saw it was another ! And instantly, upon the earth Beneath the full-moon shining bright, Close at the Ass's feet she fell ; At the same moment Peter Bell Dismounts in most unhappy plight. Part III. PETER BELL. 75 What could he do ? — The Woman lay Breathless and motionless ; — the mind Of Peter sadly was confus'd ; But, though to such demands unus'd, And helpless almost as the blind, He rais'd her up ; and, while he held Her body propp'd against his knee, The Woman wak'd — and when she spied The poor Ass standing by her side, She moaned most bitterly. " Oh ! God be prais'd ! — my heart's at ease «— " For he is dead — I know it well !" — At this she wept a bitter flood ; And, in the best way that he could., His tale did Peter tell. 76 PETER BELL. Part III. He trembles — he is pale as death — His voice is weak with perturbation — He turns aside his head — he pauses ; Poor Peter from a thousand causes Is crippled sore in his narration. At length she learn'd how he espied The Ass in that small meadow ground ; And that her husband now lay dead, Beside that luckless river's bed In which he had been drown'd. A piercing look the sufferer cast Upon the beast that near her stands ;; She sees 'tis he, that 'tis the same ; She calls the poor Ass by his name, And wrings, and wrings her hands. Part III. PETER BELL. 77 " O wretched loss ! — untimely stroke ! " If he had died upon his bed ! " — He knew not one forewarning pain — " He never will come home again — " Is dead — for ever dead !" Beside the Woman Peter stands ; His heart is opening more and more ; A holy sense pervades his mind ; He feels what he for human kind Had never felt before. At length, by Peter's arm sustain'd, The Woman rises from the ground — " Oh, mercy ! something must be done, — " My little Rachael, you must run, " Some willing neighbour must be found, 78 PETER BELL. Part III. " Make haste — my little Rachael — do ! " The first you meet with bid him come, — " Ask him to lend his horse to-night, — " And this good man, whom Heaven requite, " Will help to bring the body home." Away goes Rachael weeping loud ; — An infant, waked by her distress, Makes in the house a piteous cry, — And Peter hears the Mother sigh, " Seven are they, and all fatherless !" And now is Peter taught to feel That man's heart is a holy thing ; And Nature, through a world of death, Breathes into him a second breath, More searching than the breath of spring. Part III. PETER BELL, 79 Upon a stone the Woman sits In agony of silent grief — From his own thoughts did Peter start ; He longs to press her to his heart, From love that cannot find relief. But rous'd, as if through every limb Had pass'd a sudden shock of dread, The Mother o'er the threshold flies, And up the cottage stairs she hies, And to the pillow gives her burning head. And Peter turns his steps aside Into a shade of darksome trees, Where he sits down, he knows not how, With his hands press'd against his brow. And resting on his tremulous knees* 80 PETER BELL. Part III. There, self-involv'd, does Peter sit Until no sign of life he makes. As if his mind were sinking deep Through years that have been long asleep ! The trance is past away — he wakes, — He turns, his head — and sees the Ass Yet standing in the clear moonshine, " When shall I be as good as thou ? w Oh ! would, poor beast, that I had now " A heart but half as good as thine !" — But He — who deviously hath sought His father through the lonesome woods, Hath sought, proclaiming to the ear Of night, his inward grief and fear — He comes — escaped from fields and floods ; — Part III. PETER BELL, 81 With weary pace is drawing nigh — He sees the Ass — and nothing living Had ever such a fit of joy As had this little orphan Boy, For he has no misgiving ! Towards the gentle Ass he springs, And up about his neck he climbs ; In loving words he talks to him, He kisses, kisses face and limb, — He kisses him a thousand times ! This Peter sees, while in the shade He stood beside the cottage door : And Peter Bell, the ruffian wild, Sobs loud, he sobs even like a child, " Oh ! God, I can endure no more !'" 82 PETER BELL. PartlH. — Here ends my Tale : — for in a trice Arrived a neighbour with his horse ; Peter went forth with him straightway ; And, with due care, ere break of day Together they brought back the Corse. And many years did this poor Ass, Whom once it was my luck to see Cropping the shrubs of Leming-Lane, Help by his labour to maintain The Widow and her family. And Peter Bell, who, till that night, Had been the wildest of his clan, Forsook his crimes, repressed his folly, And, after ten months 7 melancholy, Became a good and honest man. SONNETS, SUGGESTED BY Mr.W.WESTALL'S views of THE CAVES, &c. IN YORKSHIRE. The following Sonnets having lately appeared in Periodical Publications are here reprinted. SONNETS, I. Pure element of waters ! wheresoe'er Thou dost forsake thy subterranean haunts, Green herbs, bright flowers, and berry-bearing plants, — Rise into life and in thy train appear: And, through the sunny portion of the year, Swift insects shine, thy hovering pursuivants : And, if thy bounty fail, the forest pants ; And hart and hind and hunter with his spear, Languish and droop together. Nor unfelt In man's perturbed soul thy sway benign ; And, haply, far within the marble belt Of central earth, where tortured Spirits pine For grace and goodness lost, thy murmurs melt Their anguish, — and they blend sweet songs with thine! * * Waters (as Mr. Westall informs us in the letter-press prefixed to his admirable views) are invariably found to flow through these caverns. 86 SONNETS. II. OORDALE. At early dawn, — or rather when the air Glimmers with fading light, and shadowy eve Is busiest to confer and to bereave, — Then, pensive votary, let thy feet repair To Gor dale-chasm, terrific as the lair Where the young lions couch ; — for so, by leave Of the propitious hour, thou may'st perceive The local Deity, with oozy hair And mineral crown, beside his jagged urn Recumbent : — Him thou may'st behold, who hides His lineaments by day, and there presides, Teaching the docile waters how to turn ; Or, if need be, impediment to spurn, And force their passage to the salt-sea tides ! SONNETS. 87 III. MALHAM COVE. Was the aim frustrated by force or guile, When giants scoop'd from out the rocky ground — Tier under tier — this semicirque profound ? (Giants — the same who built in Erin*s isle That Causeway with incomparable toil !) O, had this vast theatric structure wound With finish'd sweep into a perfect round, No mightier work had gain'd the plausive smile Of all-beholding Phoebus ! But, alas, Vain earth ! — false world ! Foundations must be laid In Heav'n ; for, mid the wreck of is and was, Things incomplete and purposes betrayed Make sadder transits o'er truth's mystic glass Than noblest objects utterly decayed. SS SONNETS. COMPOSED DURING ONE OF THE MOST AWFUL OF THE LATE STORMS, FEB. 1819. One who was suffering tumult in his soul Yet fail'd to seek the sure relief of prayer Went forth — his course surrendering to the care Of the fierce wind, while mid-day lightnings prowl Insidiously, — untimely thunders growl, — While trees, dim-seen, in frenzied numbers tear The lingering remnant of their yellow hair, — And shivering wolves, surpris'd with darkness, howl As if the sun were not ; — he lifted high His head — and in a moment did appear Large space, mid dreadful clouds, of purest sky, An azure orb — shield of Tranquillity, Invisible unlook'd-for minister Of providential goodness ever nigh ! THE END. Printed by Strahan and Spottiswoode, Printers- Street, London. m >* m $m %