large/5160/peterbell_1807_librivox_64kb_mp3/peterbellatale_04_wordsworth_64kb_38
large/5160/peterbell_1807_librivox_64kb_mp3/peterbellatale_04_wordsworth_64kb
English
5160
945 "Repent! repent!" he cries aloud, "While yet ye may find mercy;  strive To love the Lord with all your might; Turn to him, seek him day and night, And save your souls alive! REPENT REPENT HE CRIES ALOUD WHILE YET YE MAY FIND MERCY STRIVE TO LOVE THE LORD WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT TURN TO HIM SEEK HIM DAY AND NIGHT AND SAVE YOUR SOULS ALIVE
eter Bell; Upon the rights of visual sense Usurping, with a prevalence More terrible than magic spell. [101] 920 Close by a brake of flowering furze (Above it shivering aspens play) He sees an unsubstantial creature, His very self in form and feature, Not four yards from the broad highway: 925 And stretched 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!" 930 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! 935 Calm is the well-deserving brute, _His_ peace hath no offence betrayed; But now, while down that slope he wends, A voice to Peter's ear [102] ascends, Resounding from the woody glade: 940 The voice, though clamorous as a horn Re-echoed by a naked rock, Comes from that tabernacle--List! [103] Within, a fervent [104] Methodist Is preaching to no heedless flock! D WAS BORN DIED OF A BROKEN HEART AND NOW THE SPIRITS OF THE MIND ARE BUSY WITH POOR PETER BELL UPON THE RITES OF VISUAL SENSE USURPING WITH A PREVALENCE MORE TERRIBLE THAN MAGIC SPELL CLO BY A BRAKE OF FLOWERING FIRS ABOVE IT SHIVERING ASPENS PLAY HE SEES AN UNSUBSTANTIAL CREATURE HIS VERY SELF IN FORM AND FEATURE NOT FOUR YARDS FROM THE BROAD HIGHWAY AND STRETCHED BENEATH THE FIRS 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 EYEBALLS ACHE WHILE HE BEHOLDS BY THE FIRS BREAK THIS MISERABLE VISION CALM IS THE WELL DESERVING BRUTE HIS PEACE HATH NO OFFENCE BETRAYED BUT NOW WHILE DOWN THAT SLOPE HE WENDS A VOICE TO PETER'S EAR ASCENDS RESOUNDING FROM THE WOODY GLADE THE VOICE THOUGH CLAMOROUS AS A HORN RE ECHOED BY NAKED ROCK COMES FROM THAT TABERNACLE LIST WITHIN A FERVENT METHODIST IS PREACHING TO NO HEEDLESS FLOCK
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