large/5160/peterbell_1807_librivox_64kb_mp3/peterbellatale_03_wordsworth_64kb_27
large/5160/peterbell_1807_librivox_64kb_mp3/peterbellatale_03_wordsworth_64kb
English
5160
635 Grasping [67] a hawthorn branch in hand, All bright with berries ripe and red, Into the cavern's mouth he peeps; Thence back into the moonlight creeps; Whom seeks he  whom?  the silent dead: [68] 640 His father! GRASPING A HAWTHORN BRANCH IN HAND ALL BRIGHT WITH BERRIES RIPE AND RED INTO THE CAVERN'S MOUTH HE PEEPS THENCE BACK INTO THE MOONLIGHT CREEPS WHOM SEEKS HE WHOM THE SILENT DEAD HIS FATHER
 mead is crossed--the quarry's mouth Is reached; but there the trusty guide Into a thicket turns aside, And deftly ambles [66] towards the south. 610 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! 615 'Tis not a plover of the moors, 'Tis not a bittern of the fen; Nor can it be a barking fox, Nor night-bird chambered in the rocks, Nor wild-cat in a woody glen! 620 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. 625 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: 630 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 kissed his tears away! ID BREAK HIS FAST YET FIRM HIS STEP AND STOUT HIS HEART THE MEAT IS CROSSED THE QUARRY'S MOUTH IS REACHED BUT THERE THE TRUSTY GUIDE INTO A THICKET TURNS ASIDE AND DEFTLY AMBLES TOWARD THE SOUTH WHEN HARK A BURST OF DOLEFUL SOUND AND PETER HONESTLY MIGHT SAY THE LIGHT CAME NEVER TO HIS EARS THOUGH HE HAS BEEN FULL THIRTY YEARS A ROVER NIGHT AND DAY TIS NOT A PLOVER OF THE MOORS TIS NOT A BITTERN OF THE FEN NOR CAN IT BE A BARKING FOX NOR NIGHT BIRD CHAMBERED 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 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 KISSED HIS TEARS AWAY
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