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Full Title
The complete poetical works of William Wordsworth: together with a description of the country of the lakes in the north of England, now first published with his works ... / edited by Henry Reed.
Author
Wordsworth, William, 1770-1850. Melville, Herman, 1819-1891.
Date Added
8 January 2014
Language
English
Publish Date
1839
Publisher
Philadelphia: J. Kay, Jun. and brother; Boston: J. Munroe and Co.; [etc., etc.]
Source
Woodstock Theological Center Library, Georgetown University.
Topic
Wordsworth, William, 1770-1850. Melville, Herman, 1819-1891. English poetry.
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OCR
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POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION.
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,
The Ass looks on—and to his work
Is ‘Peter quietly resigned;
He touches here—he touches there—
And now among the dead man’s hair
His sapling Peter has entwined.
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 !””
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 Jaid him down,
As if he were his grief renewing.
But no—his purpose and his wish
The Suppliant shows, well as he can;
Thought Peter, whatsoe’er betide,
I'll go, and-he.my way will guide
To the cottage of the drowned man.
This hoping, Peter boldly mounts
Upon the pleased and thankful: Ass;
And then, without a moment’s stay,
That earnest Creature turned away,
Leaving the body on the grass.
Intent upon his faithful watch,
The Beast four days and nights had past;
A sweeter meadow ne’er was scen,
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 crossed — the quarry’s mouth
Is reached —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!
‘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!
Holding 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;
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.
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 plundered nest
Hovering around with dolorous moan !
Of that intense and piercing cry
The listening Ass conjectures. well;
Wild as it is, he there can read
Some intermingled notes that plead
With touches irresistible ;
But Peter, when he saw the Ass
Not only stop but turn, and change
The cherished tenor of his pace .
That lamentable noise to chase,
It. wrought in him conviction strange ;
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