With that resolve he boldly mounts [64]
  Upon the pleased and thankful Ass;
  And then, without a moment’s stay,
  That [65] earnest Creature turned away,
  Leaving the body on the grass. 600

  Intent upon his faithful watch,
  The Beast four days and nights had past;
  A sweeter meadow ne’er was seen,
  And there the Ass four days had been,
  Nor ever once did break his fast:  605

  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 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! 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!—­Him doth he require—­
  Him hath he sought [69] with fruitless pains,
  Among the rocks, behind the trees;
  Now creeping on his hands and knees,
  Now running o’er the open plains. 645

  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! 650

  Of that intense and piercing cry
  The listening Ass conjectures well; [70]
  Wild as it is, he there can read
  Some intermingled notes that plead
  With touches irresistible. 655

  But Peter—­when he saw the Ass
  Not only stop but turn, and change
  The cherished tenor of his pace
  That lamentable cry [71] to chase—­
  It wrought in him conviction strange; 660