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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;
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