The Beast bestriding thus, he reached
  A spot where, in a sheltering cove, [93]
  A little chapel stands alone,
  With greenest ivy overgrown,
  And tufted with an ivy grove; 855

  Dying insensibly away
  From human thoughts and purposes,
  It seemed—­wall, window, roof and tower [94]—­
  To bow to some transforming power,
  And blend with the surrounding trees. 860

  As ruinous a place it was,
  Thought Peter, in the shire of Fife
  That served my turn, when following still
  From land to land a reckless will [95]
  I married my sixth wife! 865

  The unheeding Ass moves slowly on,
  And now is passing by an inn
  Brim-full of a carousing crew,
  That make, [96] with curses not a few,
  An uproar and a drunken din. 870

  I cannot well express the thoughts
  Which Peter in those noises found;—­
  A stifling power compressed his frame,
  While-as a swimming darkness came [97]
  Over that dull and dreary sound. 875

  For well did Peter know the sound;
  The language of those drunken joys
  To him, a jovial soul, I ween,
  But a few hours ago, had been
  A gladsome and a welcome noise. 880

Now, [98] turned adrift into the past, He finds no solace in his course; Like planet-stricken men of yore, He trembles, smitten to the core By strong compunction and remorse. 885

  But, more than all, his heart is stung
  To think of one, almost a child;
  A sweet and playful Highland girl,
  As light and beauteous as a squirrel,
  As beauteous and as wild! 890

  Her dwelling was a lonely house, [99]
  A cottage in a heathy dell;
  And she put on her gown of green,
  And left her mother at sixteen,
  And followed Peter Bell. 895

  But many good and pious thoughts
  Had she; and, in the kirk to pray,
  Two long Scotch miles, through rain or snow,
  To kirk she had been used to go,
  Twice every Sabbath-day. 900

  And, when she followed Peter Bell,
  It was to lead an honest life;
  For he, with tongue not used to falter,
  Had pledged his troth before the altar
  To love her as his wedded wife. 905

  A mother’s hope is hers;—­but soon
  She drooped and pined like one forlorn;
  From Scripture she a name [100] did borrow;
  Benoni, or the child of sorrow,
  She called her babe unborn. 910

  For she had learned how Peter lived,
  And took it in most grievous part;
  She to the very bone was worn,
  And, ere that little child was born,
  Died of a broken heart. 915