And now the Spirits of the Mind
  Are busy with poor Peter Bell;
  Upon the rights of visual sense
  Usurping, with a prevalence
  More terrible than magic spell. [101] 920

  Close by a brake of flowering furze
  (Above it shivering aspens play)
  He sees an unsubstantial creature,
  His very self in form and feature,
  Not four yards from the broad highway:  925

  And stretched beneath the furze he sees
  The Highland girl—­it is no other;
  And hears her crying as she cried,
  The very moment that she died,
  “My mother! oh my mother!” 930

  The sweat pours down from Peter’s face,
  So grievous is his heart’s contrition;
  With agony his eye-balls ache
  While he beholds by the furze-brake
  This miserable vision! 935

Calm is the well-deserving brute, His peace hath no offence betrayed; But now, while down that slope he wends, A voice to Peter’s ear [102] ascends, Resounding from the woody glade:  940

  The voice, though clamorous as a horn
  Re-echoed by a naked rock,
  Comes from that tabernacle—­List! [103]
  Within, a fervent [104] Methodist
  Is preaching to no heedless flock! 945

  “Repent! repent!” he cries aloud,
  “While yet ye may find mercy;—­strive
  To love the Lord with all your might;
  Turn to him, seek him day and night,
  And save your souls alive! 950

  “Repent! repent! though ye have gone,
  Through paths of wickedness and woe,
  After the Babylonian harlot;
  And, though your sins be red as scarlet,
  They shall be white as snow!” 955

  Even as he passed the door, these words
  Did plainly come to Peter’s ears;
  And they such joyful tidings were,
  The joy was more than he could bear!—­
  He melted into tears. 960

  Sweet tears of hope and tenderness! 
  And fast they fell, a plenteous shower! 
  His nerves, his sinews seemed to melt;
  Through all his iron frame was felt
  A gentle, a relaxing, power! 965

  Each fibre of his frame was weak;
  Weak all the animal within;
  But, in its helplessness, grew mild
  And gentle as an infant child,
  An infant that has known no sin. 970

  ’Tis said, meek Beast! that, through Heaven’s grace,[105] [H]
  He not unmoved did notice now
  The cross [I] upon thy shoulder scored,
  For lasting impress, by the Lord [106]
  To whom all human-kind shall bow; 975

  Memorial of his touch—­that day [107]
  When Jesus humbly deigned to ride,
  Entering the proud Jerusalem,
  By an immeasurable stream [J]
  Of shouting people deified! 980