Meanwhile the persevering Ass,
  Turned towards a gate that hung in view
  Across a shady lane; [108] his chest
  Against the yielding gate he pressed
  And quietly passed through. 985

  And up the stony lane he goes;
  No ghost more softly ever trod;
  Among the stones and pebbles, he
  Sets down his hoofs inaudibly,
  As if with felt his hoofs were shod. 990

  Along the lane the trusty Ass
  Went twice two hundred yards or more,
  And no one could have guessed his aim,—­
  Till to a lonely house he came,
  And stopped beside the door. [109] 995

  Thought Peter, ’tis the poor man’s home! 
  He listens—­not a sound is heard
  Save from the trickling household rill;
  But, stepping o’er the cottage-sill,
  Forthwith a little Girl appeared. 1000

  She to the Meeting-house was bound
  In hopes [110] some tidings there to gather: 
  No glimpse it is, no doubtful gleam;
  She saw—­and uttered with a scream,
  “My father! here’s my father!” 1005

  The very word was plainly heard,
  Heard plainly by the wretched Mother—­
  Her joy was like a deep affright: 
  And forth she rushed into the light,
  And saw it was another! 1010

  And, instantly, upon the earth,
  Beneath the full moon shining bright,
  Close to [111] the Ass’s feet she fell;
  At the same moment Peter Bell
  Dismounts in most unhappy plight. 1015

  As he beheld the Woman lie [112]
  Breathless and motionless, the mind
  Of Peter sadly was confused;
  But, though to such demands unused,
  And helpless almost as the blind, 1020

  He raised her up; and, while he held
  Her body propped against his knee,
  The Woman waked—­and when she spied
  The poor Ass standing by her side,
  She moaned most bitterly. 1025

  “Oh!  God be praised—­my heart’s at ease—­
  For he is dead—­I know it well!”
—­At this she wept a bitter flood;
  And, in the best way that he could,
  His tale did Peter tell. 1030

  He trembles—­he is pale as death;
  His voice is weak with perturbation;
  He turns aside his head, he pauses;
  Poor Peter from a thousand causes,
  Is crippled sore in his narration. 1035

  At length she learned how he espied
  The Ass in that small meadow-ground;
  And that her Husband now lay dead,
  Beside that luckless river’s bed
  In which he had been drowned. 1040

  A piercing look the Widow [113] cast
  Upon the Beast that near her stands;
  She sees ’tis he, that ’tis the same;
  She calls the poor Ass by his name,
  And wrings, and wrings her hands. 1045