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Part I. He rov'd among the vales and streams,

In the green wood and hollow dell;

They were his dwellings night and day,—

But Nature ne'er could find the way

Into the heart of Peter Bell.

In vain, through every changeful year,

Did Nature lead him as before;

A primrose by a river's brim

A yellow primrose was to him,

And it was nothing more.

Small change it made in Peter's heart

To see his gentle pannier'd train

With more than vernal pleasure feeding,

Where'er the tender grass was leading

Its earliest green along the lane.