Page:Peter Bell (Wordsworth).djvu/78

62 Let them whose voice can stop the clouds—

Whose cunning eye can see the wind—

Tell to a curious world the cause

Why, making here a sudden pause,

The Ass turn'd round his head—and grinn'd.

Appalling process!—I have mark'd

The like on heath—in lonely wood,

And, verily, have seldom met

A spectacle more hideous—yet

It suited Peter's present mood.

And, grinning in his turn, his teeth

He in jocose defiance show'd—

When, to confound his spiteful mirth,

A murmur, pent within the earth,

In the dead earth beneath the road,