Page:Peter Bell (Wordsworth).djvu/92

76 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.

At length she learn'd 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 drown'd.

A piercing look the sufferer 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.