The place of courage, and at length he tried. He grasp’d the key—Alas! though great his need, The key turn’d not, the bolt would not recede. Try then again; for what will not distress? Again he tried, and with the same success. Yet one remains, remains untried one door— 610 A failing hope, for two had fail’d before; But a bold prince, with fifty doors in sight, Tried forty-nine before he found the right; Before he mounted on the brazen horse, And o’er the walls pursued his airy course. So his cold hand on this last key he laid: “Now turn,” said he; the treacherous bolt obey’d— The door receded—bringing full in view The dim, dull chapel, pulpit, desk, and pew. It was not right—it would have vex’d a saint; 620 And Peter’s anger rose above restraint. “Was this her love,” he cried, “to bring me here, Among the dead, to die myself with fear!”— For Peter judged, with monuments around, The dead must surely in the place be found:— “With cold to shiver, and with hunger pine! ‘We’ll see the rooms,’ she said, ‘before we dine;’ And spake so kind! That window gives no light: } Here is enough the boldest man to fright; } It hardly now is day, and soon it will be night.” 630} Deeply he sigh’d, nor from his heart could chase The dread of dying in that dismal place; Anger and sorrow in his bosom strove, And banish’d all that yet remain’d of love; When soon despair had seized the trembling Boy— But hark, a voice! the sound of peace and joy. “Where art thou, lad?”—“Oh! here am I, in doubt, And sorely frighten’d—can you let me out?”— “Oh! yes, my child; it was indeed a sin, Forgetful as I was, to bolt you in. 640 I left you reading, and from habit lock’d The door behind me, but in truth am shock’d To serve you thus; but we will make amends For such mistake. Come, cheerly, we are friends.” “Oh! yes,” said Peter, quite alive to be So kindly used, and have so much to see, And having so much seen; his way he spied, Forgot his peril, and rejoin’d his guide. Now all beheld, his admiration raised, The lady thank’d, her condescension praised, 650 And fix’d the hour for dinner, forth the Boy Went in a tumult of o’erpowering joy, To view the gardens, and what more was found In the wide circuit of that spacious ground; Till, with his thoughts bewilder’d, and oppress’d With too much feeling, he inclined to rest. Then in the park he sought its deepest shade, By trees more aged than the mansion made, That ages stood; and there unseen a brook Ran not unheard, and thus our traveller spoke— 660 “I am so happy, and have such delight, I cannot bear to see another sight; It wearies one like work;” and so, with deep Unconscious sigh—he laid him down to sleep. Thus he reclining slept, and, oh! the joy That in his dreams possess’d the happy Boy— Composed of all he knew, and all he read,