14.
But in his verse, and in his prose,
The essence of his dulness was
Concentred and compressed so close, 720
'Twould have made Guatimozin doze
On his red gridiron of brass.
15.
A printer's boy, folding those pages,
Fell slumbrously upon one side;
Like those famed Seven who slept three ages. 725
To wakeful frenzy's vigil--rages,
As opiates, were the same applied.
16.
Even the Reviewers who were hired
To do the work of his reviewing,
With adamantine nerves, grew tired;-- 730
Gaping and torpid they retired,
To dream of what they should be doing.
17.
And worse and worse, the drowsy curse
Yawned in him, till it grew a pest--
A wide contagious atmosphere, 735
Creeping like cold through all things near;
A power to infect and to infest.
18.
His servant-maids and dogs grew dull;
His kitten, late a sportive elf;
The woods and lakes, so beautiful, 740
Of dim stupidity were full.
All grew dull as Peter's self.
19.
The earth under his feet--the springs,
Which lived within it a quick life,
The air, the winds of many wings, 745
That fan it with new murmurings,
Were dead to their harmonious strife.
20.
The birds and beasts within the wood,
The insects, and each creeping thing,
Were now a silent multitude; 750
Love's work was left unwrought--no brood
Near Peter's house took wing.
21.
And every neighbouring cottager
Stupidly yawned upon the other:
No jackass brayed; no little cur 755
Cocked up his ears;--no man would stir
To save a dying mother.
22.
Yet all from that charmed district went
But some half-idiot and half-knave,
Who rather than pay any rent, 760
Would live with marvellous content,
Over his father's grave.
23.
No bailiff dared within that space,
For fear of the dull charm, to enter;
A man would bear upon his face, 765
For fifteen months in any case,
The yawn of such a venture.
24.
Seven miles above--below--around--
This pest of dulness holds its sway;
A ghastly life without a sound; 770
To Peter's soul the spell is bound--
How should it ever pass away?
End of Project Gutenberg's Peter Bell the Third, by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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