The chamber walls were dark all round,-- And to his book he turned again; --The light had left the lonely taper, [83] And formed itself upon the paper Into large letters--bright and plain! 750 The godly book was in his hand-- And, on the page, more black than coal, Appeared, set forth in strange array, A _word_--which to his dying day Perplexed the good man's gentle soul. 755 The ghostly word, thus plainly seen, [84] Did never from his lips depart; But he hath said, poor gentle wight! It brought full many a sin to light Out of the bottom of his heart. 760 Dread Spirits! to confound the meek [85] Why wander from your course so far, Disordering colour, form, and stature! --Let good men feel the soul of nature, And see things as they are. 765 Yet, potent Spirits! well I know, How ye, that play with soul and sense, Are not unused to trouble friends Of goodness, for most gracious ends--[86] And this I speak in reverence! 770 But might I give advice to you, Whom in my fear I love so well; From men of pensive virtue go, Dread Beings! and your empire show On hearts like that of Peter Bell. 775 Your presence often have I [87] felt In darkness and the stormy night; And, with like force, [88] if need there be, Ye can put forth your agency When earth is calm, and heaven is bright. 780 Then, coming from the wayward world, That powerful world in which ye dwell, Come, Spirits of the Mind! and try, To-night, beneath the moonlight sky, What may be done with Peter Bell! 785 --O, would that some more skilful voice My further labour might prevent! Kind Listeners, that around me sit, I feel that I am all unfit For such high argument. 790 I've played, I've danced, [89] with my narration; I loitered long ere I began: Ye waited then on my good pleasure; Pour out indulgence still, in measure As liberal as ye can! 795 Our Travellers, ye remember well, Are thridding a sequestered lane; And Peter many tricks is trying, And many anodynes applying, To ease his conscience of its pain. 800 By this his heart is lighter far; And, finding that he can account So snugly [90] for that crimson stain, His evil spirit up again Does like an empty bucket mount. 805 And Peter is a deep logician Who hath no lack of wit mercurial; "Blood drops--leaves rustle--yet," quoth he, "This poor man never, but for me, Could have had Christian burial. 810