"Though Nature could not touch his heart By lovely forms, and silent [25] weather, And tender sounds, yet you might see At once, that Peter Bell and she Had often been together. 290 "A savage wildness round him hung As of a dweller out of doors; In his whole figure and his mien A savage character was seen Of mountains and of dreary moors. 295 "To all the unshaped half-human thoughts Which solitary Nature feeds 'Mid summer storms or winter's ice, Had Peter joined whatever vice The cruel city breeds. 300 "His face was keen as is the wind That cuts along the hawthorn-fence; Of courage you saw little there, But, in its stead, a medley air Of cunning and of impudence. 305 "He had a dark and sidelong walk, And long and slouching was his gait; Beneath his looks so bare and bold, You might perceive, his spirit cold Was playing with some inward bait. 310 "His forehead wrinkled was and furred; A work, one half of which was done By thinking of his '_whens_,' and '_hows_'; And half, by knitting of his brows Beneath the glaring sun. 315 "There was a hardness in his cheek, There was a hardness in his eye, As if the man had fixed his face, In many a solitary place, Against the wind and open sky!" 320 * * * * * One night, (and now my little Bess! We've reached at last the promised Tale;) One beautiful November night, When the full moon was shining bright Upon the rapid river Swale, 325 Along the river's winding banks Peter was travelling all alone; Whether to buy or sell, or led By pleasure running in his head, To me was never known. 330 He trudged along through copse and brake, He trudged along o'er hill and dale; Nor for the moon cared he a tittle, And for the stars he cared as little, And for the murmuring river Swale. 335 But, chancing to espy a path That promised to cut short the way; As many a wiser man hath done, He left a trusty guide for one That might his steps betray. 340 To a thick wood he soon is brought Where cheerily [26] his course he weaves, And whistling loud may yet be heard, Though often buried, like a bird Darkling, among the boughs and leaves. 345 But quickly Peter's mood is changed, And on he drives with cheeks that burn In downright fury and in wrath;-- There's little sign the treacherous path Will to the road return! 350