Peter Bell the Third | Page 7

Percy Bysshe Shelley
atmosphere,
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,
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,
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;
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
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,
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,
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;
To Peter's soul the spell is
bound--
How should it ever pass away?
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