Part I: Death

And Peter Bell, when he had beenWith fresh-imported Hell-fire warmed,Grew serious--from his dress and mien'Twas very plainly to be seenPeter was quite reformed.

His eyes turned up, his mouth turned down;His accent caught a nasal twang;He oiled his hair; there might be heardThe grace of God in every wordWhich Peter said or sang.

But Peter now grew old, and hadAn ill no doctor could unravel:His torments almost drove him mad;--Some said it was a fever bad--Some swore it was the gravel.

His holy friends then came about,And with long preaching and persuasionConvinced the patient that, withoutThe smallest shadow of a doubt,He was predestined to damnation.

They said--'Thy name is Peter Bell;Thy skin is of a brimstone hue;Alive or dead--ay, sick or well--The one God made to rhyme with hell;The other, I think, rhymes with you.

Then Peter set up such a yell!--The nurse, who with some water gruelWas climbing up the stairs, as wellAs her old legs could climb them--fell,And broke them both--the fall was cruel.

The Parson from the casement leptInto the lake of Windermere--And many an eel--though no adeptIn God's right reason for it--keptGnawing his kidneys half a year.

And all the rest rushed through the doorAnd tumbled over one another,And broke their skulls.--Upon the floorMeanwhile sat Peter Bell, and swore,And cursed his father and his mother;

And raved of God, and sin, and death,Blaspheming like an infidel;And said, that with his clenched teethHe'd seize the earth from underneath,And drag it with him down to hell.

As he was speaking came a spasm,And wrenched his gnashing teeth asunder;Like one who sees a strange phantasmHe lay,--there was a silent chasmBetween his upper jaw and under.

And yellow death lay on his face;And a fixed smile that was not humanTold, as I understand the case,That he was gone to the wrong place:--I heard all this from the old woman.

Then there came down from Langdale PikeA cloud, with lightning, wind and hail;It swept over the mountains likeAn ocean,--and I heard it strikeThe woods and crags of Grasmere vale.

And I saw the black storm comeNearer, minute after minute;Its thunder made the cataracts dumb;With hiss, and clash, and hollow hum,It neared as if the Devil was in it.

The Devil WAS in it:--he had boughtPeter for half-a-crown; and whenThe storm which bore him vanished, noughtThat in the house that storm had caughtWas ever seen again.

The gaping neighbours came next day--They found all vanished from the shore:The Bible, whence he used to pray,Half scorched under a hen-coop lay;Smashed glass--and nothing more!