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Prologue.
PETER BELL.
13
Off flew my sparkling Boat in scorn,
Yea in a trance of indignation!
And I, as well as I was able,
On two poor legs, to my stone-table
Limp'd on with some vexation.
"O, here he is!" cried little Bess—
She saw me at the garden door,
"We've waited anxiously and long,"
They cried, and all around me throng,
Full nine of them, or more!
Reproach me not—your fears be still—
Be thankful we again have met;—
Resume, my Friends! within the shade
Your seats, and promptly shall be paid
The well-remembered debt.
