That I am here, they'll think," quoth he,
"I'm helping this poor dying brute." 490

He scans the Ass from limb to limb,
And ventures now to uplift his eyes;
More steady looks the moon, and clear,
More like themselves the rocks appear
And touch more quiet skies. [51] 495

His scorn returns--his hate revives;
He stoops the Ass's neck to seize
With malice--that again takes flight;
For in the pool a startling sight
Meets him, among the inverted trees. [52] 500

Is it the moon's distorted face?
The ghost-like image of a cloud?
Is it a gallows [53] there portrayed?
Is Peter of himself afraid?
Is it a coffin,--or a shroud? 505

A grisly idol hewn in stone?
Or imp from witch's lap let fall?
Perhaps a ring of shining fairies?
Such as pursue their feared vagaries [54]
In sylvan bower, or haunted hall? 510

Is it a fiend that to a stake
Of fire his desperate self is tethering?
Or stubborn spirit doomed to yell