And kept his brazen features all unmoved. Alas for Peter, not an helping hand, His nets beside, or made his anchor fast; 160 165 To hold a rope or hear a curse was none; He toiled and railed, he groaned and swore, alone. 170 Thus by himself compelled to live each day, To wait for certain hours the tide's delay, 175 180 When tides were neap, and in the sultry day Through the tall bounding mud-banks made their way, 185 190 Of fishing gull or clanging golden-eye, 195 What time the sea-birds to the marsh would come, He nursed the feelings these dull scenes produce, Oppressed the soul with misery, grief, and fear. Besides these objects, there were places three Which Peter seemed with certain dread to see; When he drew near them, he would turn from each, And loudly whistle till he passed the reach. A change of scene to him brought no relief: Alone he was, the same dull scenes in view; 200 205 210 215 220 And gulls that caught them when his arts could not. 225 230 Yet, if a man approached, in terrors he would start. One up the river had a man and boat 235 Fisher he seemed, yet used no net nor hook; 240 Of sea-fowl swimming by no heed he took, But on the gliding waves still fixed his lazy look; Or that some power had chained him for a time, 245 This known, some curious, some in pity went, And others questioned, "Wretch, dost thou repent?" 250 Him we received; and to a parish-bed, Followed and cursed, the groaning man was led. Here when they saw him whom they used to shun, 255 A lost, lone man, so harassed and undone, Our gentle females, ever prompt to feel, His crimes they could n't from their memories blot, 260 A priest too came, to whom his words are told, And all the signs they shuddered to behold: "Look! look!" they cried; "his limbs with horror shake! And as he grinds his teeth, what noise they make! How glare his angry eyes, and yet he's not awake! See! what cold drops upon his forehead stand, And how he clenches that broad bony hand!" The priest attending, found he spoke at times As one alluding to his fears and crimes. "It was the fall," he muttered; "I can show The manner how-I never struck a blow": And then aloud, “Unhand me, free my chain! On oath, he fell-it struck him to the brain!Why ask my father? that old man will swear Against my life; besides, he was n't there! What, all agreed? Am I to die to-day? My Lord, in mercy give me time to pray!" Then, as they watched him, calmer he became, 265 270 275 And grew so weak he could n't move his frame, But murmuring spake, while they could see and hear 280 The start of terror and the groan of fear, 285 290 295 I paddled up and down, and dipped my net, 300 305 On the mid stream, and saw the spirits rise; I saw my father on the water stand, And hold a thin pale boy in either hand; And there they glided ghastly on the top 310 Of the salt flood, and never touched a drop; I would have struck them, but they knew th' intent, "Now, from that day, whenever I began To dip my net, there stood the hard old manHe and those boys. I humbled me, and prayed 315 They would be gone: they heeded not, but stayed; They bade me leap to death, but I was loth to die. 320 Would these three spirits meet me ere the close; To hear and mark them daily was my doom, And 'Come,' they said, with weak, sad voices, 'come': But there were they, hard by me in the tide, The three unbodied forms; and 'Come,' still 'come,' they cried. Fathers should pity-but this old man shook His hoary locks, and froze me by a look. 325 Thrice, when I struck them, through the water came 330 A hollow groan, that weakened all my frame. 'Father!' said I, 'have mercy!' He replied I know not what-the angry spirit lied 'Didst thou not draw thy knife?' said he: 't was true, But I had pity and my arm withdrew; 335 He cried for mercy, which I kindly gave, But he has no compassion in his grave. "There were three places where they ever rose The whole long river has not such as those- 340 He'll see the things which strike him to the brain: 345 And at my groans each little villain sprite Enjoyed my pains and vanished in delight. "In one fierce summer day, when my poor brain Was burning-hot, and cruel was my pain, Then came this father-foe, and there he stood 350 With his two boys again upon the flood; There was more mischief in their eyes, more glee In their pale faces, when they glared at me. 355 And there came flame about him mixed with blood; 360 I thought the demons would have turned my brain. |