And kept his brazen features all unmoved.
The mayor himself with tone severe replied,
"Henceforth with thee shall never boy abide;
Hire thee a freeman, whom thou durst not beat,
But who, in thy despite, will sleep and eat.
Free thou art now!—again shouldst thou appear,
Thou 'lt find thy sentence, like thy soul, severe."
Alas for Peter, not an helping hand,
So was he hated, could he now command:
Alone he rowed his boat, alone he cast
His nets beside, or made his anchor fast;
To hold a rope or hear a curse was none;
He toiled and railed, he groaned and swore, alone.
Thus by himself compelled to live each day,
To wait for certain hours the tide's delay,
At the same times the same dull views to see:
The bounding marsh-bank and the blighted tree;
The water only, when the tides were high,
When low, the mud half-covered and half-dry;
The sunburned tar that blisters on the planks,
And bankside stakes in their uneven ranks;
Heaps of entangled weeds that slowly float,
As the tide rolls by the impeded boat.
When tides were neap, and in the sultry day
Through the tall bounding mud-banks made their way,
Which on each side rose swelling, and below
The dark warm flood ran silently and slow,
There anchoring, Peter chose from man to hide,
There hang his head, and view the lazy tide
In its hot slimy channel slowly glide,
Where the small eels, that left the deeper way
For the warm shore, within the shallows play,
Where gaping mussels, left upon the mud,
Slope their slow passage to the fallen flood.
Here, dull and hopeless, he'd lie down and trace
How sidelong crabs had scrawled their crooked race,
Or sadly listen to the tuneless cry
Of fishing gull or clanging golden-eye,
What time the sea-birds to the marsh would come,
And the loud bittern, from the bull-rush home,
Gave from the salt-ditch side the bellowing boom.
He nursed the feelings these dull scenes produce,
And loved to stop beside the opening sluice,
Where the small stream, confined in narrow bound,
Ran with a dull, unvaried, sadd'ning sound,
Where all presented to the eye or ear
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:
In town, 't was plain, men took him for a thief;
The sailors' wives would stop him in the street,
And say, "Now, Peter, thou'st no boy to beat";
Infants at play, when they perceived him, ran,
Warning each other-"That's the wicked man!"
He growled an oath, and in an angry tone
Cursed the whole place, and wished to be alone.
Alone he was, the same dull scenes in view;
And still more gloomy in his sight they grew:
Though man he hated, yet, employed alone
At bootless labour, he would swear and groan,
Cursing the shoals that glided by the spot,
And gulls that caught them when his arts could not.
Cold, nervous tremblings shook his sturdy frame,
And strange disease-he couldn't say the name.
Wild were his dreams, and oft he rose in fright,
Waked by his view of horrors in the night-
Horrors that would the sternest minds amaze,
Horrors that demons might be proud to raise;
And though he felt forsaken, grieved at heart
To think he lived from all mankind apart,
Yet, if a man approached, in terrors he would start.
A winter passed since Peter saw the town,
And summer lodgers were again come down.
These, idly curious, with their glasses spied
The ships in bay as anchored for the tide,
The river's craft, the bustle of the quay,
And seaport views, which landmen love to see.
One up the river had a man and boat
Seen day by day, now anchored, now afloat;
Fisher he seemed, yet used no net nor hook;
Of sea-fowl swimming by no heed he took,
But on the gliding waves still fixed his lazy look;
At certain stations he would view the stream
As if he stood bewildered in a dream,
Or that some power had chained him for a time,
To feel a curse or meditate on crime.
This known, some curious, some in pity went,
And others questioned, "Wretch, dost thou repent?"
He heard, he trembled, and in fear resigned
His boat: new terror filled his restless mind;
Furious he grew and up the country ran,
And there they seized him-a distempered man.
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,
A lost, lone man, so harassed and undone,
Our gentle females, ever prompt to feel,
Perceived compassion on their anger steal;
His crimes they could n't from their memories blot,
But they were grieved, and trembled at his lot.
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,
And grew so weak he could n't move his frame,
But murmuring spake, while they could see and hear
The start of terror and the groan of fear,
See the large dew-beads on his forehead rise,
And the cold death-drop glaze his sunken eyes.
Nor yet he died, but with unwonted force
Seemed with some fancied being to discourse:
He knew not us, or with accustomed art
He hid the knowledge, yet exposed his heart;
'Twas part confession and the rest defence,
A madman's tale with gleams of waking sense.
"I'll tell you all," he said, "the very day.
When the old man first placed them in my way-
My father's spirit, he who always tried
To give me trouble when he lived and died;
When he was gone he could not be content
To see my days in painful labour spent,
But would appoint his meetings, and he made
Me watch at these and so neglect my trade.
"T was one hot noon, all silent, still, serene;
No living being had I lately seen;
I paddled up and down, and dipped my net,
But (such his pleasure) I could nothing get-
A father's pleasure, when his toil was done,
To plague and torture thus an only son!
And so I sat and looked upon the stream,
How it ran on, and felt as in a dream.
But dream it was not: no! I fixed my eyes
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
Of the salt flood, and never touched a drop;
I would have struck them, but they knew th' intent,
And smiled upon the oar, and down they went.
"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
They would be gone: they heeded not, but stayed;
Nor could I turn, nor would the boat go by,
But, gazing on the spirits, there was I;
They bade me leap to death, but I was loth to die.
And every day, as sure as day arose,
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':
To row away, with all my strength I tried,
But there were they, hard by me in the tide,
The three unbodied forms; and 'Come,' still 'come,' they
Fathers should pity-but this old man shook
His hoary locks, and froze me by a look.
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;
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-
Places accurst, where if a man remain,
He'll see the things which strike him to the brain:
And there they made me on my paddle lean,
And look at them for hours-accursèd scene!
When they would glide to that smooth eddy-space,
Then bid me leap and join them in the place;
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
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.
Still did they force me on the oar to rest;
And when they saw me fainting and oppressed,
He, with his hand, the old man, scooped the flood,
And there came flame about him mixed with blood;
He bade me stoop and look upon the place,
Then flung the hot-red liquor in my face;
Burning it blazed, and then I roared for pain-
I thought the demons would have turned my brain.
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