Imatges de pàgina
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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 scrawl'd 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 bulrush 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,
Oppress'd the soul with misery, grief, and fear.
Besides these objects, there were places three,
Which Peter seem'd with certain dread to see;
When he drew near them he would turn from each,
And loudly whistle till he pass'd the reach.

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A change of scene to him brought no relief;
In town, 'twas 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 growl'd an oath, and in an angry tone
Cursed the whole place and wish'd 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 employ'd 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 approach'd, in terrors he would start.
A winter pass'd since Peter saw the town,
And summer-lodgers were again come down;
These, idly curious, with their glasses spied
The ships in bay as anchor'd for the tide,-
The river's craft, the bustle of the quay,-
And sea-port views, which landmen love to see.
One, up the river, had a man and boat
Seen day by day, now anchor'd, now afloat;

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Fisher he seem'd, yet used no net nor hook;
Of sea-fowl swimming by no heed he took,
But on the gliding waves still fix'd his lazy look:
At certain stations he would view the stream,
As if he stood bewilder'd in a dream,

Or that some power had chain'd him for a time,
To feel a curse or meditate on crime.

This known, some curious, some in pity went,
And others question'd-' Wretch, dost thou repent?'
He heard, he trembled, and in fear resign'd
His boat new terror fill'd his restless mind;
Furious he grew, and up the country ran,
And there they seized him- -a distemper'd man :-
Him we received, and to a parish-bed,

Follow'd and curs'd, the groaning man was led.

Here when they saw him, whom they used to shun,
A lost, lone man, so harass'd and undone ;
Our gentle females, ever prompt to feel,
Perceived compassion on their anger steal;

His crimes they could not 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 shudder'd to behold.

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'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 mutter'd, '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 wasn't there:-
What, all agreed ?-Am I to die to-day?-
My Lord, in mercy, give me time to pray.'

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Then, as they watch'd him, calmer he became, And grew so weak he couldn't move his frame,

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But murmuring spake,—while they could see and hear 280
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
Seem'd with some fancied being to discourse :
He knew not us, or with accustom'd 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.

''Twas one hot noon, all silent, still, serene,
No living being had I lately seen;
I paddled up and down and dipp'd 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 look'd upon the stream,
How it ran on, and felt as in a dream :
But dream it was not; no!-I fix'd 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;

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And there they glided ghastly on the top

Of the salt flood, and never touch'd a drop:

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I would have struck them, but they knew th' intent,

And smiled upon the oar, and down they went.

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'Now, from that day, whenever I began

To dip my net, there stood the hard old man

He and those boys: I humbled me and pray'd
They would be gone ;-they heeded not, but stay'd:
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,

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come."

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,
To row away with all my strength I try'd,
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 :

Thrice, when I struck them, through the water came 330

A hollow groan, that weaken'd all my frame:

66 Father! said I, "have mercy: -He replied,

I know not what-the angry spirit lied,—

"Didst thou not draw thy knife?" said he:-'Twas 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 accursed, 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 ;-accursed 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
Enjoy'd my pains and vanish'd 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 oppress'd,
He, with his hand, the old man, scoop'd the flood,
And there came flame about him mix'd 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 roar'd for pain,

I thought the demons would have turn'd my brain.
'Still there they stood, and forced me to behold
A place of horrors-they cannot be told-
Where the flood open'd, there I heard the shriek
Of tortured guilt-no earthly tongue can speak :
"All days alike! for ever! did they say,
"And unremitted torments every day

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Yes, so they said: '-But here he ceased and gazed
On all around, affrighten'd and amazed;
And still he tried to speak, and look'd in dread
Of frighten'd females gathering round his bed;
Then dropp'd exhausted, and appear'd at rest,
Till the strong foe the vital powers possess'd:
Then with an inward, broken voice he cried,
'Again they come,' and mutter'd as he died.

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WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

LINES

COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING THE BANKS OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR. JULY 13, 1798.

FIVE years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear

These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur.-Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild : these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.

These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind,
With tranquil restoration:-feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,

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