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;
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 cursed, 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. 
   “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.” 
   Then as they watch’d him, calmer he became,
And grew so weak he couldn’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
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 —