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;
And there they glided ghastly on the top
Of the salt flood, and never touch’d 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 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,
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 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
A hollow groan, that weaken’d 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:  —­’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 they did force me on the oar to rest,
And when they saw me fainting and oppress’d,