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: