一个旅人走在塞勒姆平原的边缘，半裸着脚，在路上漂泊;他放慢了脚步，但并不是要从他所携带的手杖中获得帮助;因为他的神态和神态都很顽强，尽管他的面颊似乎已被忧虑弄得疲惫不堪。他穿了一件军红色的外套，但已经褪色了，上面粘着许多补丁和碎片。就这样，他一步一步地往前走，看见并经过一家富丽堂皇的客店，他确信在这样的客店里，他是不受欢迎的。那里没有写着穷人的牌子来吸引他们，没有灌木丛向年老、贫穷和荒凉的人宣告:“在这里你会找到一个朋友!”挂在门上的葡萄闪闪发光;——他必须在上面踱步，也许直到夜幕降临，在沉闷的道路上，他们裸露的白色线条延伸。聚集的云被暴风雨的火焰染红了，一条条地散开，高高挂起;他久已经过的那家客店;远处的塔尖，在他回头看的时候曾使他目不转睛，现在却不见了，尽管他仍在看，在一片空白的天空中。 Perplexed and comfortless he gazed around, And scarce could any trace of man descry, Save cornfields stretched and stretching without bound; But where the sower dwelt was nowhere to be found. IV No tree was there, no meadow's pleasant green, No brook to wet his lip or soothe his ear; Long files of corn-stacks here and there were seen, But not one dwelling-place his heart to cheer. Some labourer, thought he, may perchance be near; And so he sent a feeble shout--in vain; No voice made answer, he could only hear Winds rustling over plots of unripe grain, Or whistling thro' thin grass along the unfurrowed plain. V Long had he fancied each successive slope Concealed some cottage, whither he might turn And rest; but now along heaven's darkening cope The crows rushed by in eddies, homeward borne. Thus warned he sought some shepherd's spreading thorn Or hovel from the storm to shield his head, But sought in vain; for now, all wild, forlorn, And vacant, a huge waste around him spread; The wet cold ground, he feared, must be his only bed. VI And be it so--for to the chill night shower And the sharp wind his head he oft hath bared; A Sailor he, who many a wretched hour Hath told; for, landing after labour hard, Full long endured in hope of just reward, He to an armed fleet was forced away By seamen, who perhaps themselves had shared Like fate; was hurried off, a helpless prey, 'Gainst all that in 'his' heart, or theirs perhaps, said nay. VII For years the work of carnage did not cease, And death's dire aspect daily he surveyed, Death's minister; then came his glad release, And hope returned, and pleasure fondly made Her dwelling in his dreams. By Fancy's aid The happy husband flies, his arms to throw Round his wife's neck; the prize of victory laid In her full lap, he sees such sweet tears flow As if thenceforth nor pain nor trouble she could know. VIII Vain hope! for frand took all that he had earned. The lion roars and gluts his tawny brood Even in the desert's heart; but he, returned, Bears not to those he loves their needful food. His home approaching, but in such a mood That from his sight his children might have run. He met a traveller, robbed him, shed his blood; And when the miserable work was done He fled, a vagrant since, the murderer's fate to shun. IX From that day forth no place to him could be So lonely, but that thence might come a pang Brought from without to inward misery. Now, as he plodded on, with sullen clang A sound of chains along the desert rang; He looked, and saw upon a gibbet high A human body that in irons swang, Uplifted by the tempest whirling by; And, hovering, round it often did a raven fly. X It was a spectacle which none might view, In spot so savage, but with shuddering pain; Nor only did for him at once renew All he had feared from man, but roused a train Of the mind's phantoms, horrible as vain. The stones, as if to cover him from day, Rolled at his back along the living plain; He fell, and without sense or motion lay; But, when the trance was gone, feebly pursued his way. XI As one whose brain habitual phrensy fires Owes to the fit in which his soul hath tossed Profounder quiet, when the fit retires, Even so the dire phantasma which had crossed His sense, in sudden vacancy quite lost, Left his mind still as a deep evening stream. Nor, if accosted now, in thought engrossed, Moody, or inly troubled, would he seem To tr