The sight fills the watcher with mirth 'stead of fear,
And the sly one, the Tempter, speaks low in his ear:
"Now go and a winding-sheet plunder!"
The hint he soon followed, the deed it was done,
Then behind the church-door he sought shelter;
The moon in her splendour unceasingly shone,
And still dance the dead helter-skelter.
At last, one by one, they all cease from the play,
And, wrapt in the winding-sheets, hasten away,
Beneath the turf silently sinking.