Singing, ‘wont go home till morning,’ with a spirit-tainted breath;
Many a time I’ve passed the ruined abbey hidden in the trees,
Covered with a mouldy mantle like an ancient Schweitzer cheese,
Joyous thoughts I always nourished! now what misery lurks beneath!
Oh, the horrid, horrid abbey, oh, the blasted, blasted heath!
Listen, comrade, and believe me, as I passed the spot this night,
Suddenly the ruined abbey shone revealed one blaze of light;
And before each sep’rate entrance stood, in either hand a torch,
Two huge cats in mourning garments, placed as sentries in the porch!
As I halted, half entrancéd, senses going, eye-balls dim,