Where rotting herbage grew;
The ghost said, "Joseph, take your time,"
And Joseph murmured, "ph—ew!"
At length a dark and gloomy pond
Appeared to block the track;
The spirit was for goin' on,
And Joe for goin' back.
Before the breeze his shirt-tails blow,
And though he's sore distressed,
The spirit said he had to go,