Naughty Katie, saucy Katie,
Is your secret aught to me
That you hide it, nor divide it,
In a tree?
In a tree before the trellis,
Where I have a secret hid,
And provokingly you tell us,
Katie did,
Katie didn't,
Yes, she did,
No, she didn't,
Katie did.
Prithee, Katie, by what penance
Are you nightly doomed to be
Trilling to the quiet tenants
Of the tree,
Safely hidden from espial
Of what Katie said or did,
That incessant, shrill denial,
Katie did,
Katie didn't,
Yes, she did,
No, she didn't,
Katie did?
Little disputant, securely
Ambushed, from intrusion free,
Don't I see you so demurely
From the tree,
Peeping through the latticed branches.
Where the moon its arrows slid,
Piping forth with cunning glances,
Katie did,
Katie didn't,
Yes, she did,
No, she didn't,
Katie did?
Will you tell it, Katie, never?
Must it still a secret be?
And forever and forever
From the tree,
Will that answer shrill and lonely
Mock us with the secret hid,
With these accents varied only—
Katie did,
Katie didn't,
Yes, she did,
No, she didn't,
Katie did?
Somewhat more thoughtful but scarcely less charming is the little lyric "Just Twenty-Two," which closes with the plea, "Leave me immortal at sweet twenty-two."
With "The Neophyte" in 1851, the supernatural and mysterious elements, traceable perhaps to Coleridge and to Poe, began to appear in his poems, and became conspicuous in "The Burning Casque," "The Phantom Train," and "The Ride of the Ku-Klux." At places in these, the breath comes short and quick, and the nerves grow unsteady in the presence of grotesque phantoms and direful mysteries. Few pass a real train without a pause and look of mingled awe and admiration. A momentary glance at "The Phantom Train" should certainly be taken:
On the track stood the engine cold and still,
For throttle and valve had ceased to thrill
With the giant power of the wizard steam.
I saw the track, by the lantern's gleam,
Far on the night, till it seemed to meet
In a point at the dim horizon's feet,
And there in the distance, faint and far,
Glimmered a blue and ghostly star.
Nearer and nearer it came and grew,
'Till it gleamed in a circle of ghastly hue.
* * * * *
By the Holy Saints! 'twas a gruesome sight
As ever came from the womb of night—
A spectral train that, nigher and nigher,
Was whirled on its silent wheels of fire.
"The Ride of the Ku-Klux" is even more gruesome and fantastic, but the appearance of those terrible night regulators cannot satisfactorily be shown by a brief extract.