To the mansions of death, and the spectral hall;
But still on that ill-omened hour,
The death hymn peals and the tempests low’r,
And knives and forks are laid across,
And the salt is spill’d to the beldame’s loss;
And thirteen old women get into the room,
And the last who goes in—goes out to the tomb.
And an ugly thief flies into the candle,
And pops in your face if you dare it to handle;
And horrid coffins bounce out of the flame,