—The Apparition paused, and would have spoke
Pointing to what Nick thought an iron ring,
But then a neighboring chanticleer awoke,
And loudly 'gan his early matins sing
And then "it started like a guilty thing,"
As that shrill clarion the silence broke.
—We know how much dead gentlefolks eschew
The appalling sound of "Cock-a-doodle-do!"
The vision was no more—and Nick alone—
"His streamer's waving" in the midnight wind,
Which through the ruins ceased not to groan;
—His garment, too, was somewhat short behind,—
And, worst of all, he knew not where to find
The ring,—which made him most his fate bemoan—
The iron ring,—no doubt of some trap door,
'Neath which the old dead Miser kept his store.
"What's to be done?" he cried, "'t were vain to stay
Here in the dark without a single clew—
Oh, for a candle now, or moonlight ray!
'Fore George, I'm sadly puzzled what to do."
(Then clapped his hand behind)—"'Tis chilly too—
I'll mark the spot, and come again by day.
What can I mark it by?—Oh, here's the wall—
The mortar's yielding—here I'll stick my awl!"
Then rose from earth to sky a withering shriek,
A loud, a long-protracted note of woe,
Such as when tempests roar, and timbers creak,
And o'er the side the masts in thunder go;
While on the deck resistless billows break,
And drag their victims to the gulfs below;—
Such was the scream when, for the want of candle,
Nick Mason drove his awl in up to the handle.
Scared by his Lady's heart-appalling cry,
Vanished at once poor Mason's golden dream—
For dream it was;—and all his visions high,
Of wealth and grandeur, fled before that scream—
And still he listens, with averted eye,
When gibing neighbors make "the Ghost" their theme
While ever from that hour they all declare
That Mrs. Mason used a cushion in her chair!
A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. R. HARRIS BARHAM
Gengulphus comes from the Holy Land,
With his scrip, and his bottle, and sandal shoon;
Full many a day hath he been away,
Yet his lady deems him return'd full soon.
Full many a day hath he been away,
Yet scarce had he crossed ayont the sea,
Ere a spruce young spark of a Learned Clerk
Had called on his Lady, and stopp'd to tea.
This spruce young guest, so trimly drest,
Stay'd with that Lady, her revels to crown;
They laugh'd, and they ate, and they drank of the best
And they turn'd the old castle quite upside down.
They would walk in the park, that spruce young Clerk,
With that frolicsome Lady so frank and free,
Trying balls and plays, and all manner of ways,
To get rid of what French people call Ennui.