 | The Poetical Works of Andrew Lang |  |
104
The Disappointment
A house I took, and many a spook
Was deemed to haunt that house,
I bade the glum Researchers come
With bogles to carouse.
That house I'd sought with anxious thought,
'Twas old—'twas dark as sin,
And deeds of bale, so ran the tale,
Had oft been done therein.
Was deemed to haunt that house,
I bade the glum Researchers come
With bogles to carouse.
That house I'd sought with anxious thought,
'Twas old—'twas dark as sin,
And deeds of bale, so ran the tale,
Had oft been done therein.
Full many a child its mother wild,
Men said, had strangled there;
Full many a sire, in heedless ire,
Had slain his daughter fair!
'Twas rarely let: I can't forget
A recent tenant's dread,
This widow lone had heard a moan
Proceeding from her bed.
Men said, had strangled there;
Full many a sire, in heedless ire,
Had slain his daughter fair!
'Twas rarely let: I can't forget
A recent tenant's dread,
This widow lone had heard a moan
Proceeding from her bed.
105
The tenants next were chiefly vexed
By spectres grim and gray;
A headless ghost annoyed them most,
And so they did not stay.
The next in turn saw corpse lights burn,
And also a banshie,
A spectral hand they could not stand,
And left the house to me.
By spectres grim and gray;
A headless ghost annoyed them most,
And so they did not stay.
The next in turn saw corpse lights burn,
And also a banshie,
A spectral hand they could not stand,
And left the house to me.
Then came my friends for divers ends,
Some curious, some afraid;
No direr pest disturbed their rest
Than a neat chambermaid.
The grisly halls were gay with balls,
One melancholy nook,
Where ghosts galore were seen before,
Now yielded ne'er a spook.
Some curious, some afraid;
No direr pest disturbed their rest
Than a neat chambermaid.
The grisly halls were gay with balls,
One melancholy nook,
Where ghosts galore were seen before,
Now yielded ne'er a spook.
When man and maid, all unafraid,
‘Sat out’ upon the stairs,
No spectre dread, with feet of lead,
Came past them unawares.
I know not why, but alway I
Have found that it is so,
That when the glum Researchers come
The brutes of bogeys—go.
‘Sat out’ upon the stairs,
No spectre dread, with feet of lead,
Came past them unawares.
I know not why, but alway I
Have found that it is so,
That when the glum Researchers come
The brutes of bogeys—go.
| The Poetical Works of Andrew Lang | |