 | The Ingoldsby Legends |  |
46
All is silent! all is still
Save the ceaseless moan of the bubbling rill
As it wells from the bosom of Tappington Hill;
And in Tappington Hall
Great and Small,
Gentle and Simple, Squire and Groom,
Each one hath sought his separate room,
And Sleep her dun mantle hath o'er them cast,
For the midnight hour hath long been past!
Save the ceaseless moan of the bubbling rill
As it wells from the bosom of Tappington Hill;
And in Tappington Hall
Great and Small,
Gentle and Simple, Squire and Groom,
Each one hath sought his separate room,
And Sleep her dun mantle hath o'er them cast,
For the midnight hour hath long been past!
All is darksome in earth and sky,
Save, from you casement narrow and high,
A quivering beam
On the tiny stream
Plays, like some taper's fitful gleam
By one that is watching wearily.
Save, from you casement narrow and high,
A quivering beam
On the tiny stream
Plays, like some taper's fitful gleam
By one that is watching wearily.
Within that casement narrow and high,
In his secret lair, where none may spy,
Sits one whose brow is wrinkled with care,
And the thin grey locks of his failing hair
Have left his little bald pate all bare;
For his full-bottom'd wig
Hangs, bushy and big,
On the top of his old-fashioned, high-backed chair.
Unbraced are his clothes,
Ungarter'd his hose,
His gown is bedizened with tulip and rose,
Flowers of remarkable size and hue,
Flowers such as Eden never knew;
And there, by many a sparkling heap
Of the good red gold,
The tale is told
What powerful spell avails to keep
That care-worn man from his needful sleep.
In his secret lair, where none may spy,
Sits one whose brow is wrinkled with care,
And the thin grey locks of his failing hair
Have left his little bald pate all bare;
For his full-bottom'd wig
Hangs, bushy and big,
On the top of his old-fashioned, high-backed chair.
Unbraced are his clothes,
Ungarter'd his hose,
His gown is bedizened with tulip and rose,
Flowers of remarkable size and hue,
Flowers such as Eden never knew;
And there, by many a sparkling heap
Of the good red gold,
The tale is told
What powerful spell avails to keep
That care-worn man from his needful sleep.
47
Haply, he deems no eye can see
As he gloats on his treasure greedily,—
The shining store
Of glittering ore,
The fair Rose-Noble, the bright Moidore,
And the broad Double Joe from ayont the sea,—
But there's one that watches as well as he;
For, wakeful and sly,
In a closet hard by,
On his truckle-bed lieth a little Foot-page,
A boy who's uncommonly sharp of his age,
Like young Master Horner,
Who erst in a corner
Sat eating a Christmans pie;
And, while that old Gentleman's counting his hoards,
Little Hugh peeps through a crack in the boards.
As he gloats on his treasure greedily,—
The shining store
Of glittering ore,
The fair Rose-Noble, the bright Moidore,
And the broad Double Joe from ayont the sea,—
But there's one that watches as well as he;
For, wakeful and sly,
In a closet hard by,
On his truckle-bed lieth a little Foot-page,
A boy who's uncommonly sharp of his age,
Like young Master Horner,
Who erst in a corner
Sat eating a Christmans pie;
And, while that old Gentleman's counting his hoards,
Little Hugh peeps through a crack in the boards.
| The Ingoldsby Legends | |