 | Jane and Ann Taylor: Original Poems for Infant Minds |  |
18
THE HAND-POST
The night was dark, the sun was hid
Beneath the mountain gray;
And not a single star appear'd
To shoot a silver ray.
Beneath the mountain gray;
And not a single star appear'd
To shoot a silver ray.
Across the heath the owlet flew,
And scream'd along the blast,
And onward, with a quicken'd step,
Benighted Henry pass'd.
And scream'd along the blast,
And onward, with a quicken'd step,
Benighted Henry pass'd.
At intervals, amid the gloom,
A flash of lightning play'd,
And showed the ruts with water fill'd,
And the black hedge's shade,
A flash of lightning play'd,
And showed the ruts with water fill'd,
And the black hedge's shade,
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Again in thickest darkness plunged,
He groped his way to find;
And now he thought he spied beyond,
A form of horrid kind.
He groped his way to find;
And now he thought he spied beyond,
A form of horrid kind.
In deadly white it upward rose,
Of cloak or mantle bare,
And held its naked arms across,
To eatch him by the hair.
Of cloak or mantle bare,
And held its naked arms across,
To eatch him by the hair.
Poor Henry felt his blood run cold,
At what before him stood;
Yet like a man did he resolve
To do the best he could.
At what before him stood;
Yet like a man did he resolve
To do the best he could.
So calling all his courage up,
He to the goblin went:
And eager, through the dismal gloom,
His piercing eyes he bent.
He to the goblin went:
And eager, through the dismal gloom,
His piercing eyes he bent.
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But when he came well nigh the ghost
That gave him such affright,
He clapped his hands upon his sides,
And loudly laugh'd outright.
That gave him such affright,
He clapped his hands upon his sides,
And loudly laugh'd outright.
For there a friendly post he found,
The stranger's road to mark;
A pleasant sprite was this to see
For Henry in the dark.
The stranger's road to mark;
A pleasant sprite was this to see
For Henry in the dark.
“Well done!” said he, “one lesson wise,
I've learn'd, beyond a doubt,—
Whatever frightens me again,
I'll try to find it out.
I've learn'd, beyond a doubt,—
Whatever frightens me again,
I'll try to find it out.
“And when I hear an idle tale
Of goblins and a ghost,
I'll tell of this, my lonely walk,
And the tall white Hand-post.”
Of goblins and a ghost,
I'll tell of this, my lonely walk,
And the tall white Hand-post.”
| Jane and Ann Taylor: Original Poems for Infant Minds | |