The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
 | I, II. |
| III, IV. |
| V. |
| VI, VII. |
 | VIII, IX. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| X. |
 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
210
A GHOST STORY.
1835.
Not long in bed had L---ndh---rst lain,
When, as his lamp burn'd dimly,
The ghosts of corporate bodies slain ,
Stood by his bed-side grimly.
Dead aldermen, who once could feast,
But now, themselves, are fed on,
And skeletons of may'rs deceas'd,
This doleful chorus led on:—
“Oh Lord L---ndh---rst,
“Unmerciful Lord L---ndh---rst,
“Corpses we,
“All burk'd by thee,
“Unmerciful Lord L---ndh---rst!”
When, as his lamp burn'd dimly,
The ghosts of corporate bodies slain ,
Stood by his bed-side grimly.
Dead aldermen, who once could feast,
But now, themselves, are fed on,
And skeletons of may'rs deceas'd,
This doleful chorus led on:—
“Oh Lord L---ndh---rst,
“Unmerciful Lord L---ndh---rst,
“Corpses we,
“All burk'd by thee,
“Unmerciful Lord L---ndh---rst!”
“Avaunt, ye frights!” his Lordship cried,
“Ye look most glum and whitely.”
“Ah, L---ndh---rst dear!” the frights replied,
“You've us'd us unpolitely.
“And now, ungrateful man! to drive
“Dead bodies from your door so,
“Who quite corrupt enough, alive,
“You've made, by death, still more so.
“Oh, Ex-Chancellor,
“Destructive Ex-Chancellor,
“See thy work,
“Thou second Burke,
“Destructive Ex-Chancellor!”
“Ye look most glum and whitely.”
211
“You've us'd us unpolitely.
“And now, ungrateful man! to drive
“Dead bodies from your door so,
“Who quite corrupt enough, alive,
“You've made, by death, still more so.
“Oh, Ex-Chancellor,
“Destructive Ex-Chancellor,
“See thy work,
“Thou second Burke,
“Destructive Ex-Chancellor!”
Bold L---ndh---rst then, whom nought could keep
Awake, or surely that would,
Cried “Curse you all”—fell fast asleep—
And dreamt of “Small v. Attwood.”
While, shock'd, the bodies flew down stairs.
But, courteous in their panic,
Precedence gave to ghosts of may'rs,
And corpses aldermanic,
Crying, “Oh, Lord L---ndh---rst,
“That terrible Lord L---ndh---rst,
“Not Old Scratch
“Himself could match
“That terrible Lord L---ndh---rst.”
Awake, or surely that would,
Cried “Curse you all”—fell fast asleep—
And dreamt of “Small v. Attwood.”
While, shock'd, the bodies flew down stairs.
But, courteous in their panic,
Precedence gave to ghosts of may'rs,
And corpses aldermanic,
Crying, “Oh, Lord L---ndh---rst,
“That terrible Lord L---ndh---rst,
“Not Old Scratch
“Himself could match
“That terrible Lord L---ndh---rst.”
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |