 | Rhymes with reason and without |  |
43
MYSTERIOUS RAPPINGS.
Late one evening I was sitting, gloomy shadows round me flitting,—
Mrs. Partington, a-knitting, occupied the grate before;
Suddenly I heard a patter, a slight and very trifling matter,
As if it were a thieving rat or mouse within my closet door;
A thieving and mischievous rat or mouse within my closet door,—
Only this, and nothing more.
Mrs. Partington, a-knitting, occupied the grate before;
Suddenly I heard a patter, a slight and very trifling matter,
As if it were a thieving rat or mouse within my closet door;
A thieving and mischievous rat or mouse within my closet door,—
Only this, and nothing more.
Then all my dreaminess forsook me; rising up, I straightway shook me,
A light from off the table took, and swift the rat's destruction swore;
Mrs. P. smiled approbation on my prompt determination,
And without more hesitation oped I wide the closet door;
Boldly, without hesitation opened wide the closet door;
Darkness there, and nothing more!
A light from off the table took, and swift the rat's destruction swore;
Mrs. P. smiled approbation on my prompt determination,
And without more hesitation oped I wide the closet door;
Boldly, without hesitation opened wide the closet door;
Darkness there, and nothing more!
As upon the sound I pondered, what the deuce it was I wondered;
Could it be my ear had blundered, as at times it had before?
But scarce again was I reseated, ere I heard the sound repeated,
The same dull patter that had greeted me from out the closet door;
The same dull patter that had greeted me from out the closet door;
A gentle patter, nothing more.
Could it be my ear had blundered, as at times it had before?
44
The same dull patter that had greeted me from out the closet door;
The same dull patter that had greeted me from out the closet door;
A gentle patter, nothing more.
Then my rage arose unbounded,—“What,” cried I, “is this confounded
Noise with which my ear is wounded—noise I've never heard before?
If 't is presage dread of evil, if 't is made by ghost or devil,
I call on ye to be more civil—‘stop that knocking at the door!’
Stop that strange mysterious knocking there, within my closet door;
Grant me this, if nothing more.”
Noise with which my ear is wounded—noise I've never heard before?
If 't is presage dread of evil, if 't is made by ghost or devil,
I call on ye to be more civil—‘stop that knocking at the door!’
Stop that strange mysterious knocking there, within my closet door;
Grant me this, if nothing more.”
Once again I seized the candle, rudely grasped the latchet's handle,
Savage as a Goth or Vandal, that kicked up rumpuses of yore,—
“What the dickens is the matter,” said I, “to produce this patter?”
To Mrs. P., and looked straight at her. “I don't know,” said she, “I'm shore;
Lest it be a pesky rat, or something, I don't know, I'm shore.”
This she said, and nothing more.
Savage as a Goth or Vandal, that kicked up rumpuses of yore,—
“What the dickens is the matter,” said I, “to produce this patter?”
To Mrs. P., and looked straight at her. “I don't know,” said she, “I'm shore;
Lest it be a pesky rat, or something, I don't know, I'm shore.”
This she said, and nothing more.
45
Still the noise kept on unceasing; evidently 't was increasing;
Like a cart-wheel wanting greasing, wore it on my nerves full sore;
Patter, patter, patter, patter, the rain the while made noisy clatter,
My teeth with boding ill did chatter, as when I'm troubled by a bore—
Some prosing, dull, and dismal fellow, coming in but just to bore;
Only this, and nothing more.
Like a cart-wheel wanting greasing, wore it on my nerves full sore;
Patter, patter, patter, patter, the rain the while made noisy clatter,
My teeth with boding ill did chatter, as when I'm troubled by a bore—
Some prosing, dull, and dismal fellow, coming in but just to bore;
Only this, and nothing more.
All night long it kept on tapping; vain I laid myself for napping,
Calling sleep my sense to wrap in darkness till the night was o'er;
A dismal candle, dimly burning, watched me as I lay there turning,
In desperation wildly yearning that sleep would visit me once more;
Sleep, refreshing sleep, did I most urgently implore;
This I wished, and nothing more.
Calling sleep my sense to wrap in darkness till the night was o'er;
A dismal candle, dimly burning, watched me as I lay there turning,
In desperation wildly yearning that sleep would visit me once more;
Sleep, refreshing sleep, did I most urgently implore;
This I wished, and nothing more.
With the day I rose next morning, and, all idle terror scorning,
Went to finding out the warning that annoyed me so before;
When straightway, to my consternation, daylight made the revelation
Of a scene of devastation that annoyed me very sore,
Such a scene of devastation as annoyed me very sore;
This it was, and nothing more:
Went to finding out the warning that annoyed me so before;
When straightway, to my consternation, daylight made the revelation
Of a scene of devastation that annoyed me very sore,
Such a scene of devastation as annoyed me very sore;
This it was, and nothing more:
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The rotten roof had taken leaking, and the rain, a passage seeking,
Through the murky darkness sneaking, found my hat-box on the floor;
There, exposed to dire disaster, lay my bran-new Sunday castor,
And its hapless, luckless master ne'er shall see its beauties more—
Ne'er shall see its glossy beauty, that his glory was before;
It is gone, forevermore!
Through the murky darkness sneaking, found my hat-box on the floor;
There, exposed to dire disaster, lay my bran-new Sunday castor,
And its hapless, luckless master ne'er shall see its beauties more—
Ne'er shall see its glossy beauty, that his glory was before;
It is gone, forevermore!
| Rhymes with reason and without | |