The Ingoldsby Legends or, Mirth and Marvels. By Thomas Ingoldsby [i.e. R. H. Barham] |
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 | The Ingoldsby Legends |  |
The wretched man bawls, And he yells and he squalls,
But there's nothing responds to his shrieks save the walls,
And the desk, and the pulpit, the pews, and the stalls.
Held firmly at bay, Kick and plunge as he may,
His struggles are fruitless—he can't get away,
He really can't tell what to do or to say,
And being a Pagan, don't know how to pray;
Till through the east window, a few streaks of grey
Announce the approach of the dawn of the day!
But there's nothing responds to his shrieks save the walls,
And the desk, and the pulpit, the pews, and the stalls.
Held firmly at bay, Kick and plunge as he may,
His struggles are fruitless—he can't get away,
He really can't tell what to do or to say,
And being a Pagan, don't know how to pray;
Till through the east window, a few streaks of grey
Announce the approach of the dawn of the day!
| The Ingoldsby Legends | |