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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetry of the Supernatural, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Poetry of the Supernatural
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: April 20, 2012 [EBook #39494]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETRY OF THE SUPERNATURAL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Starner, Lisa Reigel, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+book was produced from images made available by the
+HathiTrust Digital Library.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Notes: Words in italics in the original are surrounded by
+_underscores_. Words in bold in the original are surrounded by =equal
+signs=. Ellipses match the original.
+
+
+
+
+                      Poetry of the Supernatural
+
+
+                    Compiled by Earle F. Walbridge
+
+
+                            [Illustration]
+
+
+                             The New York
+                            Public Library
+                                 1919
+
+
+
+
+                         REPRINTED JUNE 1919
+                               FROM THE
+                   BRANCH LIBRARY NEWS OF MAY 1919
+
+                PRINTED AT THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY
+
+                       form p-099 [vi-23-19 5m]
+
+
+
+
+POETRY OF THE SUPERNATURAL[3:1]
+
+
+Lafcadio Hearn, in his _Interpretations of Literature_ (one of the most
+valuable and delightful books on literature which has been written in
+our time), says: "Let me tell you that it would be a mistake to suppose
+that the stories of the supernatural have had their day in fine
+literature. On the contrary, wherever fine literature is being produced,
+either in poetry or in prose, you will find the supernatural element
+very much alive. . . But without citing other living writers, let me
+observe that there is scarcely any really great author in European
+literature, old or new, who has not distinguished himself in the
+treatment of the supernatural. In English literature, I believe, there
+is no exception,--even from the time of the Anglo-Saxon poets to
+Shakespeare, and from Shakespeare to our own day. And this introduces us
+to the consideration of a general and remarkable fact,--a fact that I do
+not remember to have seen in any books, but which is of very great
+philosophical importance; there is something ghostly in all great art,
+whether of literature, music, sculpture, or architecture."
+
+Feeling this, Mr. Walbridge has compiled the following list. It is not a
+bibliography, nor even a "contribution toward" a bibliography, nor a
+"reading list," in the usual sense, but the intelligent selection of a
+number of instances in which poets, major and minor, have turned to
+ghostly themes. If it causes you, reading one of its quotations, to hunt
+for and read the whole poem, it will have served its purpose. If it
+tells you of a poem you have never read--and so gives you a new
+pleasure--or if it reminds you of one you had forgotten, it will have
+been sufficiently useful. But for those who are fond of poetry, and fond
+of recollecting poems which they have enjoyed, it is believed that the
+list is not without interest in itself. Its quotations are taken from
+the whole great range of English poetry, both before and after the time
+of him "who made Prospero the magician, and gave him Caliban and Ariel
+as his servants, who heard the Tritons blowing their horns round the
+coral reefs of the Enchanted Isle, and the fairies singing to each other
+in a wood near Athens, who led the phantom kings in dim procession
+across the misty Scottish heath, and hid Hecate in a cave with the weird
+sisters."
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+    [3:1] The picture on the front cover is from an illustration by
+    Mr. Gerald Metcalfe, for Coleridge's "Christabel," in _The
+    Poems of Coleridge_, published by John Lane.
+
+
+
+
+POETRY OF THE SUPERNATURAL
+
+COMPILED BY EARLE F. WALBRIDGE
+
+     _Like one that on a lonesome road
+     Doth walk in fear and dread,
+     And having once turned round, walks on,
+     And turns no more his head;
+     Because he knows a frightful fiend
+     Doth close behind him tread._
+
+                            --_Rime of the Ancient Mariner._
+
+
+
+
+THE OLDER POETS
+
+
+=Allingham=, William. A Dream. (In Charles Welsh's The Golden Treasury of
+Irish Songs and Lyrics.)
+
+     I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night.
+     I went to the window to see the sight:
+     All the dead that ever I knew
+     Going one by one and two by two.
+
+
+=Arnold=, Matthew. The Forsaken Merman.
+
+     In its delicate loveliness "The Forsaken Merman" ranks high
+     among Mr. Arnold's poems. It is the story of a Sea-King,
+     married to a mortal maiden, who forsook him and her children
+     under the impulse of a Christian conviction that she must
+     return and pray for her soul.--_H. W. Paul._
+
+     She sate by the pillar: we saw her clear;
+     "Margaret, hist! Come quick, we are here!
+     Dear heart," I said, "We are long alone;
+     The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan."
+     But, ah, she gave me never a look,
+     For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book.
+
+---- St. Brandan.
+
+     . . . a picturesque embodiment of a strange mediaeval legend
+     touching Judas Iscariot, who is supposed to be released from
+     Hell for a few hours every Christmas because he had done in
+     his life a single deed of charity.--_H. W. Paul._
+
+
+=Barlow=, Jane. Three Throws and One. (In Walter Jerrold's The Book of
+Living Poets.)
+
+     At each throw of my net there's a life must go down into death
+         on the sea.
+     At each throw of my net it comes laden, O rare, with my wish
+         back to me.
+     With my choice of all treasures most peerless that lapt in the
+         oceans be.
+
+
+=Boyd=, Thomas. The King's Son. (In Padric Gregory's Modern Anglo-Irish
+Verse.)
+
+     Who rideth through the driving rain
+         At such a headlong speed?
+     Naked and pale he rides amain,
+         Upon a naked steed.
+
+
+=Browning=, Elizabeth Barrett. The Lay of the Brown Rosary.
+
+     Who meet there, my mother, at dawn and at even?
+     Who meet by that wall, never looking at heaven?
+     O sweetest my sister, what doeth with thee
+     The ghost of a nun with a brown rosary
+         And a face turned from heaven?
+
+
+=Browning=, Robert. Mesmerism.
+
+     And the socket floats and flares,
+     And the house-beams groan
+     And a foot unknown
+     Is surmised on the garret stairs
+     And the locks slip unawares. . .
+
+
+=Buchanan=, Robert. The Ballad of Judas Iscariot. (In Stedman's Victorian
+Anthology.)
+
+     The beauty is chiefly in the central idea of forgiveness, but
+     the workmanship of this composition has also a very remarkable
+     beauty, a Celtic beauty of weirdness, such as we seldom find
+     in a modern composition touching religious
+     tradition.--_Lafcadio Hearn._
+
+     The body of Judas Iscariot
+         Lay stretched along the snow.
+     'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
+         Ran swiftly to and fro.
+
+
+=Carleton=, William. Sir Turlough, or The Churchyard Bride. (In Stopford
+Brooke's A Treasury of Irish Poetry.)
+
+     The churchyard bride is accustomed to appear to the last
+     mourner in the churchyard after a burial, and, changing its
+     sex to suit the occasion, exacts a promise and a fatal kiss
+     from the unfortunate lingerer.
+
+     He pressed her lips as the words were spoken,
+         Killeevy, O Killeevy!
+     And his banshee's wail--now far and broken--
+     Murmured "Death" as he gave the token
+         By the bonny green woods of Killeevy.
+
+
+=Chatterton=, Thomas. The Parliament of Sprites.
+
+     "The Parliament of Sprites" is an interlude played by
+     Carmelite friars at William Canynge's house on the occasion of
+     the dedication of St. Mary Redcliffe's. One after another the
+     "antichi spiriti dolenti" rise up and salute the new edifice:
+     Nimrod and the Assyrians, Anglo-Saxon ealdormen and Norman
+     knights templars, and citizens of ancient Bristol.--_H. A.
+     Beers._
+
+
+=Coleridge=, Samuel Taylor. Christabel.
+
+     The thing attempted in "Christabel" is the most difficult of
+     execution in the whole field of romance--witchery by
+     daylight--and the success is complete.--_John Gibson
+     Lockhart._
+
+---- The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.
+
+     About, about, in reel and rout
+     The death-fires danced at night;
+     The water, like a witch's oils,
+     Burnt green, and blue, and white.
+
+
+=Cortissoz=, Ellen Mackay Hutchinson. On Kingston Bridge. (In Stedman's
+American Anthology.)
+
+     'Twas all souls' night, and to and fro
+     The quick and dead together walked,
+     The quick and dead together talked,
+         On Kingston bridge.
+
+
+=Crawford=, Isabella Valancy. The Mother's Soul. (In John Garvin's
+Canadian Poets and Poetry.)
+
+     Another elaborate variation on the theme of the return of a
+     mother from her grave to rescue her children. Miss Crawford's
+     mother does not go as far as the ghost in Robert Buchanan's
+     "Dead Mother," who not only makes three trips to assemble her
+     neglected family, but manages to appear to their delinquent
+     father, to his great discomfort and the permanent loss of his
+     sleep.
+
+
+=Dobell=, Sydney. The Ballad of Keith of Ravelston. (In The Oxford Book of
+English Verse.)
+
+     A ballad unsurpassed in our literature for its weird
+     suggestiveness.--_Richard Garnett._
+
+     She makes her immemorial moan,
+         She keeps her shadowy kine;
+     O, Keith of Ravelston,
+         The sorrows of thy line!
+
+
+=Drummond=, William Henry. The Last Portage. (In Wilfred Campbell's The
+Oxford Book of Canadian Verse.)
+
+     An' oh! mon Dieu! w'en he turn hees head
+     I'm seein' de face of my boy is dead.
+
+
+=Eaton=, Arthur Wentworth Hamilton. The Phantom Light of the Baie des
+Chaleurs. (In T. H. Rand's A Treasury of Canadian Verse.)
+
+     This was the last of the pirate crew;
+     But many a night the black flag flew
+     From the mast of a spectre vessel sailed
+     By a spectre band that wept and wailed
+     For the wreck they had wrought on the sea, on the land,
+     For the innocent blood they had spilt on the sand
+     Of the Baie des Chaleurs.
+
+
+=Field=, Eugene. The Peter-bird. (In his Songs and Other Verse.)
+
+     These are the voices of those left by the boy in the farmhouse,
+     When, with his laughter and scorn, hatless and bootless and sockless,
+     Clothed in his jeans and his pride, Peter sailed out in the weather,
+     Broke from the warmth of his home into that fog of the devil,
+     Into the smoke of that witch brewing her damnable porridge!
+
+
+=Freneau=, Philip. The Indian Burying-ground. (In Stedman's American
+Anthology.)
+
+     By midnight moons, o'er moistening dews,
+         In habit for the chase arrayed,
+     The hunter still the deer pursues,
+         The hunter and the deer--a shade.
+
+
+=Graves=, Alfred Perceval. The Song of the Ghost. (In Padric Gregory's
+Modern Anglo-Irish Verse.)
+
+     O hush your crowing, both grey and red,
+     Or he'll be going to join the dead;
+     O cease from calling his ghost to the mould
+     And I'll come crowning your combs with gold.
+
+
+=Guiney=, Louise Imogen. Peter Rugg, the Bostonian. (In Warner's Library
+of the World's Best Literature, v. 41.)
+
+     Upon those wheels on any path
+     The rain will follow loud,
+     And he who meets that ghostly man
+     Will meet a thunder-cloud.
+     And whosoever speaks with him
+     May next bespeak his shroud.
+
+
+=Harte=, Francis Bret. A Greyport Legend.
+
+     Still another phantom ship, a treacherous hulk that broke from
+     its moorings and drifted with a crew of children into the fog.
+
+
+=Hawker=, Robert Stephen. Mawgan of Melhuach. (In Stedman's Victorian
+Anthology.)
+
+     Hard was the struggle, but at the last
+     With a stormy pang old Mawgan past,
+     And away, away, beneath their sight,
+     Gleam'd the red sail at pitch of night.
+
+
+=Hawthorne=, Julian. Were-wolf. (In Stedman's American Anthology.)
+
+     Dabbled with blood are its awful lips
+     Grinning in horrible glee.
+     The wolves that follow with scurrying feet
+     Sniffing that goblin scent, at once
+     Scatter in terror, while it slips
+     Away, to the shore of the frozen sea.
+
+
+=Herrick=, Robert. The Hag.
+
+     The Hag is astride,
+     This night for to ride,
+         The Devil and she together.
+     Through thick, and through thin,
+     Now out, and then in,
+         Though ne'er so foul be the weather.
+
+
+=Hood=, Thomas. The Haunted House.
+
+     O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear
+         A sense of mystery the spirit daunted
+     And said, as plain as whisper in the ear,
+         "The place is Haunted!"
+
+
+=Houghton=, George. The Handsel Ring. (In Stedman's American Anthology.)
+
+     A man and maid are plighting their troth in the tomb of an old
+     knight, the girl's father, when the man lucklessly drops the
+     ring through a crack in the floor of the tomb.
+
+     "Let not thy heart be harried and sore
+         For a little thing!"
+     "Nay! but behold what broodeth there!
+     See the cold sheen of his silvery hair!
+     Look how his eyeballs roll and stare,
+         Seeking thy handsel ring!"
+
+
+=Hugo=, Victor. The Djinns. (In Charles A. Dana's The Household Book of
+Poetry.)
+
+     Ha! they are on us, close without!
+         Shut tight the shelter where we lie!
+     With hideous din the monster rout,
+         Dragon and vampire, fill the sky!
+
+
+=Joyce=, Patrick Weston. The Old Hermit's Story. (In Padric Gregory's
+Modern Anglo-Irish Verse.)
+
+     My curragh sailed on the western main,
+     And I saw, as I viewed the sea,
+     A withered old man upon a wave,
+     And he fixed his eyes on me.
+
+
+=Keats=, John. La Belle Dame sans Merci.
+
+     I saw pale kings, and princes too,
+     Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
+     Who cry'd---"La belle dame sans merci
+     Hath thee in thrall."
+
+---- Lamia.
+
+     "A serpent!" echoed he; no sooner said,
+     Than with a frightful scream she vanished:
+     And Lycius' arms were empty of delight,
+     As were his limbs of life, from that same night.
+
+
+=Kingsley=, Charles. The Weird Lady.
+
+     The swevens came up round Harold the earl
+     Like motes in the sunnès beam;
+     And over him stood the Weird Lady
+     In her charmèd castle over the sea,
+     Sang "Lie thou still and dream."
+
+
+=Leconte de Lisle=, Charles. Les Elfes. (In The Oxford Book of French
+Verse.)
+
+     --Ne m'arrête pas, fantôme odieux!
+     Je vais épouser ma belle aux doux yeux.
+     --O mon cher époux, la tombe éternelle
+     Sera notre lit de noce, dit-elle.
+     Je suis morte!--Et lui, la voyant ainsi,
+     D'angoisse et d'amour tombe mort aussi.
+
+
+=Lockhart=, Arthur John. The Waters of Carr. (In T. H. Rand's A Treasury
+of Canadian Verse.)
+
+     'Tis the Indian's babe, they say,
+     Fairy stolen; changed a fay;
+     And still I hear her calling, calling, calling,
+     In the mossy woods of Carr!
+
+
+=Longfellow=, Henry Wadsworth. The Ballad of Carmilhan.
+
+     For right ahead lay the Ship of the Dead
+         The ghostly Carmilhan!
+     Her masts were stripped, her yards were bare,
+     And on her bowsprit, poised in air,
+         Sat the Klaboterman.
+
+
+=Macdonald=, George. Janet. (In Linton and Stoddard's Ballads and
+Romances.)
+
+     The night was lown and the stars sat still
+     A glintin' down the sky;
+     And the souls crept out of their mouldy graves
+     A' dank wi' lying by.
+
+
+=McKay=, Charles. The Kelpie of Corrievreckan. (In Dugald Mitchell's The
+Book of Highland Verse.)
+
+     And every year at Beltan E'en
+     The Kelpie gallops across the green
+     On a steed as fleet as the wintry wind,
+     With Jessie's mournful ghost behind.
+
+
+=Mackenzie=, Donald A. The Banshee. (In The Book of Highland Verse.)
+
+     The linen that would wrap the dead
+         She beetled on a stone,
+     She stood with dripping hands, blood-red,
+         Low singing all alone--
+     "His linen robes are pure and white,
+     For Fergus More must die tonight."
+
+
+=Mallet=, David. William and Margaret. (In W. M. Dixon's The Edinburgh
+Book of Scottish Verse.)
+
+     The hungry worm my sister is,
+         The winding sheet I wear.
+     And cold and weary lasts our night,
+         Till that last morn appear.
+
+
+=Moore=, Thomas. The Lake of the Dismal Swamp.
+
+     They made her a grave too cold and damp
+     For a soul so warm and true;
+     And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp
+     Where all night long, by a firefly lamp,
+     She paddles her birch canoe.
+
+
+=Morris=, William. The Tune of Seven Towers.
+
+     No one walks there now;
+         Except in the white moonlight
+     The white ghosts walk in a row,
+         If one could see it, an awful sight.
+     "Listen!" said Fair Yolande of the flowers,
+     "This is the tune of Seven Towers."
+
+
+=Österling=, Anders. Meeting of Phantoms. (In Charles Wharton Stork's
+Anthology of Swedish Lyrics from 1750 to 1915.)
+
+     I in a vision
+     Saw my lost sweetheart,
+     Fearlessly toward me
+     I saw her stray.
+     So pale! I thought then;
+     She smiled her answer:
+     "My heart, my spirit,
+     I've kissed away."
+
+
+=O'Sullivan=, Vincent. He Came on Holy Saturday. (In Padric Gregory's
+Modern Anglo-Irish Verse.)
+
+     To-night on holy Saturday
+     The weary ghost came back,
+     And laid his hand upon my brow,
+     And whispered me, "Alack!
+     There sits no angel by the tomb,
+     The Sepulchre is black."
+
+
+=Poe=, Edgar Allan. The Conqueror Worm.
+
+     Through a circle that ever returneth in
+         To the self-same spot,
+     And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
+         And Horror the soul of the plot.
+
+---- Ulalume.
+
+     And we passed to the end of a vista,
+     But were stopped by the door of a tomb--
+     By the door of a legended tomb;
+     And I said--"What is written, sweet sister,
+     On the door of that legended tomb?"
+     She replied--"Ulalume--Ulalume--
+     'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume."
+
+
+=Rossetti=, Christina.
+
+     She never doubts but she always wonders. Again and again in
+     imagination she crosses the bridge of death and explores the
+     farther shore. Her ghosts come back with familiar forms,
+     familiar sensations, and familiar words.--_Elisabeth Luther
+     Cary._
+
+---- A Chilly Night.
+
+     I looked and saw the ghosts
+         Dotting plain and mound.
+     They stood in the blank moonlight
+         But no shadow lay on the ground.
+     They spoke without a voice
+         And they leaped without a sound.
+
+---- Goblin Market.
+
+     "Lie close," Laura said,
+     Pricking up her golden head:
+     "We must not look at goblin men.
+     We must not buy their fruits;
+     Who knows upon what soil they fed
+     Their hungry thirsty roots?"
+
+
+=Rossetti=, Dante Gabriel. Eden Bower.
+
+     It was Lilith the wife of Adam.
+         (Eden Bower's in flower)
+     Not a drop of her blood was human,
+     But she was made like a soft sweet woman.
+
+---- Sister Helen.
+
+     Its forty-two short verses unfold the whole story of the
+     wronged woman's ruthless vengeance on her false lover as she
+     watches the melting of the "waxen man" which, according to the
+     old superstitions, is to carry with it the destruction, body
+     and soul, of him in whose likeness it was fashioned.--_H. R.
+     Fox-Bourne._
+
+     "Ah! What white thing at the door has cross'd,
+         Sister Helen?
+     Ah! What is this that sighs in the frost?"
+     "A soul that's lost as mine is lost,
+         Little brother!"
+         (O Mother, Mary Mother,
+     Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!)
+
+
+=Scott=, Sir Walter. Child Dyring.
+
+     'Twas lang i' the night, and the bairnies grat.
+     Their mither she under the mools heard that.
+
+---- The Dance of Death.
+
+     A vision appearing to a Scottish sentinel on the eve of
+     Waterloo.
+
+     . . . Down the destined plain
+     'Twixt Britain and the bands of France
+     Wild as marsh-borne meteor's glance,
+     Strange phantoms wheeled a revel dance
+     And doom'd the future slain.
+
+
+=Scott=, William Bell. The Witch's Ballad. (In The Oxford book of English
+verse.)
+
+     Drawn up I was right off my feet,
+     Into the mist and off my feet,
+     And, dancing on each chimney top
+     I saw a thousand darling imps
+     Keeping time with skip and hop.
+
+
+=Shairp=, John Campbell. Cailleach bein-y-vreich. (In Stedman's Victorian
+Anthology.)
+
+     Then I mount the blast, and we ride full fast,
+     And laugh as we stride the storm,
+     I, and the witch of the Cruachan Ben
+     And the scowling-eyed Seul-Gorm.
+
+
+=Shanly=, C. D. The Walker of the Snow. (In Stedman's Victorian
+Anthology.)
+
+     . . . I saw by the sickly moonlight
+     As I followed, bending low,
+     That the walking of the stranger
+     Left no footmarks on the snow.
+
+
+=Sharp=, William. ("Fiona McLeod.") Cap'n Goldsack.
+
+     Down in the yellow bay where the scows are sleeping,
+         Where among the dead men the sharks flit to and fro--
+     There Cap'n Goldsack goes creeping, creeping, creeping,
+         Looking for his treasure down below.
+
+
+=Southey=, Robert. The Old Woman of Berkeley.
+
+     I have 'nointed myself with infant's fat,
+     The fiends have been my slaves.
+     From sleeping babes I have sucked the breath,
+     And breaking by charms the sleep of death,
+     I have call'd the dead from their graves.
+     And the Devil will fetch me now in fire
+     My witchcrafts to atone;
+     And I who have troubled the dead man's grave
+     Will never have rest in my own.
+
+
+=Stephens=, Riccardo. The Phantom Piper. (In The Book of Highland Verse.)
+
+     But when the year is at its close
+     Right down the road to Hell he goes.
+     There the gaunt porters all agrin
+     Fling back the gates to let him in,
+     Then damned and devil, one and all,
+     Make mirth and hold high carnival.
+
+
+=Swinburne=, Algernon Charles. After Death. (In Poems and Ballads, First
+Series.)
+
+     The four boards of the coffin lid
+     Heard all the dead man did.
+
+     The first curse was in his mouth,
+     Made of grave's mould and deadly drouth.
+
+
+=Taylor=, William. Lenore.
+
+     The most successful rendering of Bürger's much-translated
+     "Lenore," and the direct inspiration of Scott's "William and
+     Helen."
+
+     Tramp, tramp across the land they speede,
+     Splash, splash across the sea:
+     "Hurrah! The dead can ride apace.
+     Dost fear to ride with me?"
+
+
+=Watson=, Rosamund Marriott-. The Farm on the Links. (In The Oxford Book
+of Victorian Verse.)
+
+     What is it cries with the crying of the curlews?
+     What comes apace on those fearful, stealthy feet?
+     Back from the chill sea-deeps, gliding o'er the sand dunes,
+     Home to the old home, once again to meet?
+
+=Whittier=, John Greenleaf. The Dead Ship of Harpswell.
+
+     No foot is on thy silent deck,
+     Upon thy helm no hand,
+     No ripple hath the soundless wind
+     That smites thee from the land.
+
+---- The Old Wife and the New.
+
+     Ring and bracelet all are gone,
+     And that ice-cold hand withdrawn;
+     But she hears a murmur low,
+     Full of sweetness, full of woe,
+     Half a sigh and half a moan:
+     "Fear not! Give the dead her own."
+
+
+
+
+THE YOUNGER POETS
+
+     _The darkness behind me is burning with eyes,
+     It needs not my turning, I know otherwise:
+     The air is a-quiver with rustle of wings
+     And I feel the cold shiver of spiritual things!_
+
+                   --_"Instinct and Reason"
+                       from "The Book of Winifred Maynard."_
+
+
+=Benét=, William Rose. Devil's Blood. (Second Film in "Films," in "The
+Burglar of the Zodiac.")
+
+     . . . Down the path--
+     _Is it but shadow?_--steals a thread of wrath,
+     A red bright thread. It reaches him. He reels.
+     _Wet! Warm!_ Wily athwart his step it steals
+     And stains his white court footgear, toes to heels.
+
+=Brooke=, Rupert. Dead Men's Love. (In his Collected Poems. 1918.)
+
+     There was a damned successful Poet.
+         There was a Woman like the sun.
+     And they were dead. They did not know it.
+         They did not know their time was done.
+
+---- Hauntings.
+
+     So a poor ghost, beside his misty streams,
+     Is haunted by strange doubts, evasive dreams.
+
+
+=Burnet=, Dana. Ballad of the Late John Flint. (In his Poems. 1915.)
+
+     The Bridegroom smiled a twisted smile,
+     "The wine is strong," he said.
+     The Bride she twirled her wedding ring
+     Nor lifted up her head;
+     And there were three at John Flint's board,
+     And one of them was dead.
+
+
+=Campbell=, William Wilfred. The Mother. (In John W. Garvin's Canadian
+Poets and Poetry.)
+
+     I dreamed that a rose-leaf hand did cling;
+     Oh, you cannot bury a mother in spring!
+     .    .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+     I nestled him soft to my throbbing breast,
+     And stole me back to my long, long rest.
+
+---- The Were-wolves. (In Stedman's Victorian Anthology.)
+
+     Each panter in the darkness
+     Is a demon-haunted soul,
+     The shadowy, phantom were-wolves
+     That circle round the pole.
+
+
+=Carman=, Bliss. The Nancy's Pride. (In his Ballads of Lost Haven.)
+
+     Her crew lean forth by the rotting shrouds
+     With the Judgment in their face;
+     And to their mates' "God save you!"
+     Have never a word of grace.
+
+---- The Yule Guest. (In Ballads of Lost Haven.)
+
+     But in the Yule, O Yanna,
+     Up from the round dim sea
+     And reeling dungeons of the fog,
+     I am come back to thee!
+
+
+=Chalmers=, Patrick R. The Little Ghost. (In his Green Days and Blue
+Days.)
+
+     Down the long path, beset
+     With heaven-scented, haunting mignonette,
+         The gardeners say
+         A little grey
+     Ghost-lady walks!
+
+
+=Colum=, Padraic. The Ballad of Downal Baun. (In Wild Earth and Other
+Poems.)
+
+     "O dream-taught man," said the woman--
+     She stood where the willows grew,
+     A woman from the country
+     Where the cocks never crew.
+
+
+=Couch=, Arthur Quiller-. Dolor Oogo. (In John Masefield's A Sailor's
+Garland.)
+
+     Thirteen men by Ruan Shore,
+         Dolor Oogo, Dolor Oogo,
+     Drownèd men since 'eighty-four
+         Down in Dolor Oogo:
+     On the cliff against the sky,
+     Ailsa, wife of Malachi
+         That cold woman--
+     Sits and knits eternally.
+
+
+=De La Mare=, Walter. The Keys of Morning. (In his The Listeners.)
+
+     She slanted her small bead-brown eyes
+     Across the empty street
+     And saw Death softly watching her
+     In the sunshine pale and sweet.
+
+---- The Listeners.
+
+     But only a host of phantom listeners
+     That dwelt in the lone house then
+     Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
+     To that voice from the world of men:
+     Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair
+     That goes down to the empty hall,
+     Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
+     By the lonely Traveller's call.
+
+---- The Witch.
+
+     All of these dead were stirring
+         Each unto each did call,
+     "A witch, a witch is sleeping
+         Under the churchyard wall."
+
+
+=Dollard=, Father. Ballad of the Banshee. (In J. W. Garvin's Canadian
+Poets and Poetry.)
+
+     Mother of mercy! there she sat,
+         A woman clad in a snow-white shroud,
+     Streamed her hair to the damp moss-mat,
+         White the face on her bosom bowed!
+
+
+=Fletcher=, John Gould. The Ghosts of an Old House. (In his Goblins and
+Pagodas.)
+
+     Yet I often wonder
+     If these things are really dead.
+     If the old trunks never open
+     Letting out grey flapping things at twilight.
+     If it is all as safe and dull
+     As it seems?
+
+
+=Furlong=, Alice. The Warnings. (In Padric Gregory's Modern Anglo-Irish
+Verse.)
+
+     I was weaving by the door-post, when I heard the Death-Watch beating;
+         And I signed the Cross upon me, and I spoke the Name of Three.
+     High and fair, through cloud and air, a silver moon was fleeting,
+         But the night began to darken as the Death-Watch beat for me.
+
+
+=Gibson=, Wilfrid Wilson. The Blind Rower. (In his Collected Poems. 1917.)
+
+     Some say they saw the dead man steer--
+     The dead man steer the blind man home--
+     Though, when they found him dead,
+     His hand was cold as lead.
+
+---- Comrades.
+
+     As I was marching in Flanders
+     A ghost kept step with me--
+     Kept step with me and chuckled,
+     And muttered ceaselessly.
+
+---- The Lodging House.
+
+     And when at last I stand outside
+     My garret door I hardly dare
+     To open it,
+     Lest when I fling it wide
+     With candle lit
+     And reading in my only chair
+     I find myself already there.
+
+
+=Hagedorn=, Hermann. The Last Faring. (In Poems and Ballads.)
+
+     THE FATHER
+
+     Into the storm he drives! Full is the sail;
+     But the wind blows wilder and shriller!
+
+     THE SON
+
+     'Tis the ghost of a Sea-King, my father, rigid and pale,
+     That holds so firm the tiller!
+
+---- The Cobbler of Glamorgan.
+
+     He coughed, he turned; and crystal-eyed
+     He stared, for the bolted door stood wide,
+     And on the threshold, faint and grand,
+     He saw the awful Gray Man stand.
+     His flesh was a thousand snails that crept,
+     But his face was calm though his pulses leapt.
+
+
+=Herford=, Oliver. Ye Knyghte-mare. (In The Bashful Earthquake.)
+
+     Ye log burns dimme, and eke more dimme,
+     Loud groans each knyghtlie gueste,
+     As ye ghost of his grandmother, gaunt and grimme,
+     Sits on each knyghte hys cheste.
+
+
+=Kilmer=, Joyce. The White Ships and the Red. (In W. S. Braithwaite's
+Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1915.)
+
+     The red ship is the Lusitania. "She goes to the bottom all in
+     red to join all the other dead ships, which are in white."
+
+
+=Le Gallienne=, Richard. Ballad of the Dead Lover. (In his New Poems.
+1910.)
+
+     She took his head upon her knee
+     And called him love and very fair.
+     And with a golden comb she combed
+     The grave-dust from his hair.
+
+
+=Lowell=, Amy. The Crossroads. (In her Men, Women, and Ghosts.)
+
+     In polyphonic prose. The body buried at the crossroads
+     struggles for twenty years to free itself of the stake driven
+     through its heart and wreak vengeance on its enemy. It is
+     finally successful as the funeral cortège of this enemy comes
+     down the road.
+
+     "He wavers like smoke in the buffeting wind. His fingers blow
+     out like smoke, his head ripples in the gale. Under the sign
+     post, in the pouring rain, he stands, and watches another
+     quavering figure drifting down the Wayfleet road. Then swiftly
+     he streams after it. . ."
+
+
+=Marquis=, Don. Haunted. (In his Dreams and Dust.)
+
+     Drink and forget, make merry and boast,
+     But the boast rings false and the jest is thin.
+     In the hour that I meet ye ghost to ghost,
+     Stripped of the flesh that ye skulk within,
+     Stripped to the coward soul 'ware of its sin,
+     Ye shall learn, ye shall learn, whether dead men hate!
+
+
+=Masefield=, John. Cape Horn Gospel. (In his Collected Poems. 1918.)
+
+     "I'm a-weary of them there mermaids,"
+         Says old Bill's ghost to me,
+     "It ain't no place for Christians,
+         Below there, under sea.
+     For it's all blown sands and shipwrecks
+         And old bones eaten bare,
+     And them cold fishy females
+         With long green weeds for hair."
+
+---- Mother Carey.
+
+     She lives upon an iceberg to the norred
+         'N' her man is Davy Jones,
+     'N' she combs the weeds upon her forred
+         With poor drowned sailors' bones.
+
+
+=Maynard=, Winifred. Saint Catherine. (In The Book of Winifred Maynard.)
+
+     . . . "Saint Catherine," in which the spotless virginity of the
+     saint is made ashamed by the pitiful ghosts, who whisper their
+     humanity to her in a dream.--_William Stanley Braithwaite._
+
+
+=Middleton=, Jesse Edgar. Off Heligoland. (In his Seadogs and
+Men-at-arms.)
+
+     Ghostly ships in a ghostly sea. . .
+
+
+=Millay=, Edna St. Vincent. The Little Ghost. (In her Renascence.)
+
+     I knew her for a little ghost
+         That in my garden walked;
+     The wall is high--higher than most--
+         And the green gate was locked.
+
+
+=Monroe=, Harriet. The Legend of Pass Christian. (In her You and I.)
+
+     Now we, who wait one night a year
+         Under these branches long,
+     May see a flaming ship, and hear
+         The echo of a song.
+
+
+=Noyes=, Alfred. The Admiral's Ghost. (In his Collected Poems. 1913.)
+
+---- A Song of Sherwood.
+
+     The dead are coming back again, the years are rolled away,
+     In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day.
+
+
+=Scollard=, Clinton. A Ballad of Hallowmass. (In his Ballads Patriotic and
+Romantic.)
+
+     It happed at the time of Hallowmass, when the dead may walk
+         abroad,
+     That the wraith of Ralph of the Peaceful Heart went forth from
+         the courts of God.
+
+
+=Seeger=, Alan. Broceliande. (In his Poems. 1917.)
+
+     Untroubled, untouched by the woes of this world are the
+         moon-marshalled hosts that invade
+           Broceliande.
+
+
+=Shorter=, Dora Sigerson. All Souls' Night. (In Stedman's Victorian
+Anthology.)
+
+     . . . Deelish! Deelish! My woe forever that I could not sever
+         coward flesh from fear.
+     I called his name and the pale ghost came; but I was afraid to
+         meet my dear.
+
+=Sterling=, George. A Wine of Wizardry. (In A Wine of Wizardry and Other
+Poems. 1909.)
+
+     And, ere the tomb-thrown mutterings have ceased,
+     The blue-eyed vampire, sated at her feast,
+     Smiles bloodily against the leprous moon.
+
+
+=Widdemer=, Margaret. The Forgotten Soul. (In her The Factories.)
+
+     'Twas I that stood to greet you on the churchyard pave--
+         (O fire o' my heart's grief, how could you never see?)
+     You smiled in pleasant dreaming as you crossed my grave
+         And crooned a little love-song where they buried me!
+
+---- The House of Ghosts.
+
+     Out from the House of Ghosts I fled
+         Lest I should turn and see
+     The child I had been lift her head
+         And stare aghast at me.
+
+
+=Yeats=, William Butler. The Ballad of Father Gilligan. (In Burton
+Stevenson's The Home Book of Verse.)
+
+     How an angel obligingly took upon itself the form and
+     performed the duties of Father Gilligan while the father was
+     asleep at his post.
+
+---- The Host of the Air.
+
+     Based upon a scrap of folklore in "The Celtic Twilight" and
+     apparently among the simplest of his poems, nothing he has
+     ever done shows a greater mastery of atmosphere, or a greater
+     metrical mastery.--_Forrest Reid._
+
+     He heard, while he sang and dreamed,
+         A piper piping away,
+     And never was piping so sad,
+         And never was piping so gay.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD BALLADS
+
+     "_From Ghaisties, Ghoulies, and long-leggity Beasties
+     and Things that go Bump in the night--
+     Good Lord, deliver us._"
+
+The ballads that follow have all been selected from The Oxford Book of
+Ballads, edited by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch. Clarendon Press, Oxford,
+1910.
+
+
+Alison Gross.
+
+     She's turned me into an ugly worm
+     And gar'd me toddle about the tree.
+
+
+Clerk Saunders.
+
+     The most notable of the ballads of the supernatural, from the
+     dramatic quality of its story and a certain wild pathos in its
+     expression.
+
+     "Is there ony room at your head, Saunders,
+     Is there ony room at your feet?
+     Or ony room at your side, Saunders,
+     Where fain, fain I wad sleep?"
+
+
+The Daemon Lover.
+
+     And aye as she turned her round about,
+     Aye taller he seemed to be;
+     Until that the tops o' that gallant ship
+     Nae taller were than he.
+
+
+King Henry.
+
+     O he has doen him to his ha'
+     To make him bierly cheer,
+     An' in it came a griesly ghost
+     Steed stappin' i' the fleer.
+
+
+The Laily Worm.
+
+     For she has made me the laily worm,
+     That lies at the fit o' the tree,
+     And my sister Masery she's made
+     The machrel of the sea.
+
+
+A Lyke-wake Dirge.
+
+     This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
+         --Every nighte and alle,
+     Fire and sleet and candle-lighte,
+         And Christ receive thy saule.
+
+
+Tam Lin.
+
+     And pleasant is the fairy land
+         For those that in it dwell,
+     But ay at end of seven years
+         They pay a teind to hell;
+     I am sae fair and fu' of flesh
+         I'm fear'd 'twill be mysell.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetry of the Supernatural, by Various
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poetry of the Supernatural, by Earle F. Walbridge.
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+
+    .poem             {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;}
+    .poem br          {display: none;}
+    .poem .stanza     {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;}
+    .poem .stanzait   {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; font-style: italic;}
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+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetry of the Supernatural, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Poetry of the Supernatural
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: April 20, 2012 [EBook #39494]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETRY OF THE SUPERNATURAL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Starner, Lisa Reigel, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+book was produced from images made available by the
+HathiTrust Digital Library.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+<div class="notebox">
+<p>Transcriber's Notes:</p>
+
+<p>Page 4 is blank in the original. Ellipses match the original.</p>
+
+<p>Click on the page number to see an image of the page.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><!-- Page 1 --><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"></a>[<a href="./images/cover.jpg">1</a>]</span></p>
+<div class="title">
+<h1>Poetry of the Supernatural</h1>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="author">
+<p class="tpauthor">Compiled by Earle F. Walbridge</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="./images/image_p1.png" width="50%" alt="drawing of the Christabel of Coleridge by Gerald Metcalfe" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="publisher">
+<p class="tppublisher">The New York<br />
+Public Library<br />
+1919</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="newchapter" />
+<p><!-- Page 2 --><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2"></a>[<a href="./images/2.png">2</a>]</span></p>
+
+<div class="publisher">
+<p class="tppublisher">REPRINTED JUNE 1919<br />
+FROM THE<br />
+BRANCH LIBRARY NEWS OF MAY 1919</p>
+
+<hr class="printer" />
+
+<p class="tppublisher">PRINTED AT THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY<br />
+form p-099 [vi-23-19 5m]</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="newchapter" />
+<p><!-- Page 3 --><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a>[<a href="./images/3.png">3</a>]</span></p>
+
+<h2>POETRY OF THE SUPERNATURAL<a name="FNanchor_3:1_1" id="FNanchor_3:1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_3:1_1" class="fnanchor" style="font-size: 60%; font-weight: normal;">[3:1]</a></h2>
+
+
+<p>Lafcadio Hearn, in his <i>Interpretations of Literature</i> (one of the most
+valuable and delightful books on literature which has been written in
+our time), says: "Let me tell you that it would be a mistake to suppose
+that the stories of the supernatural have had their day in fine
+literature. On the contrary, wherever fine literature is being produced,
+either in poetry or in prose, you will find the supernatural element
+very much alive.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. But without citing other living writers, let me
+observe that there is scarcely any really great author in European
+literature, old or new, who has not distinguished himself in the
+treatment of the supernatural. In English literature, I believe, there
+is no exception,&mdash;even from the time of the Anglo-Saxon poets to
+Shakespeare, and from Shakespeare to our own day. And this introduces us
+to the consideration of a general and remarkable fact,&mdash;a fact that I do
+not remember to have seen in any books, but which is of very great
+philosophical importance; there is something ghostly in all great art,
+whether of literature, music, sculpture, or architecture."</p>
+
+<p>Feeling this, Mr. Walbridge has compiled the following list. It is not a
+bibliography, nor even a "contribution toward" a bibliography, nor a
+"reading list," in the usual sense, but the intelligent selection of a
+number of instances in which poets, major and minor, have turned to
+ghostly themes. If it causes you, reading one of its quotations, to hunt
+for and read the whole poem, it will have served its purpose. If it
+tells you of a poem you have never read&mdash;and so gives you a new
+pleasure&mdash;or if it reminds you of one you had forgotten, it will have
+been sufficiently useful. But for those who are fond of poetry, and fond
+of recollecting poems which they have enjoyed, it is believed that the
+list is not without interest in itself. Its quotations are taken from
+the whole great range of English poetry, both before and after the time
+of him "who made Prospero the magician, and gave him Caliban and Ariel
+as his servants, who heard the Tritons blowing their horns round the
+coral reefs of the Enchanted Isle, and the fairies singing to each other
+in a wood near Athens, who led the phantom kings in dim procession
+across the misty Scottish heath, and hid Hecate in a cave with the weird
+sisters."</p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 90%;" />
+<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="Footnote_3:1_1" id="Footnote_3:1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3:1_1"><span class="label">[3:1]</span></a> The picture on the front cover is from an illustration by
+Mr. Gerald Metcalfe, for Coleridge's "Christabel," in <i>The Poems of
+Coleridge</i>, published by John Lane.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><!-- Page 4 --><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"></a>[<a href="./images/4.png">4</a>]</span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="newchapter" />
+<p><!-- Page 5 --><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a>[<a href="./images/5.png">5</a>]</span></p>
+<p class="title">POETRY OF THE SUPERNATURAL</p>
+
+<p class="centersc">Compiled by Earle F. Walbridge</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanzait">
+<span class="i0">Like one that on a lonesome road<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth walk in fear and dread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And having once turned round, walks on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And turns no more his head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because he knows a frightful fiend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth close behind him tread.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="authorpoem">&mdash;<i>Rime of the Ancient Mariner.</i></p>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="newchapter" />
+<h2>THE OLDER POETS</h2>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Allingham</b>, William. A Dream. (In Charles Welsh's The Golden Treasury of
+Irish Songs and Lyrics.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I went to the window to see the sight:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All the dead that ever I knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Going one by one and two by two.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Arnold</b>, Matthew. The Forsaken Merman.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>In its delicate loveliness "The Forsaken Merman" ranks high
+among Mr. Arnold's poems. It is the story of a Sea-King,
+married to a mortal maiden, who forsook him and her children
+under the impulse of a Christian conviction that she must
+return and pray for her soul.&mdash;<i>H. W. Paul.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She sate by the pillar: we saw her clear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Margaret, hist! Come quick, we are here!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dear heart," I said, "We are long alone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, ah, she gave me never a look,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="secthang">&mdash;&mdash; St. Brandan.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. a picturesque embodiment of a strange mediaeval legend
+touching Judas Iscariot, who is supposed to be released from
+Hell for a few hours every Christmas because he had done in
+his life a single deed of charity.&mdash;<i>H. W. Paul.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Barlow</b>, Jane. Three Throws and One. (In Walter Jerrold's The Book of
+Living Poets.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At each throw of my net there's a life must go down into death on the sea.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At each throw of my net it comes laden, O rare, with my wish back to me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With my choice of all treasures most peerless that lapt in the oceans be.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Boyd</b>, Thomas. The King's Son. (In Padric Gregory's Modern Anglo-Irish
+Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who rideth through the driving rain<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At such a headlong speed?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Naked and pale he rides amain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon a naked steed.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Browning</b>, Elizabeth Barrett. The Lay of the Brown Rosary.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who meet there, my mother, at dawn and at even?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who meet by that wall, never looking at heaven?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O sweetest my sister, what doeth with thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ghost of a nun with a brown rosary<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And a face turned from heaven?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Browning</b>, Robert. Mesmerism.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And the socket floats and flares,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the house-beams groan<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a foot unknown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is surmised on the garret stairs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the locks slip unawares.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Buchanan</b>, Robert. The Ballad of Judas Iscariot. (In Stedman's Victorian
+Anthology.)</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>The beauty is chiefly in the central idea of forgiveness, but
+the workmanship of this composition has also a very remarkable
+beauty, a Celtic beauty of weirdness, such as we seldom find
+in a modern composition touching religious
+tradition.&mdash;<i>Lafcadio Hearn.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The body of Judas Iscariot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lay stretched along the snow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ran swiftly to and fro.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Carleton</b>, William. Sir Turlough, or The Churchyard Bride. (In Stopford
+Brooke's A Treasury of Irish Poetry.)</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>The churchyard bride is accustomed to appear to the last
+mourner in the churchyard after a burial, and, changing its
+sex to suit the occasion, exacts a promise and a fatal kiss
+from the unfortunate lingerer.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He pressed her lips as the words were spoken,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Killeevy, O Killeevy!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And his banshee's wail&mdash;now far and broken&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Murmured "Death" as he gave the token<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By the bonny green woods of Killeevy.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Chatterton</b>, Thomas. The Parliament of Sprites.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>"The Parliament of Sprites" is an interlude played by
+Carmelite friars at William Canynge's house on the occasion of
+the dedication of St. Mary Redcliffe's. One after another the
+"antichi spiriti dolenti" rise up and salute the new edifice:
+Nimrod and the Assyrians, Anglo-Saxon ealdormen and Norman
+knights templars, and citizens of ancient Bristol.&mdash;<i>H. A.
+Beers.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><!-- Page 6 --><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a>[<a href="./images/6.png">6</a>]</span><b>Coleridge</b>, Samuel Taylor. Christabel.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>The thing attempted in "Christabel" is the most difficult of
+execution in the whole field of romance&mdash;witchery by
+daylight&mdash;and the success is complete.&mdash;<i>John Gibson
+Lockhart.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">About, about, in reel and rout<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The death-fires danced at night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The water, like a witch's oils,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Burnt green, and blue, and white.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Cortissoz</b>, Ellen Mackay Hutchinson. On Kingston Bridge. (In Stedman's
+American Anthology.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Twas all souls' night, and to and fro<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The quick and dead together walked,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The quick and dead together talked,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On Kingston bridge.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Crawford</b>, Isabella Valancy. The Mother's Soul. (In John Garvin's
+Canadian Poets and Poetry.)</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>Another elaborate variation on the theme of the return of a
+mother from her grave to rescue her children. Miss Crawford's
+mother does not go as far as the ghost in Robert Buchanan's
+"Dead Mother," who not only makes three trips to assemble her
+neglected family, but manages to appear to their delinquent
+father, to his great discomfort and the permanent loss of his
+sleep.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Dobell</b>, Sydney. The Ballad of Keith of Ravelston. (In The Oxford Book of
+English Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>A ballad unsurpassed in our literature for its weird
+suggestiveness.&mdash;<i>Richard Garnett.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She makes her immemorial moan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She keeps her shadowy kine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, Keith of Ravelston,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The sorrows of thy line!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Drummond</b>, William Henry. The Last Portage. (In Wilfred Campbell's The
+Oxford Book of Canadian Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' oh! mon Dieu! w'en he turn hees head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm seein' de face of my boy is dead.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Eaton</b>, Arthur Wentworth Hamilton. The Phantom Light of the Baie des
+Chaleurs. (In T. H. Rand's A Treasury of Canadian Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This was the last of the pirate crew;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But many a night the black flag flew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the mast of a spectre vessel sailed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By a spectre band that wept and wailed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the wreck they had wrought on the sea, on the land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the innocent blood they had spilt on the sand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the Baie des Chaleurs.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Field</b>, Eugene. The Peter-bird. (In his Songs and Other Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">These are the voices of those left by the boy in the farmhouse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When, with his laughter and scorn, hatless and bootless and sockless,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clothed in his jeans and his pride, Peter sailed out in the weather,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Broke from the warmth of his home into that fog of the devil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the smoke of that witch brewing her damnable porridge!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Freneau</b>, Philip. The Indian Burying-ground. (In Stedman's American
+Anthology.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By midnight moons, o'er moistening dews,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In habit for the chase arrayed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hunter still the deer pursues,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The hunter and the deer&mdash;a shade.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Graves</b>, Alfred Perceval. The Song of the Ghost. (In Padric Gregory's
+Modern Anglo-Irish Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O hush your crowing, both grey and red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or he'll be going to join the dead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O cease from calling his ghost to the mould<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I'll come crowning your combs with gold.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Guiney</b>, Louise Imogen. Peter Rugg, the Bostonian. (In Warner's Library
+of the World's Best Literature, v. 41.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Upon those wheels on any path<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rain will follow loud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he who meets that ghostly man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will meet a thunder-cloud.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And whosoever speaks with him<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May next bespeak his shroud.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Harte</b>, Francis Bret. A Greyport Legend.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>Still another phantom ship, a treacherous hulk that broke from
+its moorings and drifted with a crew of children into the fog.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Hawker</b>, Robert Stephen. Mawgan of Melhuach. (In Stedman's Victorian
+Anthology.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hard was the struggle, but at the last<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a stormy pang old Mawgan past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And away, away, beneath their sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gleam'd the red sail at pitch of night.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Hawthorne</b>, Julian. Were-wolf. (In Stedman's American Anthology.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dabbled with blood are its awful lips<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grinning in horrible glee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wolves that follow with scurrying feet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sniffing that goblin scent, at once<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scatter in terror, while it slips<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Away, to the shore of the frozen sea.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Herrick</b>, Robert. The Hag.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Hag is astride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This night for to ride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Devil and she together.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through thick, and through thin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now out, and then in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Though ne'er so foul be the weather.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Hood</b>, Thomas. The Haunted House.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A sense of mystery the spirit daunted<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And said, as plain as whisper in the ear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"The place is Haunted!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Houghton</b>, George. The Handsel Ring. (In Stedman's American Anthology.)</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>A man and maid are plighting their troth in the tomb of an old
+knight, the girl's father, when the man lucklessly drops the
+ring through a crack in the floor of the tomb.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Let not thy heart be harried and sore<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For a little thing!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Nay! but behold what broodeth there!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See the cold sheen of his silvery hair!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look how his eyeballs roll and stare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Seeking thy handsel ring!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><!-- Page 7 --><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a>[<a href="./images/7.png">7</a>]</span><b>Hugo</b>, Victor. The Djinns. (In Charles A. Dana's The Household Book of
+Poetry.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ha! they are on us, close without!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shut tight the shelter where we lie!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With hideous din the monster rout,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dragon and vampire, fill the sky!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Joyce</b>, Patrick Weston. The Old Hermit's Story. (In Padric Gregory's
+Modern Anglo-Irish Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My curragh sailed on the western main,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I saw, as I viewed the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A withered old man upon a wave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he fixed his eyes on me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Keats</b>, John. La Belle Dame sans Merci.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I saw pale kings, and princes too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who cry'd&mdash;-"La belle dame sans merci<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath thee in thrall."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; Lamia.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"A serpent!" echoed he; no sooner said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than with a frightful scream she vanished:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Lycius' arms were empty of delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As were his limbs of life, from that same night.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Kingsley</b>, Charles. The Weird Lady.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The swevens came up round Harold the earl<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like motes in the sunnès beam;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And over him stood the Weird Lady<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In her charmèd castle over the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sang "Lie thou still and dream."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Leconte de Lisle</b>, Charles. Les Elfes. (In The Oxford Book of French
+Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&mdash;Ne m'arrête pas, fantôme odieux!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Je vais épouser ma belle aux doux yeux.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;O mon cher époux, la tombe éternelle<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sera notre lit de noce, dit-elle.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Je suis morte!&mdash;Et lui, la voyant ainsi,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">D'angoisse et d'amour tombe mort aussi.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Lockhart</b>, Arthur John. The Waters of Carr. (In T. H. Rand's A Treasury
+of Canadian Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Tis the Indian's babe, they say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fairy stolen; changed a fay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And still I hear her calling, calling, calling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the mossy woods of Carr!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Longfellow</b>, Henry Wadsworth. The Ballad of Carmilhan.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For right ahead lay the Ship of the Dead<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The ghostly Carmilhan!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her masts were stripped, her yards were bare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on her bowsprit, poised in air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sat the Klaboterman.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Macdonald</b>, George. Janet. (In Linton and Stoddard's Ballads and
+Romances.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The night was lown and the stars sat still<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A glintin' down the sky;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the souls crept out of their mouldy graves<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A' dank wi' lying by.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>McKay</b>, Charles. The Kelpie of Corrievreckan. (In Dugald Mitchell's The
+Book of Highland Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And every year at Beltan E'en<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Kelpie gallops across the green<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On a steed as fleet as the wintry wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Jessie's mournful ghost behind.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Mackenzie</b>, Donald A. The Banshee. (In The Book of Highland Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The linen that would wrap the dead<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She beetled on a stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She stood with dripping hands, blood-red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Low singing all alone&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"His linen robes are pure and white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Fergus More must die tonight."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Mallet</b>, David. William and Margaret. (In W. M. Dixon's The Edinburgh
+Book of Scottish Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The hungry worm my sister is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The winding sheet I wear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cold and weary lasts our night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till that last morn appear.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Moore</b>, Thomas. The Lake of the Dismal Swamp.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They made her a grave too cold and damp<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a soul so warm and true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where all night long, by a firefly lamp,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She paddles her birch canoe.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Morris</b>, William. The Tune of Seven Towers.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No one walks there now;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Except in the white moonlight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The white ghosts walk in a row,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If one could see it, an awful sight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Listen!" said Fair Yolande of the flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"This is the tune of Seven Towers."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Österling</b>, Anders. Meeting of Phantoms. (In Charles Wharton Stork's
+Anthology of Swedish Lyrics from 1750 to 1915.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I in a vision<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saw my lost sweetheart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fearlessly toward me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw her stray.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So pale! I thought then;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She smiled her answer:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"My heart, my spirit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've kissed away."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>O'Sullivan</b>, Vincent. He Came on Holy Saturday. (In Padric Gregory's
+Modern Anglo-Irish Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To-night on holy Saturday<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The weary ghost came back,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And laid his hand upon my brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And whispered me, "Alack!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There sits no angel by the tomb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Sepulchre is black."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Poe</b>, Edgar Allan. The Conqueror Worm.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Through a circle that ever returneth in<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To the self-same spot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And much of Madness, and more of Sin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Horror the soul of the plot.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; Ulalume.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And we passed to the end of a vista,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But were stopped by the door of a tomb&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the door of a legended tomb;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I said&mdash;"What is written, sweet sister,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On the door of that legended tomb?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She replied&mdash;"Ulalume&mdash;Ulalume&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><!-- Page 8 --><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a>[<a href="./images/8.png">8</a>]</span><b>Rossetti</b>, Christina.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>She never doubts but she always wonders. Again and again in
+imagination she crosses the bridge of death and explores the
+farther shore. Her ghosts come back with familiar forms,
+familiar sensations, and familiar words.&mdash;<i>Elisabeth Luther
+Cary.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; A Chilly Night.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I looked and saw the ghosts<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dotting plain and mound.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They stood in the blank moonlight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But no shadow lay on the ground.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They spoke without a voice<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And they leaped without a sound.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; Goblin Market.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Lie close," Laura said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pricking up her golden head:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"We must not look at goblin men.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We must not buy their fruits;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who knows upon what soil they fed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their hungry thirsty roots?"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Rossetti</b>, Dante Gabriel. Eden Bower.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It was Lilith the wife of Adam.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">(Eden Bower's in flower)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not a drop of her blood was human,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she was made like a soft sweet woman.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; Sister Helen.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>Its forty-two short verses unfold the whole story of the
+wronged woman's ruthless vengeance on her false lover as she
+watches the melting of the "waxen man" which, according to the
+old superstitions, is to carry with it the destruction, body
+and soul, of him in whose likeness it was fashioned.&mdash;<i>H. R.
+Fox-Bourne.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Ah! What white thing at the door has cross'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sister Helen?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah! What is this that sighs in the frost?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"A soul that's lost as mine is lost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Little brother!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">(O Mother, Mary Mother,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!)<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Scott</b>, Sir Walter. Child Dyring.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Twas lang i' the night, and the bairnies grat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their mither she under the mools heard that.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; The Dance of Death.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>A vision appearing to a Scottish sentinel on the eve of
+Waterloo.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. Down the destined plain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twixt Britain and the bands of France<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wild as marsh-borne meteor's glance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strange phantoms wheeled a revel dance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And doom'd the future slain.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Scott</b>, William Bell. The Witch's Ballad. (In The Oxford book of English
+verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Drawn up I was right off my feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the mist and off my feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, dancing on each chimney top<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw a thousand darling imps<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Keeping time with skip and hop.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Shairp</b>, John Campbell. Cailleach bein-y-vreich. (In Stedman's Victorian
+Anthology.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then I mount the blast, and we ride full fast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And laugh as we stride the storm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I, and the witch of the Cruachan Ben<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the scowling-eyed Seul-Gorm.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Shanly</b>, C. D. The Walker of the Snow. (In Stedman's Victorian
+Anthology.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. I saw by the sickly moonlight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As I followed, bending low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That the walking of the stranger<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Left no footmarks on the snow.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Sharp</b>, William. ("Fiona McLeod.") Cap'n Goldsack.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Down in the yellow bay where the scows are sleeping,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where among the dead men the sharks flit to and fro&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There Cap'n Goldsack goes creeping, creeping, creeping,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Looking for his treasure down below.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Southey</b>, Robert. The Old Woman of Berkeley.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I have 'nointed myself with infant's fat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fiends have been my slaves.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From sleeping babes I have sucked the breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And breaking by charms the sleep of death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have call'd the dead from their graves.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the Devil will fetch me now in fire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My witchcrafts to atone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I who have troubled the dead man's grave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will never have rest in my own.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Stephens</b>, Riccardo. The Phantom Piper. (In The Book of Highland Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But when the year is at its close<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Right down the road to Hell he goes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There the gaunt porters all agrin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fling back the gates to let him in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then damned and devil, one and all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make mirth and hold high carnival.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Swinburne</b>, Algernon Charles. After Death. (In Poems and Ballads, First
+Series.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The four boards of the coffin lid<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heard all the dead man did.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The first curse was in his mouth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made of grave's mould and deadly drouth.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Taylor</b>, William. Lenore.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>The most successful rendering of Bürger's much-translated
+"Lenore," and the direct inspiration of Scott's "William and
+Helen."</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tramp, tramp across the land they speede,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Splash, splash across the sea:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Hurrah! The dead can ride apace.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dost fear to ride with me?"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Watson</b>, Rosamund Marriott-. The Farm on the Links. (In The Oxford Book
+of Victorian Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What is it cries with the crying of the curlews?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What comes apace on those fearful, stealthy feet?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Back from the chill sea-deeps, gliding o'er the sand dunes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Home to the old home, once again to meet?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Whittier</b>, John Greenleaf. The Dead Ship of Harpswell.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No foot is on thy silent deck,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon thy helm no hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No ripple hath the soundless wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That smites thee from the land.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; The Old Wife and the New.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ring and bracelet all are gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that ice-cold hand withdrawn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she hears a murmur low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full of sweetness, full of woe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Half a sigh and half a moan:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Fear not! Give the dead her own."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="newchapter" />
+<p><!-- Page 9 --><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a>[<a href="./images/9.png">9</a>]</span></p>
+<h2>THE YOUNGER POETS</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanzait">
+<span class="i0">The darkness behind me is burning with eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It needs not my turning, I know otherwise:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The air is a-quiver with rustle of wings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I feel the cold shiver of spiritual things!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="authorpoem">&mdash;<i>"Instinct and Reason" from "The Book of Winifred Maynard."</i></p>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Benét</b>, William Rose. Devil's Blood. (Second Film in "Films," in "The
+Burglar of the Zodiac.")</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. Down the path&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Is it but shadow?</i>&mdash;steals a thread of wrath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A red bright thread. It reaches him. He reels.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Wet! Warm!</i> Wily athwart his step it steals<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stains his white court footgear, toes to heels.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Brooke</b>, Rupert. Dead Men's Love. (In his Collected Poems. 1918.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There was a damned successful Poet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There was a Woman like the sun.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And they were dead. They did not know it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They did not know their time was done.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; Hauntings.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So a poor ghost, beside his misty streams,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is haunted by strange doubts, evasive dreams.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Burnet</b>, Dana. Ballad of the Late John Flint. (In his Poems. 1915.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Bridegroom smiled a twisted smile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"The wine is strong," he said.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Bride she twirled her wedding ring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor lifted up her head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there were three at John Flint's board,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And one of them was dead.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Campbell</b>, William Wilfred. The Mother. (In John W. Garvin's Canadian
+Poets and Poetry.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I dreamed that a rose-leaf hand did cling;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, you cannot bury a mother in spring!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;.</b><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I nestled him soft to my throbbing breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stole me back to my long, long rest.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; The Were-wolves. (In Stedman's Victorian Anthology.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Each panter in the darkness<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is a demon-haunted soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shadowy, phantom were-wolves<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That circle round the pole.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Carman</b>, Bliss. The Nancy's Pride. (In his Ballads of Lost Haven.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her crew lean forth by the rotting shrouds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the Judgment in their face;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to their mates' "God save you!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have never a word of grace.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; The Yule Guest. (In Ballads of Lost Haven.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But in the Yule, O Yanna,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Up from the round dim sea<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And reeling dungeons of the fog,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am come back to thee!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Chalmers</b>, Patrick R. The Little Ghost. (In his Green Days and Blue
+Days.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Down the long path, beset<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With heaven-scented, haunting mignonette,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The gardeners say<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A little grey<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ghost-lady walks!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Colum</b>, Padraic. The Ballad of Downal Baun. (In Wild Earth and Other
+Poems.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"O dream-taught man," said the woman&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She stood where the willows grew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A woman from the country<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the cocks never crew.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Couch</b>, Arthur Quiller-. Dolor Oogo. (In John Masefield's A Sailor's
+Garland.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thirteen men by Ruan Shore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dolor Oogo, Dolor Oogo,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Drownèd men since 'eighty-four<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Down in Dolor Oogo:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On the cliff against the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ailsa, wife of Malachi<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That cold woman&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sits and knits eternally.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>De La Mare</b>, Walter. The Keys of Morning. (In his The Listeners.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She slanted her small bead-brown eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Across the empty street<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And saw Death softly watching her<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the sunshine pale and sweet.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; The Listeners.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But only a host of phantom listeners<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That dwelt in the lone house then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To that voice from the world of men:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That goes down to the empty hall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the lonely Traveller's call.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; The Witch.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All of these dead were stirring<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Each unto each did call,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"A witch, a witch is sleeping<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Under the churchyard wall."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Dollard</b>, Father. Ballad of the Banshee. (In J. W. Garvin's Canadian
+Poets and Poetry.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Mother of mercy! there she sat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A woman clad in a snow-white shroud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Streamed her hair to the damp moss-mat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">White the face on her bosom bowed!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><!-- Page 10 --><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a>[<a href="./images/10.png">10</a>]</span><b>Fletcher</b>, John Gould. The Ghosts of an Old House. (In his Goblins and
+Pagodas.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet I often wonder<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If these things are really dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If the old trunks never open<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Letting out grey flapping things at twilight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If it is all as safe and dull<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As it seems?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Furlong</b>, Alice. The Warnings. (In Padric Gregory's Modern Anglo-Irish
+Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I was weaving by the door-post, when I heard the Death-Watch beating;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I signed the Cross upon me, and I spoke the Name of Three.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">High and fair, through cloud and air, a silver moon was fleeting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But the night began to darken as the Death-Watch beat for me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Gibson</b>, Wilfrid Wilson. The Blind Rower. (In his Collected Poems. 1917.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some say they saw the dead man steer&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dead man steer the blind man home&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though, when they found him dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His hand was cold as lead.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; Comrades.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As I was marching in Flanders<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A ghost kept step with me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kept step with me and chuckled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And muttered ceaselessly.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; The Lodging House.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when at last I stand outside<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My garret door I hardly dare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To open it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lest when I fling it wide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With candle lit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And reading in my only chair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I find myself already there.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Hagedorn</b>, Hermann. The Last Faring. (In Poems and Ballads.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2sc">The Father<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the storm he drives! Full is the sail;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the wind blows wilder and shriller!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2sc">The Son<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis the ghost of a Sea-King, my father, rigid and pale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That holds so firm the tiller!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; The Cobbler of Glamorgan.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He coughed, he turned; and crystal-eyed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He stared, for the bolted door stood wide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on the threshold, faint and grand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He saw the awful Gray Man stand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His flesh was a thousand snails that crept,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But his face was calm though his pulses leapt.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Herford</b>, Oliver. Ye Knyghte-mare. (In The Bashful Earthquake.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ye log burns dimme, and eke more dimme,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Loud groans each knyghtlie gueste,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As ye ghost of his grandmother, gaunt and grimme,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sits on each knyghte hys cheste.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Kilmer</b>, Joyce. The White Ships and the Red. (In W. S. Braithwaite's
+Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1915.)</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>The red ship is the Lusitania. "She goes to the bottom all in
+red to join all the other dead ships, which are in white."</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Le Gallienne</b>, Richard. Ballad of the Dead Lover. (In his New Poems.
+1910.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She took his head upon her knee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And called him love and very fair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with a golden comb she combed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The grave-dust from his hair.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Lowell</b>, Amy. The Crossroads. (In her Men, Women, and Ghosts.)</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>In polyphonic prose. The body buried at the crossroads
+struggles for twenty years to free itself of the stake driven
+through its heart and wreak vengeance on its enemy. It is
+finally successful as the funeral cortège of this enemy comes
+down the road.</p>
+
+<p>"He wavers like smoke in the buffeting wind. His fingers blow
+out like smoke, his head ripples in the gale. Under the sign
+post, in the pouring rain, he stands, and watches another
+quavering figure drifting down the Wayfleet road. Then swiftly
+he streams after it.&nbsp;.&nbsp;."</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Marquis</b>, Don. Haunted. (In his Dreams and Dust.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Drink and forget, make merry and boast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the boast rings false and the jest is thin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the hour that I meet ye ghost to ghost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stripped of the flesh that ye skulk within,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stripped to the coward soul 'ware of its sin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ye shall learn, ye shall learn, whether dead men hate!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Masefield</b>, John. Cape Horn Gospel. (In his Collected Poems. 1918.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I'm a-weary of them there mermaids,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Says old Bill's ghost to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"It ain't no place for Christians,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Below there, under sea.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For it's all blown sands and shipwrecks<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And old bones eaten bare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And them cold fishy females<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With long green weeds for hair."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; Mother Carey.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She lives upon an iceberg to the norred<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'N' her man is Davy Jones,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'N' she combs the weeds upon her forred<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With poor drowned sailors' bones.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Maynard</b>, Winifred. Saint Catherine. (In The Book of Winifred Maynard.)</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. "Saint Catherine," in which the spotless virginity of the
+saint is made ashamed by the pitiful ghosts, who whisper their
+humanity to her in a dream.&mdash;<i>William Stanley Braithwaite.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Middleton</b>, Jesse Edgar. Off Heligoland. (In his Seadogs and
+Men-at-arms.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ghostly ships in a ghostly sea.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Millay</b>, Edna St. Vincent. The Little Ghost. (In her Renascence.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I knew her for a little ghost<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That in my garden walked;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wall is high&mdash;higher than most&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the green gate was locked.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Monroe</b>, Harriet. The Legend of Pass Christian. (In her You and I.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now we, who wait one night a year<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Under these branches long,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May see a flaming ship, and hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The echo of a song.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><!-- Page 11 --><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a>[<a href="./images/11.png">11</a>]</span><b>Noyes</b>, Alfred. The Admiral's Ghost. (In his Collected Poems. 1913.)</p>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; A Song of Sherwood.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The dead are coming back again, the years are rolled away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Scollard</b>, Clinton. A Ballad of Hallowmass. (In his Ballads Patriotic and
+Romantic.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It happed at the time of Hallowmass, when the dead may walk abroad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That the wraith of Ralph of the Peaceful Heart went forth from the courts of God.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Seeger</b>, Alan. Broceliande. (In his Poems. 1917.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Untroubled, untouched by the woes of this world are the moon-marshalled hosts that invade<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Broceliande.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Shorter</b>, Dora Sigerson. All Souls' Night. (In Stedman's Victorian
+Anthology.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. Deelish! Deelish! My woe forever that I could not sever coward flesh from fear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I called his name and the pale ghost came; but I was afraid to meet my dear.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Sterling</b>, George. A Wine of Wizardry. (In A Wine of Wizardry and Other
+Poems. 1909.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And, ere the tomb-thrown mutterings have ceased,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The blue-eyed vampire, sated at her feast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Smiles bloodily against the leprous moon.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Widdemer</b>, Margaret. The Forgotten Soul. (In her The Factories.)</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Twas I that stood to greet you on the churchyard pave&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">(O fire o' my heart's grief, how could you never see?)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You smiled in pleasant dreaming as you crossed my grave<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And crooned a little love-song where they buried me!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; The House of Ghosts.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Out from the House of Ghosts I fled<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lest I should turn and see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The child I had been lift her head<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And stare aghast at me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="secthang"><b>Yeats</b>, William Butler. The Ballad of Father Gilligan. (In Burton
+Stevenson's The Home Book of Verse.)</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>How an angel obligingly took upon itself the form and
+performed the duties of Father Gilligan while the father was
+asleep at his post.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="titletwo">&mdash;&mdash; The Host of the Air.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>Based upon a scrap of folklore in "The Celtic Twilight" and
+apparently among the simplest of his poems, nothing he has
+ever done shows a greater mastery of atmosphere, or a greater
+metrical mastery.&mdash;<i>Forrest Reid.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He heard, while he sang and dreamed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A piper piping away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And never was piping so sad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And never was piping so gay.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="newchapter" />
+<h2>THE OLD BALLADS</h2>
+
+<p class="centerit">
+"From Ghaisties, Ghoulies, and long-leggity Beasties<br />
+and Things that go Bump in the night&mdash;<br />
+Good Lord, deliver us."</p>
+
+<p>The ballads that follow have all been selected from The Oxford Book of
+Ballads, edited by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch. Clarendon Press, Oxford,
+1910.</p>
+
+
+<p class="sectb">Alison Gross.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She's turned me into an ugly worm<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gar'd me toddle about the tree.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="sectb">Clerk Saunders.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>The most notable of the ballads of the supernatural, from the dramatic
+quality of its story and a certain wild pathos in its expression.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Is there ony room at your head, Saunders,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is there ony room at your feet?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or ony room at your side, Saunders,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where fain, fain I wad sleep?"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p  class="sectb">The Daemon Lover.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And aye as she turned her round about,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Aye taller he seemed to be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until that the tops o' that gallant ship<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nae taller were than he.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="sectb">King Henry.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O he has doen him to his ha'<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make him bierly cheer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' in it came a griesly ghost<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Steed stappin' i' the fleer.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="sectb">The Laily Worm.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For she has made me the laily worm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That lies at the fit o' the tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my sister Masery she's made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The machrel of the sea.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="sectb">A Lyke-wake Dirge.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This ae nighte, this ae nighte,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">&mdash;Every nighte and alle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fire and sleet and candle-lighte,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Christ receive thy saule.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="sectb">Tam Lin.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And pleasant is the fairy land<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For those that in it dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But ay at end of seven years<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They pay a teind to hell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am sae fair and fu' of flesh<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I'm fear'd 'twill be mysell.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
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+</body>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetry of the Supernatural, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Poetry of the Supernatural
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: April 20, 2012 [EBook #39494]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETRY OF THE SUPERNATURAL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Starner, Lisa Reigel, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+book was produced from images made available by the
+HathiTrust Digital Library.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Notes: Words in italics in the original are surrounded by
+_underscores_. Words in bold in the original are surrounded by =equal
+signs=. Ellipses match the original.
+
+
+
+
+                      Poetry of the Supernatural
+
+
+                    Compiled by Earle F. Walbridge
+
+
+                            [Illustration]
+
+
+                             The New York
+                            Public Library
+                                 1919
+
+
+
+
+                         REPRINTED JUNE 1919
+                               FROM THE
+                   BRANCH LIBRARY NEWS OF MAY 1919
+
+                PRINTED AT THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY
+
+                       form p-099 [vi-23-19 5m]
+
+
+
+
+POETRY OF THE SUPERNATURAL[3:1]
+
+
+Lafcadio Hearn, in his _Interpretations of Literature_ (one of the most
+valuable and delightful books on literature which has been written in
+our time), says: "Let me tell you that it would be a mistake to suppose
+that the stories of the supernatural have had their day in fine
+literature. On the contrary, wherever fine literature is being produced,
+either in poetry or in prose, you will find the supernatural element
+very much alive. . . But without citing other living writers, let me
+observe that there is scarcely any really great author in European
+literature, old or new, who has not distinguished himself in the
+treatment of the supernatural. In English literature, I believe, there
+is no exception,--even from the time of the Anglo-Saxon poets to
+Shakespeare, and from Shakespeare to our own day. And this introduces us
+to the consideration of a general and remarkable fact,--a fact that I do
+not remember to have seen in any books, but which is of very great
+philosophical importance; there is something ghostly in all great art,
+whether of literature, music, sculpture, or architecture."
+
+Feeling this, Mr. Walbridge has compiled the following list. It is not a
+bibliography, nor even a "contribution toward" a bibliography, nor a
+"reading list," in the usual sense, but the intelligent selection of a
+number of instances in which poets, major and minor, have turned to
+ghostly themes. If it causes you, reading one of its quotations, to hunt
+for and read the whole poem, it will have served its purpose. If it
+tells you of a poem you have never read--and so gives you a new
+pleasure--or if it reminds you of one you had forgotten, it will have
+been sufficiently useful. But for those who are fond of poetry, and fond
+of recollecting poems which they have enjoyed, it is believed that the
+list is not without interest in itself. Its quotations are taken from
+the whole great range of English poetry, both before and after the time
+of him "who made Prospero the magician, and gave him Caliban and Ariel
+as his servants, who heard the Tritons blowing their horns round the
+coral reefs of the Enchanted Isle, and the fairies singing to each other
+in a wood near Athens, who led the phantom kings in dim procession
+across the misty Scottish heath, and hid Hecate in a cave with the weird
+sisters."
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+    [3:1] The picture on the front cover is from an illustration by
+    Mr. Gerald Metcalfe, for Coleridge's "Christabel," in _The
+    Poems of Coleridge_, published by John Lane.
+
+
+
+
+POETRY OF THE SUPERNATURAL
+
+COMPILED BY EARLE F. WALBRIDGE
+
+     _Like one that on a lonesome road
+     Doth walk in fear and dread,
+     And having once turned round, walks on,
+     And turns no more his head;
+     Because he knows a frightful fiend
+     Doth close behind him tread._
+
+                            --_Rime of the Ancient Mariner._
+
+
+
+
+THE OLDER POETS
+
+
+=Allingham=, William. A Dream. (In Charles Welsh's The Golden Treasury of
+Irish Songs and Lyrics.)
+
+     I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night.
+     I went to the window to see the sight:
+     All the dead that ever I knew
+     Going one by one and two by two.
+
+
+=Arnold=, Matthew. The Forsaken Merman.
+
+     In its delicate loveliness "The Forsaken Merman" ranks high
+     among Mr. Arnold's poems. It is the story of a Sea-King,
+     married to a mortal maiden, who forsook him and her children
+     under the impulse of a Christian conviction that she must
+     return and pray for her soul.--_H. W. Paul._
+
+     She sate by the pillar: we saw her clear;
+     "Margaret, hist! Come quick, we are here!
+     Dear heart," I said, "We are long alone;
+     The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan."
+     But, ah, she gave me never a look,
+     For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book.
+
+---- St. Brandan.
+
+     . . . a picturesque embodiment of a strange mediaeval legend
+     touching Judas Iscariot, who is supposed to be released from
+     Hell for a few hours every Christmas because he had done in
+     his life a single deed of charity.--_H. W. Paul._
+
+
+=Barlow=, Jane. Three Throws and One. (In Walter Jerrold's The Book of
+Living Poets.)
+
+     At each throw of my net there's a life must go down into death
+         on the sea.
+     At each throw of my net it comes laden, O rare, with my wish
+         back to me.
+     With my choice of all treasures most peerless that lapt in the
+         oceans be.
+
+
+=Boyd=, Thomas. The King's Son. (In Padric Gregory's Modern Anglo-Irish
+Verse.)
+
+     Who rideth through the driving rain
+         At such a headlong speed?
+     Naked and pale he rides amain,
+         Upon a naked steed.
+
+
+=Browning=, Elizabeth Barrett. The Lay of the Brown Rosary.
+
+     Who meet there, my mother, at dawn and at even?
+     Who meet by that wall, never looking at heaven?
+     O sweetest my sister, what doeth with thee
+     The ghost of a nun with a brown rosary
+         And a face turned from heaven?
+
+
+=Browning=, Robert. Mesmerism.
+
+     And the socket floats and flares,
+     And the house-beams groan
+     And a foot unknown
+     Is surmised on the garret stairs
+     And the locks slip unawares. . .
+
+
+=Buchanan=, Robert. The Ballad of Judas Iscariot. (In Stedman's Victorian
+Anthology.)
+
+     The beauty is chiefly in the central idea of forgiveness, but
+     the workmanship of this composition has also a very remarkable
+     beauty, a Celtic beauty of weirdness, such as we seldom find
+     in a modern composition touching religious
+     tradition.--_Lafcadio Hearn._
+
+     The body of Judas Iscariot
+         Lay stretched along the snow.
+     'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
+         Ran swiftly to and fro.
+
+
+=Carleton=, William. Sir Turlough, or The Churchyard Bride. (In Stopford
+Brooke's A Treasury of Irish Poetry.)
+
+     The churchyard bride is accustomed to appear to the last
+     mourner in the churchyard after a burial, and, changing its
+     sex to suit the occasion, exacts a promise and a fatal kiss
+     from the unfortunate lingerer.
+
+     He pressed her lips as the words were spoken,
+         Killeevy, O Killeevy!
+     And his banshee's wail--now far and broken--
+     Murmured "Death" as he gave the token
+         By the bonny green woods of Killeevy.
+
+
+=Chatterton=, Thomas. The Parliament of Sprites.
+
+     "The Parliament of Sprites" is an interlude played by
+     Carmelite friars at William Canynge's house on the occasion of
+     the dedication of St. Mary Redcliffe's. One after another the
+     "antichi spiriti dolenti" rise up and salute the new edifice:
+     Nimrod and the Assyrians, Anglo-Saxon ealdormen and Norman
+     knights templars, and citizens of ancient Bristol.--_H. A.
+     Beers._
+
+
+=Coleridge=, Samuel Taylor. Christabel.
+
+     The thing attempted in "Christabel" is the most difficult of
+     execution in the whole field of romance--witchery by
+     daylight--and the success is complete.--_John Gibson
+     Lockhart._
+
+---- The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.
+
+     About, about, in reel and rout
+     The death-fires danced at night;
+     The water, like a witch's oils,
+     Burnt green, and blue, and white.
+
+
+=Cortissoz=, Ellen Mackay Hutchinson. On Kingston Bridge. (In Stedman's
+American Anthology.)
+
+     'Twas all souls' night, and to and fro
+     The quick and dead together walked,
+     The quick and dead together talked,
+         On Kingston bridge.
+
+
+=Crawford=, Isabella Valancy. The Mother's Soul. (In John Garvin's
+Canadian Poets and Poetry.)
+
+     Another elaborate variation on the theme of the return of a
+     mother from her grave to rescue her children. Miss Crawford's
+     mother does not go as far as the ghost in Robert Buchanan's
+     "Dead Mother," who not only makes three trips to assemble her
+     neglected family, but manages to appear to their delinquent
+     father, to his great discomfort and the permanent loss of his
+     sleep.
+
+
+=Dobell=, Sydney. The Ballad of Keith of Ravelston. (In The Oxford Book of
+English Verse.)
+
+     A ballad unsurpassed in our literature for its weird
+     suggestiveness.--_Richard Garnett._
+
+     She makes her immemorial moan,
+         She keeps her shadowy kine;
+     O, Keith of Ravelston,
+         The sorrows of thy line!
+
+
+=Drummond=, William Henry. The Last Portage. (In Wilfred Campbell's The
+Oxford Book of Canadian Verse.)
+
+     An' oh! mon Dieu! w'en he turn hees head
+     I'm seein' de face of my boy is dead.
+
+
+=Eaton=, Arthur Wentworth Hamilton. The Phantom Light of the Baie des
+Chaleurs. (In T. H. Rand's A Treasury of Canadian Verse.)
+
+     This was the last of the pirate crew;
+     But many a night the black flag flew
+     From the mast of a spectre vessel sailed
+     By a spectre band that wept and wailed
+     For the wreck they had wrought on the sea, on the land,
+     For the innocent blood they had spilt on the sand
+     Of the Baie des Chaleurs.
+
+
+=Field=, Eugene. The Peter-bird. (In his Songs and Other Verse.)
+
+     These are the voices of those left by the boy in the farmhouse,
+     When, with his laughter and scorn, hatless and bootless and sockless,
+     Clothed in his jeans and his pride, Peter sailed out in the weather,
+     Broke from the warmth of his home into that fog of the devil,
+     Into the smoke of that witch brewing her damnable porridge!
+
+
+=Freneau=, Philip. The Indian Burying-ground. (In Stedman's American
+Anthology.)
+
+     By midnight moons, o'er moistening dews,
+         In habit for the chase arrayed,
+     The hunter still the deer pursues,
+         The hunter and the deer--a shade.
+
+
+=Graves=, Alfred Perceval. The Song of the Ghost. (In Padric Gregory's
+Modern Anglo-Irish Verse.)
+
+     O hush your crowing, both grey and red,
+     Or he'll be going to join the dead;
+     O cease from calling his ghost to the mould
+     And I'll come crowning your combs with gold.
+
+
+=Guiney=, Louise Imogen. Peter Rugg, the Bostonian. (In Warner's Library
+of the World's Best Literature, v. 41.)
+
+     Upon those wheels on any path
+     The rain will follow loud,
+     And he who meets that ghostly man
+     Will meet a thunder-cloud.
+     And whosoever speaks with him
+     May next bespeak his shroud.
+
+
+=Harte=, Francis Bret. A Greyport Legend.
+
+     Still another phantom ship, a treacherous hulk that broke from
+     its moorings and drifted with a crew of children into the fog.
+
+
+=Hawker=, Robert Stephen. Mawgan of Melhuach. (In Stedman's Victorian
+Anthology.)
+
+     Hard was the struggle, but at the last
+     With a stormy pang old Mawgan past,
+     And away, away, beneath their sight,
+     Gleam'd the red sail at pitch of night.
+
+
+=Hawthorne=, Julian. Were-wolf. (In Stedman's American Anthology.)
+
+     Dabbled with blood are its awful lips
+     Grinning in horrible glee.
+     The wolves that follow with scurrying feet
+     Sniffing that goblin scent, at once
+     Scatter in terror, while it slips
+     Away, to the shore of the frozen sea.
+
+
+=Herrick=, Robert. The Hag.
+
+     The Hag is astride,
+     This night for to ride,
+         The Devil and she together.
+     Through thick, and through thin,
+     Now out, and then in,
+         Though ne'er so foul be the weather.
+
+
+=Hood=, Thomas. The Haunted House.
+
+     O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear
+         A sense of mystery the spirit daunted
+     And said, as plain as whisper in the ear,
+         "The place is Haunted!"
+
+
+=Houghton=, George. The Handsel Ring. (In Stedman's American Anthology.)
+
+     A man and maid are plighting their troth in the tomb of an old
+     knight, the girl's father, when the man lucklessly drops the
+     ring through a crack in the floor of the tomb.
+
+     "Let not thy heart be harried and sore
+         For a little thing!"
+     "Nay! but behold what broodeth there!
+     See the cold sheen of his silvery hair!
+     Look how his eyeballs roll and stare,
+         Seeking thy handsel ring!"
+
+
+=Hugo=, Victor. The Djinns. (In Charles A. Dana's The Household Book of
+Poetry.)
+
+     Ha! they are on us, close without!
+         Shut tight the shelter where we lie!
+     With hideous din the monster rout,
+         Dragon and vampire, fill the sky!
+
+
+=Joyce=, Patrick Weston. The Old Hermit's Story. (In Padric Gregory's
+Modern Anglo-Irish Verse.)
+
+     My curragh sailed on the western main,
+     And I saw, as I viewed the sea,
+     A withered old man upon a wave,
+     And he fixed his eyes on me.
+
+
+=Keats=, John. La Belle Dame sans Merci.
+
+     I saw pale kings, and princes too,
+     Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
+     Who cry'd---"La belle dame sans merci
+     Hath thee in thrall."
+
+---- Lamia.
+
+     "A serpent!" echoed he; no sooner said,
+     Than with a frightful scream she vanished:
+     And Lycius' arms were empty of delight,
+     As were his limbs of life, from that same night.
+
+
+=Kingsley=, Charles. The Weird Lady.
+
+     The swevens came up round Harold the earl
+     Like motes in the sunnes beam;
+     And over him stood the Weird Lady
+     In her charmed castle over the sea,
+     Sang "Lie thou still and dream."
+
+
+=Leconte de Lisle=, Charles. Les Elfes. (In The Oxford Book of French
+Verse.)
+
+     --Ne m'arrete pas, fantome odieux!
+     Je vais epouser ma belle aux doux yeux.
+     --O mon cher epoux, la tombe eternelle
+     Sera notre lit de noce, dit-elle.
+     Je suis morte!--Et lui, la voyant ainsi,
+     D'angoisse et d'amour tombe mort aussi.
+
+
+=Lockhart=, Arthur John. The Waters of Carr. (In T. H. Rand's A Treasury
+of Canadian Verse.)
+
+     'Tis the Indian's babe, they say,
+     Fairy stolen; changed a fay;
+     And still I hear her calling, calling, calling,
+     In the mossy woods of Carr!
+
+
+=Longfellow=, Henry Wadsworth. The Ballad of Carmilhan.
+
+     For right ahead lay the Ship of the Dead
+         The ghostly Carmilhan!
+     Her masts were stripped, her yards were bare,
+     And on her bowsprit, poised in air,
+         Sat the Klaboterman.
+
+
+=Macdonald=, George. Janet. (In Linton and Stoddard's Ballads and
+Romances.)
+
+     The night was lown and the stars sat still
+     A glintin' down the sky;
+     And the souls crept out of their mouldy graves
+     A' dank wi' lying by.
+
+
+=McKay=, Charles. The Kelpie of Corrievreckan. (In Dugald Mitchell's The
+Book of Highland Verse.)
+
+     And every year at Beltan E'en
+     The Kelpie gallops across the green
+     On a steed as fleet as the wintry wind,
+     With Jessie's mournful ghost behind.
+
+
+=Mackenzie=, Donald A. The Banshee. (In The Book of Highland Verse.)
+
+     The linen that would wrap the dead
+         She beetled on a stone,
+     She stood with dripping hands, blood-red,
+         Low singing all alone--
+     "His linen robes are pure and white,
+     For Fergus More must die tonight."
+
+
+=Mallet=, David. William and Margaret. (In W. M. Dixon's The Edinburgh
+Book of Scottish Verse.)
+
+     The hungry worm my sister is,
+         The winding sheet I wear.
+     And cold and weary lasts our night,
+         Till that last morn appear.
+
+
+=Moore=, Thomas. The Lake of the Dismal Swamp.
+
+     They made her a grave too cold and damp
+     For a soul so warm and true;
+     And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp
+     Where all night long, by a firefly lamp,
+     She paddles her birch canoe.
+
+
+=Morris=, William. The Tune of Seven Towers.
+
+     No one walks there now;
+         Except in the white moonlight
+     The white ghosts walk in a row,
+         If one could see it, an awful sight.
+     "Listen!" said Fair Yolande of the flowers,
+     "This is the tune of Seven Towers."
+
+
+=Oesterling=, Anders. Meeting of Phantoms. (In Charles Wharton Stork's
+Anthology of Swedish Lyrics from 1750 to 1915.)
+
+     I in a vision
+     Saw my lost sweetheart,
+     Fearlessly toward me
+     I saw her stray.
+     So pale! I thought then;
+     She smiled her answer:
+     "My heart, my spirit,
+     I've kissed away."
+
+
+=O'Sullivan=, Vincent. He Came on Holy Saturday. (In Padric Gregory's
+Modern Anglo-Irish Verse.)
+
+     To-night on holy Saturday
+     The weary ghost came back,
+     And laid his hand upon my brow,
+     And whispered me, "Alack!
+     There sits no angel by the tomb,
+     The Sepulchre is black."
+
+
+=Poe=, Edgar Allan. The Conqueror Worm.
+
+     Through a circle that ever returneth in
+         To the self-same spot,
+     And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
+         And Horror the soul of the plot.
+
+---- Ulalume.
+
+     And we passed to the end of a vista,
+     But were stopped by the door of a tomb--
+     By the door of a legended tomb;
+     And I said--"What is written, sweet sister,
+     On the door of that legended tomb?"
+     She replied--"Ulalume--Ulalume--
+     'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume."
+
+
+=Rossetti=, Christina.
+
+     She never doubts but she always wonders. Again and again in
+     imagination she crosses the bridge of death and explores the
+     farther shore. Her ghosts come back with familiar forms,
+     familiar sensations, and familiar words.--_Elisabeth Luther
+     Cary._
+
+---- A Chilly Night.
+
+     I looked and saw the ghosts
+         Dotting plain and mound.
+     They stood in the blank moonlight
+         But no shadow lay on the ground.
+     They spoke without a voice
+         And they leaped without a sound.
+
+---- Goblin Market.
+
+     "Lie close," Laura said,
+     Pricking up her golden head:
+     "We must not look at goblin men.
+     We must not buy their fruits;
+     Who knows upon what soil they fed
+     Their hungry thirsty roots?"
+
+
+=Rossetti=, Dante Gabriel. Eden Bower.
+
+     It was Lilith the wife of Adam.
+         (Eden Bower's in flower)
+     Not a drop of her blood was human,
+     But she was made like a soft sweet woman.
+
+---- Sister Helen.
+
+     Its forty-two short verses unfold the whole story of the
+     wronged woman's ruthless vengeance on her false lover as she
+     watches the melting of the "waxen man" which, according to the
+     old superstitions, is to carry with it the destruction, body
+     and soul, of him in whose likeness it was fashioned.--_H. R.
+     Fox-Bourne._
+
+     "Ah! What white thing at the door has cross'd,
+         Sister Helen?
+     Ah! What is this that sighs in the frost?"
+     "A soul that's lost as mine is lost,
+         Little brother!"
+         (O Mother, Mary Mother,
+     Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!)
+
+
+=Scott=, Sir Walter. Child Dyring.
+
+     'Twas lang i' the night, and the bairnies grat.
+     Their mither she under the mools heard that.
+
+---- The Dance of Death.
+
+     A vision appearing to a Scottish sentinel on the eve of
+     Waterloo.
+
+     . . . Down the destined plain
+     'Twixt Britain and the bands of France
+     Wild as marsh-borne meteor's glance,
+     Strange phantoms wheeled a revel dance
+     And doom'd the future slain.
+
+
+=Scott=, William Bell. The Witch's Ballad. (In The Oxford book of English
+verse.)
+
+     Drawn up I was right off my feet,
+     Into the mist and off my feet,
+     And, dancing on each chimney top
+     I saw a thousand darling imps
+     Keeping time with skip and hop.
+
+
+=Shairp=, John Campbell. Cailleach bein-y-vreich. (In Stedman's Victorian
+Anthology.)
+
+     Then I mount the blast, and we ride full fast,
+     And laugh as we stride the storm,
+     I, and the witch of the Cruachan Ben
+     And the scowling-eyed Seul-Gorm.
+
+
+=Shanly=, C. D. The Walker of the Snow. (In Stedman's Victorian
+Anthology.)
+
+     . . . I saw by the sickly moonlight
+     As I followed, bending low,
+     That the walking of the stranger
+     Left no footmarks on the snow.
+
+
+=Sharp=, William. ("Fiona McLeod.") Cap'n Goldsack.
+
+     Down in the yellow bay where the scows are sleeping,
+         Where among the dead men the sharks flit to and fro--
+     There Cap'n Goldsack goes creeping, creeping, creeping,
+         Looking for his treasure down below.
+
+
+=Southey=, Robert. The Old Woman of Berkeley.
+
+     I have 'nointed myself with infant's fat,
+     The fiends have been my slaves.
+     From sleeping babes I have sucked the breath,
+     And breaking by charms the sleep of death,
+     I have call'd the dead from their graves.
+     And the Devil will fetch me now in fire
+     My witchcrafts to atone;
+     And I who have troubled the dead man's grave
+     Will never have rest in my own.
+
+
+=Stephens=, Riccardo. The Phantom Piper. (In The Book of Highland Verse.)
+
+     But when the year is at its close
+     Right down the road to Hell he goes.
+     There the gaunt porters all agrin
+     Fling back the gates to let him in,
+     Then damned and devil, one and all,
+     Make mirth and hold high carnival.
+
+
+=Swinburne=, Algernon Charles. After Death. (In Poems and Ballads, First
+Series.)
+
+     The four boards of the coffin lid
+     Heard all the dead man did.
+
+     The first curse was in his mouth,
+     Made of grave's mould and deadly drouth.
+
+
+=Taylor=, William. Lenore.
+
+     The most successful rendering of Buerger's much-translated
+     "Lenore," and the direct inspiration of Scott's "William and
+     Helen."
+
+     Tramp, tramp across the land they speede,
+     Splash, splash across the sea:
+     "Hurrah! The dead can ride apace.
+     Dost fear to ride with me?"
+
+
+=Watson=, Rosamund Marriott-. The Farm on the Links. (In The Oxford Book
+of Victorian Verse.)
+
+     What is it cries with the crying of the curlews?
+     What comes apace on those fearful, stealthy feet?
+     Back from the chill sea-deeps, gliding o'er the sand dunes,
+     Home to the old home, once again to meet?
+
+=Whittier=, John Greenleaf. The Dead Ship of Harpswell.
+
+     No foot is on thy silent deck,
+     Upon thy helm no hand,
+     No ripple hath the soundless wind
+     That smites thee from the land.
+
+---- The Old Wife and the New.
+
+     Ring and bracelet all are gone,
+     And that ice-cold hand withdrawn;
+     But she hears a murmur low,
+     Full of sweetness, full of woe,
+     Half a sigh and half a moan:
+     "Fear not! Give the dead her own."
+
+
+
+
+THE YOUNGER POETS
+
+     _The darkness behind me is burning with eyes,
+     It needs not my turning, I know otherwise:
+     The air is a-quiver with rustle of wings
+     And I feel the cold shiver of spiritual things!_
+
+                   --_"Instinct and Reason"
+                       from "The Book of Winifred Maynard."_
+
+
+=Benet=, William Rose. Devil's Blood. (Second Film in "Films," in "The
+Burglar of the Zodiac.")
+
+     . . . Down the path--
+     _Is it but shadow?_--steals a thread of wrath,
+     A red bright thread. It reaches him. He reels.
+     _Wet! Warm!_ Wily athwart his step it steals
+     And stains his white court footgear, toes to heels.
+
+=Brooke=, Rupert. Dead Men's Love. (In his Collected Poems. 1918.)
+
+     There was a damned successful Poet.
+         There was a Woman like the sun.
+     And they were dead. They did not know it.
+         They did not know their time was done.
+
+---- Hauntings.
+
+     So a poor ghost, beside his misty streams,
+     Is haunted by strange doubts, evasive dreams.
+
+
+=Burnet=, Dana. Ballad of the Late John Flint. (In his Poems. 1915.)
+
+     The Bridegroom smiled a twisted smile,
+     "The wine is strong," he said.
+     The Bride she twirled her wedding ring
+     Nor lifted up her head;
+     And there were three at John Flint's board,
+     And one of them was dead.
+
+
+=Campbell=, William Wilfred. The Mother. (In John W. Garvin's Canadian
+Poets and Poetry.)
+
+     I dreamed that a rose-leaf hand did cling;
+     Oh, you cannot bury a mother in spring!
+     .    .     .     .     .     .     .     .
+     I nestled him soft to my throbbing breast,
+     And stole me back to my long, long rest.
+
+---- The Were-wolves. (In Stedman's Victorian Anthology.)
+
+     Each panter in the darkness
+     Is a demon-haunted soul,
+     The shadowy, phantom were-wolves
+     That circle round the pole.
+
+
+=Carman=, Bliss. The Nancy's Pride. (In his Ballads of Lost Haven.)
+
+     Her crew lean forth by the rotting shrouds
+     With the Judgment in their face;
+     And to their mates' "God save you!"
+     Have never a word of grace.
+
+---- The Yule Guest. (In Ballads of Lost Haven.)
+
+     But in the Yule, O Yanna,
+     Up from the round dim sea
+     And reeling dungeons of the fog,
+     I am come back to thee!
+
+
+=Chalmers=, Patrick R. The Little Ghost. (In his Green Days and Blue
+Days.)
+
+     Down the long path, beset
+     With heaven-scented, haunting mignonette,
+         The gardeners say
+         A little grey
+     Ghost-lady walks!
+
+
+=Colum=, Padraic. The Ballad of Downal Baun. (In Wild Earth and Other
+Poems.)
+
+     "O dream-taught man," said the woman--
+     She stood where the willows grew,
+     A woman from the country
+     Where the cocks never crew.
+
+
+=Couch=, Arthur Quiller-. Dolor Oogo. (In John Masefield's A Sailor's
+Garland.)
+
+     Thirteen men by Ruan Shore,
+         Dolor Oogo, Dolor Oogo,
+     Drowned men since 'eighty-four
+         Down in Dolor Oogo:
+     On the cliff against the sky,
+     Ailsa, wife of Malachi
+         That cold woman--
+     Sits and knits eternally.
+
+
+=De La Mare=, Walter. The Keys of Morning. (In his The Listeners.)
+
+     She slanted her small bead-brown eyes
+     Across the empty street
+     And saw Death softly watching her
+     In the sunshine pale and sweet.
+
+---- The Listeners.
+
+     But only a host of phantom listeners
+     That dwelt in the lone house then
+     Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
+     To that voice from the world of men:
+     Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair
+     That goes down to the empty hall,
+     Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
+     By the lonely Traveller's call.
+
+---- The Witch.
+
+     All of these dead were stirring
+         Each unto each did call,
+     "A witch, a witch is sleeping
+         Under the churchyard wall."
+
+
+=Dollard=, Father. Ballad of the Banshee. (In J. W. Garvin's Canadian
+Poets and Poetry.)
+
+     Mother of mercy! there she sat,
+         A woman clad in a snow-white shroud,
+     Streamed her hair to the damp moss-mat,
+         White the face on her bosom bowed!
+
+
+=Fletcher=, John Gould. The Ghosts of an Old House. (In his Goblins and
+Pagodas.)
+
+     Yet I often wonder
+     If these things are really dead.
+     If the old trunks never open
+     Letting out grey flapping things at twilight.
+     If it is all as safe and dull
+     As it seems?
+
+
+=Furlong=, Alice. The Warnings. (In Padric Gregory's Modern Anglo-Irish
+Verse.)
+
+     I was weaving by the door-post, when I heard the Death-Watch beating;
+         And I signed the Cross upon me, and I spoke the Name of Three.
+     High and fair, through cloud and air, a silver moon was fleeting,
+         But the night began to darken as the Death-Watch beat for me.
+
+
+=Gibson=, Wilfrid Wilson. The Blind Rower. (In his Collected Poems. 1917.)
+
+     Some say they saw the dead man steer--
+     The dead man steer the blind man home--
+     Though, when they found him dead,
+     His hand was cold as lead.
+
+---- Comrades.
+
+     As I was marching in Flanders
+     A ghost kept step with me--
+     Kept step with me and chuckled,
+     And muttered ceaselessly.
+
+---- The Lodging House.
+
+     And when at last I stand outside
+     My garret door I hardly dare
+     To open it,
+     Lest when I fling it wide
+     With candle lit
+     And reading in my only chair
+     I find myself already there.
+
+
+=Hagedorn=, Hermann. The Last Faring. (In Poems and Ballads.)
+
+     THE FATHER
+
+     Into the storm he drives! Full is the sail;
+     But the wind blows wilder and shriller!
+
+     THE SON
+
+     'Tis the ghost of a Sea-King, my father, rigid and pale,
+     That holds so firm the tiller!
+
+---- The Cobbler of Glamorgan.
+
+     He coughed, he turned; and crystal-eyed
+     He stared, for the bolted door stood wide,
+     And on the threshold, faint and grand,
+     He saw the awful Gray Man stand.
+     His flesh was a thousand snails that crept,
+     But his face was calm though his pulses leapt.
+
+
+=Herford=, Oliver. Ye Knyghte-mare. (In The Bashful Earthquake.)
+
+     Ye log burns dimme, and eke more dimme,
+     Loud groans each knyghtlie gueste,
+     As ye ghost of his grandmother, gaunt and grimme,
+     Sits on each knyghte hys cheste.
+
+
+=Kilmer=, Joyce. The White Ships and the Red. (In W. S. Braithwaite's
+Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1915.)
+
+     The red ship is the Lusitania. "She goes to the bottom all in
+     red to join all the other dead ships, which are in white."
+
+
+=Le Gallienne=, Richard. Ballad of the Dead Lover. (In his New Poems.
+1910.)
+
+     She took his head upon her knee
+     And called him love and very fair.
+     And with a golden comb she combed
+     The grave-dust from his hair.
+
+
+=Lowell=, Amy. The Crossroads. (In her Men, Women, and Ghosts.)
+
+     In polyphonic prose. The body buried at the crossroads
+     struggles for twenty years to free itself of the stake driven
+     through its heart and wreak vengeance on its enemy. It is
+     finally successful as the funeral cortege of this enemy comes
+     down the road.
+
+     "He wavers like smoke in the buffeting wind. His fingers blow
+     out like smoke, his head ripples in the gale. Under the sign
+     post, in the pouring rain, he stands, and watches another
+     quavering figure drifting down the Wayfleet road. Then swiftly
+     he streams after it. . ."
+
+
+=Marquis=, Don. Haunted. (In his Dreams and Dust.)
+
+     Drink and forget, make merry and boast,
+     But the boast rings false and the jest is thin.
+     In the hour that I meet ye ghost to ghost,
+     Stripped of the flesh that ye skulk within,
+     Stripped to the coward soul 'ware of its sin,
+     Ye shall learn, ye shall learn, whether dead men hate!
+
+
+=Masefield=, John. Cape Horn Gospel. (In his Collected Poems. 1918.)
+
+     "I'm a-weary of them there mermaids,"
+         Says old Bill's ghost to me,
+     "It ain't no place for Christians,
+         Below there, under sea.
+     For it's all blown sands and shipwrecks
+         And old bones eaten bare,
+     And them cold fishy females
+         With long green weeds for hair."
+
+---- Mother Carey.
+
+     She lives upon an iceberg to the norred
+         'N' her man is Davy Jones,
+     'N' she combs the weeds upon her forred
+         With poor drowned sailors' bones.
+
+
+=Maynard=, Winifred. Saint Catherine. (In The Book of Winifred Maynard.)
+
+     . . . "Saint Catherine," in which the spotless virginity of the
+     saint is made ashamed by the pitiful ghosts, who whisper their
+     humanity to her in a dream.--_William Stanley Braithwaite._
+
+
+=Middleton=, Jesse Edgar. Off Heligoland. (In his Seadogs and
+Men-at-arms.)
+
+     Ghostly ships in a ghostly sea. . .
+
+
+=Millay=, Edna St. Vincent. The Little Ghost. (In her Renascence.)
+
+     I knew her for a little ghost
+         That in my garden walked;
+     The wall is high--higher than most--
+         And the green gate was locked.
+
+
+=Monroe=, Harriet. The Legend of Pass Christian. (In her You and I.)
+
+     Now we, who wait one night a year
+         Under these branches long,
+     May see a flaming ship, and hear
+         The echo of a song.
+
+
+=Noyes=, Alfred. The Admiral's Ghost. (In his Collected Poems. 1913.)
+
+---- A Song of Sherwood.
+
+     The dead are coming back again, the years are rolled away,
+     In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day.
+
+
+=Scollard=, Clinton. A Ballad of Hallowmass. (In his Ballads Patriotic and
+Romantic.)
+
+     It happed at the time of Hallowmass, when the dead may walk
+         abroad,
+     That the wraith of Ralph of the Peaceful Heart went forth from
+         the courts of God.
+
+
+=Seeger=, Alan. Broceliande. (In his Poems. 1917.)
+
+     Untroubled, untouched by the woes of this world are the
+         moon-marshalled hosts that invade
+           Broceliande.
+
+
+=Shorter=, Dora Sigerson. All Souls' Night. (In Stedman's Victorian
+Anthology.)
+
+     . . . Deelish! Deelish! My woe forever that I could not sever
+         coward flesh from fear.
+     I called his name and the pale ghost came; but I was afraid to
+         meet my dear.
+
+=Sterling=, George. A Wine of Wizardry. (In A Wine of Wizardry and Other
+Poems. 1909.)
+
+     And, ere the tomb-thrown mutterings have ceased,
+     The blue-eyed vampire, sated at her feast,
+     Smiles bloodily against the leprous moon.
+
+
+=Widdemer=, Margaret. The Forgotten Soul. (In her The Factories.)
+
+     'Twas I that stood to greet you on the churchyard pave--
+         (O fire o' my heart's grief, how could you never see?)
+     You smiled in pleasant dreaming as you crossed my grave
+         And crooned a little love-song where they buried me!
+
+---- The House of Ghosts.
+
+     Out from the House of Ghosts I fled
+         Lest I should turn and see
+     The child I had been lift her head
+         And stare aghast at me.
+
+
+=Yeats=, William Butler. The Ballad of Father Gilligan. (In Burton
+Stevenson's The Home Book of Verse.)
+
+     How an angel obligingly took upon itself the form and
+     performed the duties of Father Gilligan while the father was
+     asleep at his post.
+
+---- The Host of the Air.
+
+     Based upon a scrap of folklore in "The Celtic Twilight" and
+     apparently among the simplest of his poems, nothing he has
+     ever done shows a greater mastery of atmosphere, or a greater
+     metrical mastery.--_Forrest Reid._
+
+     He heard, while he sang and dreamed,
+         A piper piping away,
+     And never was piping so sad,
+         And never was piping so gay.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD BALLADS
+
+     "_From Ghaisties, Ghoulies, and long-leggity Beasties
+     and Things that go Bump in the night--
+     Good Lord, deliver us._"
+
+The ballads that follow have all been selected from The Oxford Book of
+Ballads, edited by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch. Clarendon Press, Oxford,
+1910.
+
+
+Alison Gross.
+
+     She's turned me into an ugly worm
+     And gar'd me toddle about the tree.
+
+
+Clerk Saunders.
+
+     The most notable of the ballads of the supernatural, from the
+     dramatic quality of its story and a certain wild pathos in its
+     expression.
+
+     "Is there ony room at your head, Saunders,
+     Is there ony room at your feet?
+     Or ony room at your side, Saunders,
+     Where fain, fain I wad sleep?"
+
+
+The Daemon Lover.
+
+     And aye as she turned her round about,
+     Aye taller he seemed to be;
+     Until that the tops o' that gallant ship
+     Nae taller were than he.
+
+
+King Henry.
+
+     O he has doen him to his ha'
+     To make him bierly cheer,
+     An' in it came a griesly ghost
+     Steed stappin' i' the fleer.
+
+
+The Laily Worm.
+
+     For she has made me the laily worm,
+     That lies at the fit o' the tree,
+     And my sister Masery she's made
+     The machrel of the sea.
+
+
+A Lyke-wake Dirge.
+
+     This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
+         --Every nighte and alle,
+     Fire and sleet and candle-lighte,
+         And Christ receive thy saule.
+
+
+Tam Lin.
+
+     And pleasant is the fairy land
+         For those that in it dwell,
+     But ay at end of seven years
+         They pay a teind to hell;
+     I am sae fair and fu' of flesh
+         I'm fear'd 'twill be mysell.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetry of the Supernatural, by Various
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