HALLOWEEN
by C. Jennie Swaine
Gay elfins flit under the holm's broad sheen,
As the first star rises on Halloween;
And goblins and fairies, a weird-like band,
Dance 'neath the shadow of sweet tryst-land.
They ride through the air in their chariots small;
They sail through the spray of the water-fall;
They float through the billows of moon-light sweet,
And glide through the forest with noiseless feet.
Sweet fairy band, whose footsteps unseen
Are lost in the frost-pearls of Halloween!
It is said that ye open, with mystic hand,
The gateway that leads to Arcana land.
What is the secret the future unfolds?
What are the gifts which its fairy-land holds ?
Are they all which a dream foreshows
When the rainbow of promise upon it glows ?
O Halloween, open thy vista gate,
And reveal through the rose-tints the lines of fate ;
Reflect in thy mirror our bloom-days bright,
And leave all the shadow-days veiled in night.
Give the hero the heritage for spoil,
Give the toiler the measure-meed of toil,
And thy dreamland glories, sweet Halloween,
The Elysium of meet reward shall seem.
Show thou to us the charmed life that lives
On the festal bounty of what it gives,
And we 'll learn that 't is better to write one's name
On the human heart than on heights of fame.
Weave your bright spell, elves of Halloween!
O'er a servile enchantress; but work is queen.
And no better can be the sorcerer's wand
Than the laurel's green and the palm-tree's frond.
by C. Jennie Swaine
Gay elfins flit under the holm's broad sheen,
As the first star rises on Halloween;
And goblins and fairies, a weird-like band,
Dance 'neath the shadow of sweet tryst-land.
They ride through the air in their chariots small;
They sail through the spray of the water-fall;
They float through the billows of moon-light sweet,
And glide through the forest with noiseless feet.
Sweet fairy band, whose footsteps unseen
Are lost in the frost-pearls of Halloween!
It is said that ye open, with mystic hand,
The gateway that leads to Arcana land.
What is the secret the future unfolds?
What are the gifts which its fairy-land holds ?
Are they all which a dream foreshows
When the rainbow of promise upon it glows ?
O Halloween, open thy vista gate,
And reveal through the rose-tints the lines of fate ;
Reflect in thy mirror our bloom-days bright,
And leave all the shadow-days veiled in night.
Give the hero the heritage for spoil,
Give the toiler the measure-meed of toil,
And thy dreamland glories, sweet Halloween,
The Elysium of meet reward shall seem.
Show thou to us the charmed life that lives
On the festal bounty of what it gives,
And we 'll learn that 't is better to write one's name
On the human heart than on heights of fame.
Weave your bright spell, elves of Halloween!
O'er a servile enchantress; but work is queen.
And no better can be the sorcerer's wand
Than the laurel's green and the palm-tree's frond.
HALLOWEEN
by Henry Lee Fisher
Among the bonnio winding banks
Wnere Doon rins wbimplin clear;
Whore Bruce once ruled the martial ranks,
And shook his Carrick spear.
Some merry, friendly, countra folks
Together did convene
To burn their nits an pou' their stocks
An' baud their Halloween
Fu' blythe that night.
—Burns.
How gay and jolly was the night—
Of many an old-time Halloween ;
A feast for saints, all-holy, all,
Yet very seldom, if at all,
A sober saint was to be seen
At such a feast, for, little meat
There was prepared for saints to eat.
On Halloween in other lands,
From whence our worthy fathers came—
Among Auld Scotia's storied hills,
Along its babbling brooks and rills,
So rich in rare poetic fame,
Witches and wizards, elves and de'ils
Joined in the merry mid-night reels.
But true and honest country-folks—
Folks young and gay and single—
Those true and honest country-folks
Once played their charms and cracked their jokes
Around the cheerful, blazing, ''ingle,''
And pulled and ''shouthered runts o' kail''
And cracked their nuts and drank their ale.
A youthful couple, hand in hand,
And very closely bandaged eyes,
Would, thus, into the garden walk,
And, blindly pull a cabbage-stalk
Whose form and features, shape, and size
'Twas understood, were true to life,
Of future husband or of wife.
So, were the tedious hours beguiled
By many a merry lad and lass :
In kail and flax, in nuts and yarn,
In midnight winnowings in the barn,
Or looking in the magic glass,
The airy being sought and feared,
In some mysterious way appeared.
O, many were the strange mishaps
Of many a rude and luckless wight;
And many were the tricks and charms,
And many were the wild alarms,
On that wild, weird mysterious, night!
And many an ancient legend tells
Of fairy dance and wizard-spells ;
Among the rugged rocks and caves,
Dim lighted by the friendly moon—
Upon the weird winding banks
“Where Bruce ance ruled his martial ranks”—
The storied banks “O, Bonny Doon,”
As every reader knows who turns
The mellow leaves of Robert Burns.
In this unstoried land of ours
Not such was merry Halloween;
No random pulling of the “kail,”
No roasting nuts, no foaming ale,
No dance upon the homestead green;
No sowing of the hemp or flax
Nor pulling straws from oaten stacks.
With far less rev'rence for the saints
Or faith in charms or magic spell—
To superstition less inclined,
In magic arts, all unrefined—
Our old time Halloweens but smelled
Of cabbages, which by the scores
We hurled against the neighbors' doors.
The battering-rams of ancient times,
Or modern arts and arms of war—
The mortars, bombs, and bursting shells,
With union shouts and rebel yells
And angry, belching, cannons' roar,
All were but tame and quiet scenes
Compared with our old Halloweens.
A rustic regiment of boys,
And rustic girls as brave as they,
Well armed with sturdy cabbage-heads
While honest folks, all in their beds
In peaceful dreams and slumbers lay,
In rude, but old-time—honored sport
Assailed the undefended fort.
One such bombardment I recall—
At good old neighbor Johnny Brown's ;
To see what all this was about,
Old Johnny and his dame came out
In their nocturnal, nether gowns,
When lo ! a well-directed runt
Struck Johnny in—well, not in front.
Dumbfounded, he, a moment stood
Beneath the overhanging eaves ,
While '' bursting shells '' their fragments threw,
And all around the pieces flew—
Runts, broken hearts and shatter'd leaves ;
What wonder he should run in fear
From such hell-fire in his rear.
Though many more as stout as he,
Such furious fire might not withstand ;
Yet, fearless, valiant, Mrs. Brown,
More brave than Johnny, stood her ground,
With broomstick in her sturdy hand—
She'd break the first one's head, she said,
Who'd throw another cabbage-head.
And now, old Johnny re-appeared,
A looking quite subdued, though grieved
'Twas Halloween! was our excuse,
Inscribed upon a flag of truce,
And so respected and received
By Johnny, and his valiant dame,
Whose honored guests we now became.
We gathered up the kail debris
That lay about the porch and door ;
We gathered 'round the blazing hearth,
And there we swore, for what 'twas worth,
That we would do so, never more ;
But understood, “no more” to mean,
No more 'till next year's Halloween.
Of this our mental reservation,
Nor John, nor Betsy ever knew,
Their house and hearts were open, wide,
And of their best they did provide
And sent not far—for fiddling Joe;
For, Joe was never far away
When there were tunes or tricks to play.
And in the great old fire-place—
That heaven for darkies here below,
Upon a block he sat him down,
Unenvious of a monarch's crown,
And rosin'd up his ready bow,
While itching toes and buoyant heels
Stood ready for the rustic reels.
And soon the merry dance began
As over the oaken kitchen floor
We danced with all the young Miss. Browns—
Clad in their linsey-woolsey gowns—
Until our very toes were sore ;
While old folks, freed from care and toil
Sat, smoked, and quaffed their cider-oil.
And while the dance was going on,
A panel of the kitchen door
Flew out; and thereupon a runt flew in
And hit old Johnny on the shin !
What wonder that he cursed and swore
By all the saints, “the devil was loose
And riding on a tailor's goose.”
But maugre all, the dance went on—
No hitch nor halting in Scotch reels ,
The more old Johnny cried, "aye! aye!"
The thicker did the cabbage fly—
The faster went the clattering heels;
'Till John and Betsy, both, cried out,
"There's witches, elves, and de'ils about] "
In came another company
Of merry boys and merrier girls,
Alert with playful pranks and freaks—
With sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks,
And O, what waving, flowing curls,
To add new beauty to the scene,
On that good old-time Halloween.
“More water on our mill!” we cried,—
And then, again, the dance went on;
And many a runt was kicked around,
And many a heart was crushed and ground,
And many went where more had gone—
Across the fence to feed the pigs,
Whilst we kept dancing reels and jigs!
Old Betty sezied the poker, then,
And stirred the dull and waning fire ;
Ten thousand sparks arose and flew,
Like meteors, up the chimney-flue—
And swift as meteors they expired ;
So do our merry times and friends—
So we, when death the pageant ends.
At length, the old folks went to bed—
To speak politely, they retired ;
But we danced on till past midnight,
And sang and played till near daylight,
But never, never, were too tired,
Nor ever thought it sin or harm
To put Smith's wagon on his barn.
In fact, this was the final act
In serio-comic Halloween;
Nor was the play esteemed complete
Without this mad, Herculean feat—
And foolish, final midnight scene;
And who, but neighbor Johnny Brown,
Should help Smith get his wagon down ?
Farewell to dear old Halloween—
To merry song and dance and play;
To home and hearth and back-log-fire—
The torch that did our hearts inspire
When life was young and spirits gay;
Farewell to all the hallowed scenes
That blessed and cheered our Halloweens.
But, still, the world is better, now—
O, Progress! O, Reform! Reform!
Instead of throwing cabbage-runts—
Against our neighbors' French plate fronts,
The boys and girls throw grains of com
And I sing in these homespun rhymes
The cultured manners of the times.
by Henry Lee Fisher
Among the bonnio winding banks
Wnere Doon rins wbimplin clear;
Whore Bruce once ruled the martial ranks,
And shook his Carrick spear.
Some merry, friendly, countra folks
Together did convene
To burn their nits an pou' their stocks
An' baud their Halloween
Fu' blythe that night.
—Burns.
How gay and jolly was the night—
Of many an old-time Halloween ;
A feast for saints, all-holy, all,
Yet very seldom, if at all,
A sober saint was to be seen
At such a feast, for, little meat
There was prepared for saints to eat.
On Halloween in other lands,
From whence our worthy fathers came—
Among Auld Scotia's storied hills,
Along its babbling brooks and rills,
So rich in rare poetic fame,
Witches and wizards, elves and de'ils
Joined in the merry mid-night reels.
But true and honest country-folks—
Folks young and gay and single—
Those true and honest country-folks
Once played their charms and cracked their jokes
Around the cheerful, blazing, ''ingle,''
And pulled and ''shouthered runts o' kail''
And cracked their nuts and drank their ale.
A youthful couple, hand in hand,
And very closely bandaged eyes,
Would, thus, into the garden walk,
And, blindly pull a cabbage-stalk
Whose form and features, shape, and size
'Twas understood, were true to life,
Of future husband or of wife.
So, were the tedious hours beguiled
By many a merry lad and lass :
In kail and flax, in nuts and yarn,
In midnight winnowings in the barn,
Or looking in the magic glass,
The airy being sought and feared,
In some mysterious way appeared.
O, many were the strange mishaps
Of many a rude and luckless wight;
And many were the tricks and charms,
And many were the wild alarms,
On that wild, weird mysterious, night!
And many an ancient legend tells
Of fairy dance and wizard-spells ;
Among the rugged rocks and caves,
Dim lighted by the friendly moon—
Upon the weird winding banks
“Where Bruce ance ruled his martial ranks”—
The storied banks “O, Bonny Doon,”
As every reader knows who turns
The mellow leaves of Robert Burns.
In this unstoried land of ours
Not such was merry Halloween;
No random pulling of the “kail,”
No roasting nuts, no foaming ale,
No dance upon the homestead green;
No sowing of the hemp or flax
Nor pulling straws from oaten stacks.
With far less rev'rence for the saints
Or faith in charms or magic spell—
To superstition less inclined,
In magic arts, all unrefined—
Our old time Halloweens but smelled
Of cabbages, which by the scores
We hurled against the neighbors' doors.
The battering-rams of ancient times,
Or modern arts and arms of war—
The mortars, bombs, and bursting shells,
With union shouts and rebel yells
And angry, belching, cannons' roar,
All were but tame and quiet scenes
Compared with our old Halloweens.
A rustic regiment of boys,
And rustic girls as brave as they,
Well armed with sturdy cabbage-heads
While honest folks, all in their beds
In peaceful dreams and slumbers lay,
In rude, but old-time—honored sport
Assailed the undefended fort.
One such bombardment I recall—
At good old neighbor Johnny Brown's ;
To see what all this was about,
Old Johnny and his dame came out
In their nocturnal, nether gowns,
When lo ! a well-directed runt
Struck Johnny in—well, not in front.
Dumbfounded, he, a moment stood
Beneath the overhanging eaves ,
While '' bursting shells '' their fragments threw,
And all around the pieces flew—
Runts, broken hearts and shatter'd leaves ;
What wonder he should run in fear
From such hell-fire in his rear.
Though many more as stout as he,
Such furious fire might not withstand ;
Yet, fearless, valiant, Mrs. Brown,
More brave than Johnny, stood her ground,
With broomstick in her sturdy hand—
She'd break the first one's head, she said,
Who'd throw another cabbage-head.
And now, old Johnny re-appeared,
A looking quite subdued, though grieved
'Twas Halloween! was our excuse,
Inscribed upon a flag of truce,
And so respected and received
By Johnny, and his valiant dame,
Whose honored guests we now became.
We gathered up the kail debris
That lay about the porch and door ;
We gathered 'round the blazing hearth,
And there we swore, for what 'twas worth,
That we would do so, never more ;
But understood, “no more” to mean,
No more 'till next year's Halloween.
Of this our mental reservation,
Nor John, nor Betsy ever knew,
Their house and hearts were open, wide,
And of their best they did provide
And sent not far—for fiddling Joe;
For, Joe was never far away
When there were tunes or tricks to play.
And in the great old fire-place—
That heaven for darkies here below,
Upon a block he sat him down,
Unenvious of a monarch's crown,
And rosin'd up his ready bow,
While itching toes and buoyant heels
Stood ready for the rustic reels.
And soon the merry dance began
As over the oaken kitchen floor
We danced with all the young Miss. Browns—
Clad in their linsey-woolsey gowns—
Until our very toes were sore ;
While old folks, freed from care and toil
Sat, smoked, and quaffed their cider-oil.
And while the dance was going on,
A panel of the kitchen door
Flew out; and thereupon a runt flew in
And hit old Johnny on the shin !
What wonder that he cursed and swore
By all the saints, “the devil was loose
And riding on a tailor's goose.”
But maugre all, the dance went on—
No hitch nor halting in Scotch reels ,
The more old Johnny cried, "aye! aye!"
The thicker did the cabbage fly—
The faster went the clattering heels;
'Till John and Betsy, both, cried out,
"There's witches, elves, and de'ils about] "
In came another company
Of merry boys and merrier girls,
Alert with playful pranks and freaks—
With sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks,
And O, what waving, flowing curls,
To add new beauty to the scene,
On that good old-time Halloween.
“More water on our mill!” we cried,—
And then, again, the dance went on;
And many a runt was kicked around,
And many a heart was crushed and ground,
And many went where more had gone—
Across the fence to feed the pigs,
Whilst we kept dancing reels and jigs!
Old Betty sezied the poker, then,
And stirred the dull and waning fire ;
Ten thousand sparks arose and flew,
Like meteors, up the chimney-flue—
And swift as meteors they expired ;
So do our merry times and friends—
So we, when death the pageant ends.
At length, the old folks went to bed—
To speak politely, they retired ;
But we danced on till past midnight,
And sang and played till near daylight,
But never, never, were too tired,
Nor ever thought it sin or harm
To put Smith's wagon on his barn.
In fact, this was the final act
In serio-comic Halloween;
Nor was the play esteemed complete
Without this mad, Herculean feat—
And foolish, final midnight scene;
And who, but neighbor Johnny Brown,
Should help Smith get his wagon down ?
Farewell to dear old Halloween—
To merry song and dance and play;
To home and hearth and back-log-fire—
The torch that did our hearts inspire
When life was young and spirits gay;
Farewell to all the hallowed scenes
That blessed and cheered our Halloweens.
But, still, the world is better, now—
O, Progress! O, Reform! Reform!
Instead of throwing cabbage-runts—
Against our neighbors' French plate fronts,
The boys and girls throw grains of com
And I sing in these homespun rhymes
The cultured manners of the times.
I'm a big believer in the notion that poetry belongs to the reader. Actually, I'd like to expand that to the world belongs to the individual. Interpret and enjoy at will. To that end, in my world, this poem is about a burgeoning banshee.
THE WAIL OF THE BETRAYED
by Francis S. Smith
Come, night, sad night, and let me hide
My wretchedness in thee!
Nurse in thy gloom my woman's pride,
My heart's deep agony!
Thy sombre shadows suit me well,
My trouble and unrest
Are suited to thy darksome spell—
'Tis night within my breast.
The flowers that bloom at early morn
To some may beauteous be,
But those that ope at night's approach
Are dearer far to me.
The first like sunshine friends may smile
In fortune's happy light,
The latter will our griefs beguile
In sorrow's gloomy night.
Though bright the glorious orb of day,
It has no charm for me;
I would not have a single ray
Shine on my misery.
Like the crushed flower upon the plain,
Dust-covered from the sight,
So would I hide my loathsome stain
In everlasting night.
I love the dark-robed night, for she
Shares all my bitter grief;
She has a sigh in every breeze,
A tear on every leaf;
And while the moon looks sadly down,
The stars shed, as they glow,
A ray of sorrowing light that seems
Like sympathetic woe.
by Francis S. Smith
Come, night, sad night, and let me hide
My wretchedness in thee!
Nurse in thy gloom my woman's pride,
My heart's deep agony!
Thy sombre shadows suit me well,
My trouble and unrest
Are suited to thy darksome spell—
'Tis night within my breast.
The flowers that bloom at early morn
To some may beauteous be,
But those that ope at night's approach
Are dearer far to me.
The first like sunshine friends may smile
In fortune's happy light,
The latter will our griefs beguile
In sorrow's gloomy night.
Though bright the glorious orb of day,
It has no charm for me;
I would not have a single ray
Shine on my misery.
Like the crushed flower upon the plain,
Dust-covered from the sight,
So would I hide my loathsome stain
In everlasting night.
I love the dark-robed night, for she
Shares all my bitter grief;
She has a sigh in every breeze,
A tear on every leaf;
And while the moon looks sadly down,
The stars shed, as they glow,
A ray of sorrowing light that seems
Like sympathetic woe.
THE GHOST
by Walter de la Mare
"Who knocks?" "I, who was beautiful,
Beyond all dreams to restore,
I, from the roots of the dark thorn am hither,
And knock on the door."
"Who speaks?" "I,—once was my speech
Sweet as the bird's on the air.
When echo lurks by the waters to heed;
'Tis I speak thee fair."
"Dark is the hour!" "Aye, and cold."
"Lone is my house." "Ah, but mine?"
"Sight, touch, lips, eyes yearn in vain."
"Long dead these to thine...."
Silence. Still faint on the porch
Brake the flames of the stars.
In gloom groped a hope-wearied hand
Over keys, bolts and bars.
A face peered. All the grey night
In chaos of vacancy shone;
Nought but vast Sorrow was there—
The sweet cheat gone.
by Walter de la Mare
"Who knocks?" "I, who was beautiful,
Beyond all dreams to restore,
I, from the roots of the dark thorn am hither,
And knock on the door."
"Who speaks?" "I,—once was my speech
Sweet as the bird's on the air.
When echo lurks by the waters to heed;
'Tis I speak thee fair."
"Dark is the hour!" "Aye, and cold."
"Lone is my house." "Ah, but mine?"
"Sight, touch, lips, eyes yearn in vain."
"Long dead these to thine...."
Silence. Still faint on the porch
Brake the flames of the stars.
In gloom groped a hope-wearied hand
Over keys, bolts and bars.
A face peered. All the grey night
In chaos of vacancy shone;
Nought but vast Sorrow was there—
The sweet cheat gone.
THE HALLOWEEN ELF
by J.B. Tabb
There's a funny little elf man,
In a funny peak-ed cap,
And he cuts such funny capers I
Such a merry little chap !
And he goes out on a frolic,
And he shakes his little wings,
When he thinks how very funny
Is the little song he sings !
“Halloween Night!
Halloween Night!
In the cold bright rays
Of the old moon's light,
Elf men and brownies !
No time to be lost!
We will frolic around
Till we freeze up the ground,
And the children will think
It's Jack Frost.”
by J.B. Tabb
There's a funny little elf man,
In a funny peak-ed cap,
And he cuts such funny capers I
Such a merry little chap !
And he goes out on a frolic,
And he shakes his little wings,
When he thinks how very funny
Is the little song he sings !
“Halloween Night!
Halloween Night!
In the cold bright rays
Of the old moon's light,
Elf men and brownies !
No time to be lost!
We will frolic around
Till we freeze up the ground,
And the children will think
It's Jack Frost.”
HALLOWEEN
by William Howe Cuyler Hosmer
I.
I had a vision:—in my dream
I looked on Doon's enchanted stream, .
The moonlight glinted forth its beam
On hill, and cairn.
And one I saw who reigns supreme
Apollo's bairn.
II.
The bard, renowned in distant climes,
Sighed for the sports of other times
When bells rang out their merry chimes,
And lads were seen
With lassies singing quaint old rhymes
At Halloween.
III.
“These customs of an elder day,”
He said, " should never pass away,
Till flowers should wreath the pole in May,
And on the green Nymphs from the Doon, and Ayr and Tay
Should choose their Queen.
IV.
“Hearts, leal and warm, old manners hail !
Braw lads in Caledon will fail
When, as the evening shades prevail,
No more are seen Blythe lassie pulling plants of kail
At Halloween.
V.
“With them in soul, on sic a night,
Your minstrel, Burns, still takes delight,
And though unseen by mortal light,
His spirit glance Sees on the lawn, with moonshine bright,
The fairies dance.
VI.
“At ingle-neuks on every farm
Let witch and warlock wake alarm,
The burning nuts still work a charm
At Halloween,
So loved when arm I locked in arm
With Bonny Jean.
VII.
“By, on the wind while spirits pass,
Rustling the leaves and withered grass,
Still let the pale and trembling lass
Her apple eat,
And in the haunted looking glass
A husband greet.
VIII.
“Indeed will Scottish hearts be cold,
Her glory like a tale that's told
When ancient rites and customs old
Are loved no more,
And only worshippers of gold
Crowd Albyn's shore.”
IX.
Deep silence fell upon the place,
The poet's noble form and face,
Fled in my dream and left no trace,
Like vanished smoke ;
I heard Doon's waves each other chase,
And I awoke.
Mcpherson Lodge, Oct. 31, 1865
by William Howe Cuyler Hosmer
I.
I had a vision:—in my dream
I looked on Doon's enchanted stream, .
The moonlight glinted forth its beam
On hill, and cairn.
And one I saw who reigns supreme
Apollo's bairn.
II.
The bard, renowned in distant climes,
Sighed for the sports of other times
When bells rang out their merry chimes,
And lads were seen
With lassies singing quaint old rhymes
At Halloween.
III.
“These customs of an elder day,”
He said, " should never pass away,
Till flowers should wreath the pole in May,
And on the green Nymphs from the Doon, and Ayr and Tay
Should choose their Queen.
IV.
“Hearts, leal and warm, old manners hail !
Braw lads in Caledon will fail
When, as the evening shades prevail,
No more are seen Blythe lassie pulling plants of kail
At Halloween.
V.
“With them in soul, on sic a night,
Your minstrel, Burns, still takes delight,
And though unseen by mortal light,
His spirit glance Sees on the lawn, with moonshine bright,
The fairies dance.
VI.
“At ingle-neuks on every farm
Let witch and warlock wake alarm,
The burning nuts still work a charm
At Halloween,
So loved when arm I locked in arm
With Bonny Jean.
VII.
“By, on the wind while spirits pass,
Rustling the leaves and withered grass,
Still let the pale and trembling lass
Her apple eat,
And in the haunted looking glass
A husband greet.
VIII.
“Indeed will Scottish hearts be cold,
Her glory like a tale that's told
When ancient rites and customs old
Are loved no more,
And only worshippers of gold
Crowd Albyn's shore.”
IX.
Deep silence fell upon the place,
The poet's noble form and face,
Fled in my dream and left no trace,
Like vanished smoke ;
I heard Doon's waves each other chase,
And I awoke.
Mcpherson Lodge, Oct. 31, 1865
HAUNTED
by Don Marquis
A ghost is a freak of a sick man's brain?
Then why do you start and shiver so?
That's the sob and drip of a leaky drain?
But it sounds like another noise we know!
The heavy drops drummed red and slow,
The drops ran down as slow as fate—
Do ye hear them still?—it was long ago!—
But here in the shadows I wait, and wait!
Spirits there be that pass in peace;
Mine passed in a whirl of wrath and dole;
And the hour that your choking breath shall cease
I will get my grip on your naked soul—
Nor pity may stay nor prayer cajole—
I would drag ye whining from Hell's own gate:
To me, to me, ye must pay the toll!
And here in the shadows I wait, I wait!
The dead they are dead, they are out of the way?
And the ghost is a whim of an ailing mind?
Then why did ye whiten with fear to-day
When ye heard a voice in the calling wind?
Why did ye falter and look behind?
At the creeping mists when the hour grew late?
Ye would see my face were ye stricken blind!
And here in the shadows I wait, I wait!
Drink and forget, make merry and boast,
But the boast rings false and the jest is thin—
In the hour that I meet you ghost to ghost,
Stripped of the flesh that you skulk within,
Stripped to the coward soul 'ware of its sin,
Ye shall learn, ye shall learn, whether dead men hate!
Ah, a weary time has the waiting been,
But here in the shadows I wait, I wait!
by Don Marquis
A ghost is a freak of a sick man's brain?
Then why do you start and shiver so?
That's the sob and drip of a leaky drain?
But it sounds like another noise we know!
The heavy drops drummed red and slow,
The drops ran down as slow as fate—
Do ye hear them still?—it was long ago!—
But here in the shadows I wait, and wait!
Spirits there be that pass in peace;
Mine passed in a whirl of wrath and dole;
And the hour that your choking breath shall cease
I will get my grip on your naked soul—
Nor pity may stay nor prayer cajole—
I would drag ye whining from Hell's own gate:
To me, to me, ye must pay the toll!
And here in the shadows I wait, I wait!
The dead they are dead, they are out of the way?
And the ghost is a whim of an ailing mind?
Then why did ye whiten with fear to-day
When ye heard a voice in the calling wind?
Why did ye falter and look behind?
At the creeping mists when the hour grew late?
Ye would see my face were ye stricken blind!
And here in the shadows I wait, I wait!
Drink and forget, make merry and boast,
But the boast rings false and the jest is thin—
In the hour that I meet you ghost to ghost,
Stripped of the flesh that you skulk within,
Stripped to the coward soul 'ware of its sin,
Ye shall learn, ye shall learn, whether dead men hate!
Ah, a weary time has the waiting been,
But here in the shadows I wait, I wait!
HALLOWEEN
by Arthur Peterson
Out I went into the meadow,
Where the moon was shining brightly,
And the oak-tree's lengthening shadows
On the sloping sward did lean;
For I longed to see the goblins,
And the dainty-footed fairies,
And the gnomes, who dwell in caverns,
But come forth on Halloween.
"All the spirits, good and evil,
Fay and pixie, witch and wizard,
On this night will sure be stirring,"
Thought I, as I walked along;
"And if Puck, the merry wanderer,
Or her majesty, Titania,
Or that Mab who teases housewives
If their housewifery be wrong,
Should but condescend to meet me"—
But my thoughts took sudden parting,
For I saw, a few feet from me,
Standing in the moonlight there,
A quaint, roguish little figure,
And I knew 'twas Puck, the trickster,
By the twinkle of his bright eyes
Underneath his shaggy hair.
Yet I felt no fear of Robin,
Salutation brief he uttered,
Laughed and touched me on the shoulder,
And we lightly walked away;
And I found that I was smaller,
For the grasses brushed my elbows,
And the asters seemed like oak-trees,
With their trunks so tall and gray.
Swiftly as the wind we traveled,
Till we came unto a garden,
Bright within a gloomy forest,
Like a gem within the mine;
And I saw, as we grew nearer,
That the flowers so blue and golden
Were but little men and women,
Who amongst the green did shine.
But 'twas marvelous the resemblance
Their bright figures bore to blossoms,
As they smiled, and danced, and courtesied,
Clad in yellow, pink and blue;
That fair dame, my eyes were certain,
Who among them moved so proudly,
Was my moss-rose, while her ear-rings
Sparkled like the morning dew.
Here, too, danced my pinks and pansies,
Smiling, gayly, as they used to
When, like beaux bedecked and merry,
They disported in the sun;
There, with meek eyes, walked a lily,
While the violets and snow-drops
Tripped it with the lordly tulips:
Truant blossoms, every one.
Then spoke Robin to me, wondering:
"These blithe fairies are the spirits
Of the flowers which all the summer
Bloom beneath its tender sky;
When they feel the frosty fingers
Of the autumn closing round them,
They forsake their earthborn dwellings,
Which to earth return and die,
"As befits things which are mortal.
But these spirits, who are deathless,
Care not for the frosty autumn,
Nor the winter long and keen;
But, from field, and wood, and garden,
When their summer's tasks are finished,
Gather here for dance and music,
As of old, on Halloween."
Long, with Puck, I watched the revels,
Till the gray light of the morning
Dimmed the luster of Orion,
Starry sentry overhead;
And the fairies, at that warning,
Ceased their riot, and the brightness
Faded from the lonely forest,
And I knew that they had fled.
Ah, it ne'er can be forgotten,
This strange night I learned the secret
That within each flower a busy
Fairy lives and works unseen.
Seldom is 't to mortals granted
To behold the elves and pixies,
To behold the merry spirits,
Who come forth on Halloween.
by Arthur Peterson
Out I went into the meadow,
Where the moon was shining brightly,
And the oak-tree's lengthening shadows
On the sloping sward did lean;
For I longed to see the goblins,
And the dainty-footed fairies,
And the gnomes, who dwell in caverns,
But come forth on Halloween.
"All the spirits, good and evil,
Fay and pixie, witch and wizard,
On this night will sure be stirring,"
Thought I, as I walked along;
"And if Puck, the merry wanderer,
Or her majesty, Titania,
Or that Mab who teases housewives
If their housewifery be wrong,
Should but condescend to meet me"—
But my thoughts took sudden parting,
For I saw, a few feet from me,
Standing in the moonlight there,
A quaint, roguish little figure,
And I knew 'twas Puck, the trickster,
By the twinkle of his bright eyes
Underneath his shaggy hair.
Yet I felt no fear of Robin,
Salutation brief he uttered,
Laughed and touched me on the shoulder,
And we lightly walked away;
And I found that I was smaller,
For the grasses brushed my elbows,
And the asters seemed like oak-trees,
With their trunks so tall and gray.
Swiftly as the wind we traveled,
Till we came unto a garden,
Bright within a gloomy forest,
Like a gem within the mine;
And I saw, as we grew nearer,
That the flowers so blue and golden
Were but little men and women,
Who amongst the green did shine.
But 'twas marvelous the resemblance
Their bright figures bore to blossoms,
As they smiled, and danced, and courtesied,
Clad in yellow, pink and blue;
That fair dame, my eyes were certain,
Who among them moved so proudly,
Was my moss-rose, while her ear-rings
Sparkled like the morning dew.
Here, too, danced my pinks and pansies,
Smiling, gayly, as they used to
When, like beaux bedecked and merry,
They disported in the sun;
There, with meek eyes, walked a lily,
While the violets and snow-drops
Tripped it with the lordly tulips:
Truant blossoms, every one.
Then spoke Robin to me, wondering:
"These blithe fairies are the spirits
Of the flowers which all the summer
Bloom beneath its tender sky;
When they feel the frosty fingers
Of the autumn closing round them,
They forsake their earthborn dwellings,
Which to earth return and die,
"As befits things which are mortal.
But these spirits, who are deathless,
Care not for the frosty autumn,
Nor the winter long and keen;
But, from field, and wood, and garden,
When their summer's tasks are finished,
Gather here for dance and music,
As of old, on Halloween."
Long, with Puck, I watched the revels,
Till the gray light of the morning
Dimmed the luster of Orion,
Starry sentry overhead;
And the fairies, at that warning,
Ceased their riot, and the brightness
Faded from the lonely forest,
And I knew that they had fled.
Ah, it ne'er can be forgotten,
This strange night I learned the secret
That within each flower a busy
Fairy lives and works unseen.
Seldom is 't to mortals granted
To behold the elves and pixies,
To behold the merry spirits,
Who come forth on Halloween.