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, p.r.i.c.king 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 superst.i.tions, 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 h.e.l.l 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 h.e.l.l he goes.
There the gaunt porters all agrin Fling back the gates to let him in, Then d.a.m.ned 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 Burger"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."