Having not only kissed it, but bless'd it and thank'd it, he
Died, as all thought in the odour of sanctity,
When,--strange to relate! and you'll hardly believe
What I'm going to tell you,--next Candlemas Eve
The Monks and the Nuns in the dead of the night
Tumble, all of them, out of their bed in affright,
Alarm'd by the bawls, And the calls and the squalls
Of some one who seemed running all round the walls!

Looking out, soon By the light of the moon
There appears most distinctly to ev'ry one's view,
And making, as seems to them, all this ado,
The form of a Knight with a beard like a Jew,
As black as if steep'd in that "Matchless" of Hunt's,
And so bushy, it would not disgrace Mr. Muntz;
A bare-footed Friar stands behind him, and shakes
A _flagellum_, whose lashes appear to be snakes;
While, more terrible still, the astounded beholders
Perceive the Friar has NO HEAD ON HIS SHOULDERS,
But is holding his pate, In his left hand, out straight
As if by a closer inspection to find
Where to get the best cut at his victim behind,
With the aid of a small "bull-eye lantern,"--as placed
By our own new police,--in a belt round his waist.
All gaze with surprise, Scarce believing their eyes,
When the Knight makes a start like a race-horse and flies
From his headless tormentor, repeating his cries,--
In vain,--for the Friar to his skirts closely sticks,
"Running after him," so said the Abbot,--"like Bricks!"
Thrice three times did the Phantom Knight