The Haunted Hour - An Anthology by Various
page 104 of 244 (42%)
page 104 of 244 (42%)
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Course round the Abbey as best he might
Be-thwack'd and be-smack'd by the headless Sprite, While his shrieks so piercing made all hearts thrill,-- Then a whoop and a halloo,--and all was still! Ingoldsby Abbey has passed away, And at this time of day One can hardly survey Any traces or track, save a few ruins, grey With age, and fast mouldering into decay, Of the structure once built by Sir Ingoldsby Bray; But still there are many folks living who say That on every Candlemas Eve, the Knight, Accoutred, and dight In his armour bright, With his thick black beard,--and the clerical Sprite, With his head in his hand, and his lantern alight, Run round the spot where the old Abbey stood, And are seen in the neighboring glebe-land and wood; More especially still, if it's stormy and windy, You may hear them for miles kicking up their wild shindy; And that once in a gale Of wind, sleet and hail They frighten'd the horses and upset the mail. What 'tis breaks the rest Of those souls unblest Would now be a thing rather hard to be guessed, Though some say the Squire, on his death-bed, confess'd That on Ascalon plain, When the bones of the slain Were collected that day, and packed up in a chest, Caulk'd and made water-tight, By command of the Knight, Though the legs and the arms they'd got all pretty right, |
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