' Hoot awa',
She wunna fush!
She wunna fush at ony gait,
She's roarin' reid in wrathfu' spate;
Maist like yer kimmer when ye're late
Frae Girvan Fair!
Forbye to speer for leave I'm blate
For fushin' there!
O Louis, you that writes in Scots,
Ye're far awa' frae stirks and stots,
Wi' drookit hurdies, tails in knots,
An unco way!
MY mirth's like thorns aneth the pots
In Ballantrae!
SONG BY THE SUB-CONSCIOUS SELF--RHYMES MADE IN A DREAM
I know not what my secret is,
I know but it is mine;
I know to dwell with it were bliss,
To die for it divine.
I cannot yield it in a kiss,
Nor breathe it in a sigh.
I know that I have lived for this;
For this, my love, I die.
THE HAUNTED HOMES OF ENGLAND
The Haunted Homes of England,
How eerily they stand,
While through them flit their ghosts--to wit,
The Monk with the Red Hand,
The Eyeless Girl--an awful spook -
To stop the boldest breath,
The boy that inked his copybook,
And so got 'wopped' to death!
Call them not shams--from haunted Glamis
To haunted Woodhouselea,
I mark in hosts the grisly ghosts
I hear the fell Banshie!
I know the spectral dog that howls
Before the death of Squires;
In my 'Ghosts'-guide' addresses hide
For Podmore and for Myers!
I see the Vampire climb the stairs
From vaults below the church;
And hark! the Pirate's spectre swears!
O Psychical Research,
Canst THOU not hear what meets my ear,
The viewless wheels that come?
The wild Banshie that wails to thee?
The Drummer with his drum?
O Haunted Homes of England,
Though tenantless ye stand,
With none content to pay the rent,
Through all the shadowy land,
Now, Science true will find in you
A sympathetic perch,
And take you all, both Grange and Hall,
For Psychical Research!
THE DISAPPOINTMENT
A house I took, and many a spook
Was deemed to haunt that House,
I bade the glum Researchers come
With Bogles to carouse.
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