The Spook Ballads. William Theodore Parkes
says he to me, "Prepare!
Be ready! for once more to-night, I'll crock thee down the stair!
To-night, a cousin German of the noble house of Teck
Will occupy the bedroom, and I'll have to crack thy neck!"
In yonder wing, and up the stairs as high as thou canst go,
There is the bedroom, with a door, of casement rather low,
And if thou stay a night therein, thy sleep might wake for shock,
Of scratching on the door, and keyhole cry, to wind your clock,
And then the shout of
"Caitiff knave!"
And if thou'rt bold and dare,
To peer out on that lobby then, he crocks me down the stair!
And leaves thee shivering in thy shirt, with fright and besomed hair!
I've heard the County Council, for the City weal is rife,
I'd hold it as a favor, if thou'ds't intimate that life
Is perilled on that lobby, and suggest in thy report,
That lifts would be more suitable, than stairs in Hampton Court.
Then with a comprehensive wail of anguish at his fate,
He gradually vanished thro' the grating of a gate,
And left me sorely puzzled, in a sad reflective state,
Then up a creeping tree, and spout, with stern resolve of hate
Compressed within my breast for Bouncer's evil ghost I clomb,
And slipping thro' the window frame with feline caution dumb,
I slid behind a folding screen, and with a craning neck,
I listened for the snoring of the Colonel Van der Teck,
But not a soul had come that night into the room to rest,
There was no cousin German, and the bed was yet unpressed;
A knavish and mendacious trick it was of Bouncer's Ghost,
To crack his butler's neck again, but with some beans and toast,
I picketed behind the door, on eager ear to catch,
The slightest human murmur, thro' the keyhole of the latch,
At last it came! the midnight yet, was booming from a clock,
When lo! a scratching on the door, and half-way thro' the lock,
I heard the question, and with shout, I gave the ghosts a shock,
By springing to the lobby, like a chip of blasting rock!
And bounded twixt the spectres, with the rage of fighting cock,
Then facing Colonel Bouncer's Ghost, "Thou caitiff spook" I cried,
"Was it for this, that Shakespeare wrote, and Colonel Hampden died?
For this! that Cromwell lopped a royal head as traitor knave?
For this! that all his cuirassiers were sworn to pray and shave?
Was it for this we lost a world! when George the Third was king?
For this! that laureates have lived of royal deeds to sing?
For this! the printing press was made, torpedoes, dynamite?
The iron ships, and bullet proof cuirass to scape the fight?
Was it for this! we've wove around the world a social net
Of speaking steel, that thou should'st perpetrate thy murder yet?
Out! out on thee! as traitor of thine oath unto the crown!
By gripping of thy butler, by his breech to jock him down,
Was it for this! that justice wrung thy neck on Tyburn tree,
To expiate the direful debt to justice due by thee?
For this! did Lord Macaulay write "The Lays of Antient Rome?"
For this! did Government send out to bring us Jabez home?
Have we been privileged to pay our swollen rates and tax?
And legislative rights imposed upon the noble's backs?
For this! was England parcelled out amongst the Norman few,
That thou should'st haunt in Hampton Court thy noisome work to do?
For this! is London soaring up, to Babel flights of flats
As cross between a poorhouse, and a prison?—are top hats
Still worn by busmen, beadles, undertakers, men of prayer!
That thou should'st cause the lieges to irradiate their hair,
With horror at thy felon work? paugh! out upon thee! there!
Thou misbegotten sprite! was it for this! we fought and flew,
On many a bloody battle field, right on to Peterloo?
Thou gall embittered martinet! What boots it if thou crack
Thy butler's neck? Unto that lock, he'll still be harking back,
And grow envigorated, by thy ghastly midnight work,
Like shooting of the chutes, or breezing down the switchback jerk!
"Psha! that unto thee!" and I snapped my finger at him "bosh!
Go, give thy vengeful spirit to contrition, for the wash,
And with the soap of keen remorse, erase the stain of blood,
From out thy soul, and straight atone, with deeds of useful good,
Go, croak behind the Marble Arch, or take a flag and stand
In Grosvenor Square, as captain of a hallelujah band,
Do anything, but mockery of murder, in the dark,
Ay even spout in windy speech, from wagons in the park,
Thou thing of misty cobwebine! thou woman frighter go!
And never more be seen again, to make thyself a show.
For children's fears, or if thou would'st a manly vengeance dare,
Pick up this fourteen stone of mine, and jock me down the stair
Thou idiot spook, thou ill-conditioned cloud concocted sprite
With the immortal bard I cry, Avaunt! and quit my sight!"
So fiercely did I thus denounce, his evil midnight trick,
The vigour of the vengeful scowl upon his brow grew sick
With quail of deep abasement, to behold a mortal's blood
On fire, to beard a felon spook, and ghosts were understood,
A transposition of remorse, upon his features came,
Until he shook before me, in an abject wreck of shame,
And cried with tones of keen reproach,
"Adzooks! Alack! Ah me!
Oddsbodikins, well well! heigho! that I should die to see,