THE HAUNTED HOUSE. A ROMANCE. "A jolly place," said he, "in times of old, PART I. SOME dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, Unnatural and full of contradictions ; Yet others of our most romantic schemes It might be only on enchanted ground; A residence for woman, child, and man, Unhinged the iron gates half open hung, No dog was at the threshold, great or small; Not one domestic feature. No human figure stirr'd, to go or come, No face look'd forth from shut or open case ment; No chimney smoked-there was no sign of Home From parapet to basement. With shatter'd panes the grassy court was starr'd; The time-worn coping-stone had tumbled after; And through the ragged roof the sky shone, barr'd With naked beam and rafter. O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear; The flow'r grew wild and rankly as the weed, And vagrant plants of parasitic breed But gay or gloomy, steadfast or infirm, No heart was there to heed the hour's duration; All times and tides were lost in one long term Of stagnant desolation. The wren had built within the Porch, she found The rabbit wild and gray, that flitted through The shrubby clumps, and frisk'd, and sat, and vanish'd, But leisurely and bold, as if he knew His enemy was banish'd. The wary crow,-the pheasant from the woods— The coot was swimming in the reedy pond, The moping heron, motionless and stiff, No sound was heard, except, from far away, But Echo never mock'd the human tongue ; [don, The beds were all untouch'd by hand or tool; The vine unpruned, and the neglected peach, Droop'd from the wall with which they used to grapple; And on the canker'd tree, in easy reach, But awfully the truant shunn'd the ground, The vagrant kept aloof, and daring Poacher; In spite of gaps that through the fences round Invited the encroacher. For over all there hung a cloud of fear, The pear and quince lay squander'd on the grass ; Of fruits, and weeds, and flowers! The marigold amidst the nettles blew, The gourd embraced the rose-bush in its ramble, The thistle and the stock together grew, The hollyhock and bramble. The bear-bine with the lilac interlaced, The sturdy burdock choked its slender neighbour, The spicy pink. All tokens were effaced Of human care and labour. The very yew Formality had train'd For want of trimming had almost regain'd The Fountain was a-dry-neglect and time The Statue, fallen from its marble base, Lay like the Idol of some bygone race, Its name and rites forgotten. |