Classic Poem

The price has been paid thee, why palterest thou?
Oh black-blooded fiend, why palterest now?
See here in my chamber, I fretfully wait,
And midnight's at hand, 'tis the bride who is late.

The breezes blow chill from the churchyard side;
Ye winds, have ye happened to see my wee bride?
The hosts of pale shadows around me press,
They curtsy with grinning and nodding—Oh yes!

Speak up, what message bringst thou to me,
Swart rogue in the flame-red livery?
“I announce the illustrious company near,
With their chariots and dragons they soon will be here.”

Grey mannikin, darling, hey, what is your will?
Oh dead baccalaureus, waiting here still?
He eyes me with speechless and troubled gaze,
And shakes his head, and goes back his ways.

My shaggy familiar, why purr and stare?
Why do the eyes of black tom-cat glare?
Why howl the long-loose-haired women? and why
Does the ancient nurse croon my lullaby?

Madam nurse, bide at home with your sing-song to-day,
'Tis long since I needed a cradle-lay;
To-day 'tis my wedding-feast that is planned,
And see where the comely guests are at hand.

That's capital, gentlemen! What are ye at,
Each bearing his head in his hand, not his hat!
Ye sprawling-legged creatures in gallows clothes,
What makes ye so late? Not a breath of wind blows.

And see on her broom-stick old mother-witch rides;
Oh bless thy son, mother, whatever betides.
In the dead-white face, the lips quiver then,
And she cries out: “For ever and ever. Amen!”

Twelve wind-dried musicians come loitering in;
One halting blind crone tunes up her violin;
And the famous Jack-pudding, half yellow, half black,
Comes bearing the sexton a-pick-a-back.

Then tripping twelve nuns from their convent advance,
And the leering old procuress leads on the dance;
Twelve brawny-backed parsons come trooping along,
And chant with mock reverence a scandalous song.

Old clothes-man, you're black in the face; shout not so.
No second-hand coat wards the flames off below.
For ever and gratis there hell-fires will burn;
And for wood, great and little men's bones serve the turn.

The flower-girls, all humped and awry, gather round,
And head over heels thro' the chamber they bound;
Hoho! ye owl faces with grasshopper shanks,
I'll stop all your clatter and mountebank's pranks.

And Hell universal has broke loose indeed,
And, howling and scowling, increases the breed,
And the waltz of damnation now breaks on the ear,
Hush, hush! for my love is about to appear.

Ye wretches, be still, or get out of the way,
I can scarce hear a word of all that I say.
Hark!—listen again!—are not wheels there outside?
Come forward, cook-maid, throw the gates open wide.

Fair welcome, my fairest, how are you to-day?
Sir Parson, you're welcome; be seated, I pray.
Sir Parson with tail and with hoofs like a horse,
I'm your reverence's faithfullest servant, of course.

Fair bride, why art standing so silent and wan?
Sir Parson, proceed with the service anon.
I pay him a costly, a blood-costing fee,
But so that I win you that's child's play to me.

Kneel down, my sweet bride, by my side shalt thou kneel.
She kneels and she smiles—ah, the rapture I feel!
She sinks on my heart, on my big heaving breast,
And with shuddering rapture I hold her tight pressed.

The waves of her gold tresses float round us both;
On my heart beats the heart of the maid, nothing loth;
Both hearts are a-beating with woe and delight,
And high to the heaveus they both take their flight.

Our hearts are afloat on a sea of delight
On high, far above us, in God's holy height;
But here on our heads there is horror and dread,
For here the vile hands of dark Hell are outspread.

'Twas the dark son of Midnight himself who hath played
The part of the parson, who blessed and who prayed;
From a blood-besprent book he drones chapter and verse,
His prayer is blaspheming, his blessing is curse.

There are hubbub and riot and groans more and more,
Like thunder in heaven, storm-waves on the shore.
And sudden the blue lightning flashes, and then
The witch cries: “For ever and ever. Amen!”