Short Poems

The revel now is high within;
It bursts upon the midnight air.
They little think, in mirth and din,
What spirit waits them there.
As if the sky became a voice, there spread
A sound to appall the living, stir the dead.

And on he speeds! His ghostly sides
Are streaming with a cold, blue light.
Heaven keep the wits of him who rides
The Spectre-Horse to-night!
His path is shining like a swift ship's wake;
Before Lee's door he gleams like day's gray break.

And what comes up above the wave,
So ghastly white? A spectral head!
A horse's head! (May Heaven save
Those looking on the dead,—
The waking dead!) There, on the sea he stands,—
The Spectre-Horse! He moves! he gains the sands;

It scares the sea-birds from their nests;
They dart and wheel with deafening screams;
Now dark,—and now their wings and breasts
Flash back disastrous gleams.
Fair Light, thy looks strange alteration wear;—
The world's great comforter,—why now its fear?

And now she rides upright and still,
Shedding a wild and lurid light
Around the cove, on inland hill,
Waking the gloom of night.
All breathes of terrour! men, in dumb amaze,
Gaze on each other in the horrid blaze.

Not bigger than a star it seems.
And now 't is like the bloody moon!
And now it shoots in hairy streams!
It moves!—'T will reach us soon!
A ship! and all on fire!—hull, yard, and mast!
Her sails are sheets of flame!—she 's nearing fast!

The words they speak, we may not speak;
The tales they tell, we may not tell.
Mere mortal man, forbear to seek
The secrets of that hell!
Their shouts grow loud: 'T is near mid-hour of night:
What means upon the waters that red light?

“To night 's our anniversary;
And, mind me, lads, we have it kept
With royal state and special glee!
Better with those who slept
Their sleep that night would he be now, who slinks!
And health and wealth to him who bravely drinks!”

Matt lords it now throughout the isle;
His hand falls heavier than before;
All dread alike his frown or smile.
None come within his door,
Save those who dipped their hands in blood with him;
Save those who laughed to see the white horse swim.

Remorse and fear he drowns in drink.
“Come, pass the bowl, my jolly crew!
It thicks the blood to mope and think.
Here 's merry days, though few!”
And then he quaffs.—So riot reigns within;
So brawl and laughter shake that house of sin.