A True Story of an Apparition: a Tale

Sceptics (whose strength of argument makes out
That wisdom's deep inquiries end in doubt)
Hold this assertion positive and clear,
That sprites are pure delusions raised by fear.
Not that famed ghost, which in presaging sound
Call'd Brutus to Philippi's fatal ground;
Nor can Tiberius Gracchus' gory shade
These ever-doubting disputants persuade.
Straight they with smiles reply; those tales of old
By visionary priests were made and told:
Oh, might some ghost at dead of night appear,
And make you own conviction by your fear!
I know your sneers my easy faith accuse,
Which with such idle legends scares the Muse:
But think not that I tell those vulgar sprites,
Which frighted boys relate on winter nights;
How cleanly milk-maids meet the fairy train,
How headless horses drag the clinking chain,
Night-roaming ghosts, by saucer eye-balls known,
The common spectres of each country town.
No; I such fables can like you despise,
And laugh to hear these nurse-invented lies.
Yet has not oft the fraudful guardian's fright
Compell'd him to restore an orphan's right?
And can we doubt that horrid ghosts ascend,
Which on the conscious murd'rer's steps attend?
Hear, then, and let attested truth prevail,
From faithful lips I learnt the dreadful tale.

Where Arden's forest spreads its limits wide,
Whose branching paths the doubtful road divide,
A trav'ler took his solitary way,
When low beneath the hills was sunk the day.
And now the skies with gath'ring darkness lower,
The branches rustle with the threaten'd shower;
With sudden blasts the forest murmurs loud,
Indented lightnings cleave the sable cloud,
Thunder on thunder breaks, the tempest roars,
And heav'n discharges all its wat'ry stores.
The wand'ring traveller shelter seeks in vain,
And shrinks and shivers with the beating rain:
On his steed's neck the slacken'd bridle lay,
Who chose with cautious step th' uncertain way;
And now he checks the rein, and halts to hear
If any noise foretold a village near.
At length from far a stream of light he sees
Extend its level ray between the trees;
Thither he speeds, and as he nearer came
Joyful he knew the lamp's domestic flame
That trembled through the window; cross the way
Darts forth the barking cur, and stands at bay.

It was an ancient lonely house, that stood
Upon the borders of the spacious wood;
Here towers and antique battlements arise,
And there in heaps the moulder'd ruin lies;
Some lord this mansion held in days of yore,
To chase the wolf, and pierce the foaming boar:
How changed, alas, from what it once had been!
'Tis now degraded to a public inn.

Straight he dismounts, repeats his loud commands;
Swift at the gate the ready landlord stands;

With frequent cringe he bows, and begs excuse,
His house was full, and ev'ry bed in use.
What, not a garret, and no straw to spare?
Why, then, the kitchen-fire and elbow-chair
Shall serve for once to nod away the night.

The kitchen ever is the servant's right,
Replies the host; there, all the fire around,
The Count's tired footmen snore upon the ground.

The maid, who listen'd to this whole debate,
With pity learnt the weary stranger's fate.

Be brave, she cries, you still may be our guest,
Our haunted room was ever held the best;
If then your valour can the fright sustain
Of rattling curtains, and the clinking chain,
If your courageous tongue have power to talk,
When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk;
If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb,
I'll see your sheets well air'd, and show the room.
Soon as the frighted maid her tale had told,
The stranger enter'd, for his heart was bold.

The damsel led him through a spacious hall,
Where ivy hung the half-demolish'd wall;
She frequent look'd behind, and changed her hue.
While fancy tipt the candle's flame with blue.
And now they gain'd the winding stair's ascent,
And to the lonesome room of terrors went.
When all was ready, swift retired the maid,
The watch-lights burn, tuckt warm in bed was laid
The hardy stranger, and attends the sprite
Till his accustom'd walk at dead of night.
At first he hears the wind with hollow roar
Shake the loose lock, and swing the creaking door;
Nearer and nearer draws the dreadful sound
Of rattling chains, that dragg'd upon the ground:
When lo, the spectre came with horrid stride,
Approach'd the bed, and drew the curtains wide!
In human form the ghastful Phantom stood,
Exposed his mangled bosom dyed with blood.
Then silent pointing to his wounded breast,
Thrice waved his hand. Beneath the frighted guest
The bed-cords trembled, and with shudd'ring fear,
Sweat chill'd his limbs, high rose his bristled hair;
Then mutt'ring hasty pray'rs, he mann'd his heart,
And cry'd aloud; Say, whence and who thou art.
The stalking ghost with hollow voice replies,
Three years are counted, since with mortal eyes
I saw the sun, and vital air respired.
Like thee benighted, and with travel tired,
Within these walls I slept. O thirst of gain!
See, still the planks the bloody mark retain;

Stretch'd on this very bed, from sleep I start,
And see the steel impending o'er my heart;
The barb'rous hostess held the lifted knife,
The floor ran purple with my gushing life.
My treasure now they seize, the golden spoil
They bury deep beneath the grass-grown soil,
Far in the common field. Be bold, arise,
My steps shall lead thee to the secret prize;
There dig and find; let that thy care reward:
Call loud on justice, bid her not retard
To punish murder; lay my ghost at rest,
So shall with peace secure thy nights be blest;
And when beneath these boards my bones are found,
Decent inter them in some sacred ground.
Here ceased the ghost. The stranger springs from bed,
And boldly follows where the Phantom led;
The half-worn stony stairs they now descend,
Where passages obscure their arches bend.
Silent they walk; and now through groves they pass,
Now through wet meads their steps imprint the grass;

At length amidst a spacious field they came:
There stops the spectre, and ascends in flame.
Amazed he stood, no bush or briar was found,
To teach his morning search to find the ground;
What could he do? the night was hideous dark,
Fear shook his joints, and nature dropt the mark:
With that he starting waked, and raised his head,
But found the golden mark was left in bed.

What is the statesman's vast ambitious scheme,
But a short vision, and a golden dream?

Power, wealth, and title elevate his hope;
He wakes. But for a garter finds a rope.