So Spon anne ca i rnp

WitH THE StToRY TELLERS

Although outside the night was still,
As you surveyed the gloom;
Inside it seemed a hurricane
Was blowing through the room.
But nothing could they plainly see
Of what was taking place;
For in their terror they had pulled
The bedclothes o’er their face.
At last arose old Andy Bray,
The dolt a word he couldn’t say;
He was so overcome with fright,
At what he saw and heard that night.

But even when the rumpus

Had reached its very height;
Though angry elves had spoken,
Not a single dish was broken,
But the keyhole bore a token

Of their sudden, hasty flight.

But now for the ghost story
That I have promised you;

It happened many a year ago,
And people say ’tis true.

i The Three Ghosts

Some time ago near Cullen Hill,

The little hut was standing still,
That sheltered Jack Mulloy;

Between the village and Longstone,

A spot that looked so weird and lone

To man’s estate in time had grown
This lonely orphan boy.

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Se