The Eaton Democrat. (Eaton, Ohio) 1875-1903, 1879-10-02
TIE EDITOR AND THE POETS GHOST



Twas midnight, last week only, while sat de-
pressed and lonely,
In the Evening Herald ofice, looking editorials
As of some one sick and groaning, lay beneath the
Office hoor;
As of some one dying there, in vain of man did aid
This heard and nothing morei
All distinctly remember, though twas not the
How trembled, shook and shivered, quaked as
ne'er did before.
While harked thought 1t funny, lives Of others
With their pockets full of money, and doomed to
And doomed to write till midnight with specter
meath the floor;
This dreaded, nothing more.
Then DER all there spread atwilight-moonbeams
streaming through the skylight-
Falling cross and on the fixtures, cast grim shapes
Numbed eyed the pallid streaking, caught my ear
gentle creakinH,
As of some one softly sneaking outside cross the
hallway floor;
Some meek poet 'tis,"I muttered, wants to sell
his rhyming lore;"
This 1t is, and nothing more.
"Come in, sir and cease your clamorn 1 at last
found strength to stammer.
While spoke some poets spirit rose beside me
from floor,
Aad his presence DER me stealing, full his ghas.li
revealing,
Sent oier me dreadful feeling, such as meier
knew before.
"Specterl ~ cried /, @why thus haunt met HE thee
back to poet shore.n
Quoth my callsr. "Nevermore."
And methuusht the air grew thicker, perfumed as
It were with liquor,
Mingled with the demons breathing, whom cared
to see no more.
@wretchi" rcried. @what devil sent thee, and what
power hath he lent thee,
That you boldly thus prevent me having peaceful
ness of yore?
Is my repose forever gomez Tell me. tell me,
ouoth the ghost, @Forevermore"
Facing thus the bold, pale speaker, gradually my
soul grew weaker:
Still vowed to learn what brought him from that
grim, poetic shore.
"sir, though odd is my position, STILL" said "'tis
my ambition,
ouoth the phantom, very grimly, @Print my poems
I've score"
This he said. and nothing more.
Much marveled this unholy thing to hear dis
course SO slowly,
And commandingly, as though my trade no other
import bore.
@Ghostl I.cried, Al scorn your pleading; am now
no poetry needing,
Better be your exit speeding, ere pierce your
bosom,s core.
Hencel depart, and leave me In my sanctum,
lonely as BEFORE"
Quoth the phantom, "Nevermore."
"Poetl" shreked I, "thing of woman poetl still, if
fend or human,
HE thyself from out my presence, with thy
rhymes, forevermore.
Though you hail from Satan's haven, and thy crest
ta ahnrTl md q az
Yet, sure, thou art not SO craven as demand we
print your lore;
Know you not tbs far past midnight Leave me,
leave me, I implorel"
Quoth the demon, "Nevermore."
BE that word our sign of quittingln cried at his
| ghostship splitting.
| Get thee back into thy hngdom-to the realm of
rhyming lorel
Leave no poem grimly written, in the style of Poe
or Lytton,
To remind me I've been smitten by haunting poet
| bore;
Take thy hand from off my forehead, and thy form
| beyond my doorln
| Quoth the specter, "Nevermore."
And the specter, never swuying, with Ibis poems
still is staying,
| Still doth linger in my sanctum with his lot Of
! rhyming lore;
| And his form bears all the sameness to demon
| void of tameness,
| And rhymer full of lameness, with the moonlight
| gloating DER,
And my soul from out his shadow, that seems
| floating cross the floor,
Shall be rescued, Nevermore.
| BIOoMINGroN III