The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1879-08-29
THE EDITOR AND THE POETS GHOST
ny q. L. MARION.

Br O. L. MARION.
Twas midnight last week only, while sat de-
Tn N, dressed Esess aoa HsraG Office looking editorials
While sat my penknife honing. suddenly there
As Of some one sick and groaning, lay beneath the
office floor;
This heard and nothing morel
Ali distinctly remember, though twas not the
How trembled. shook and shiverod, quaked as
ne'er did before
While / harked thought it funny, lives Of others
with their pockets full of money, and doomed to
And doomed to write till midnight with specter
This dreaded, nothing more.'
Then DER all there spread neutrality-suspicious.
streaming through the skyight-
Falling cross, and on the hxtures cast grim shapes
upon the hoor.
Numbed eyed the pallid streaking, caught my ear
gentle creaking,
AS of some one softly sneaking OUTSIDE cross INC
hallway floor; ,
@Some meek poet it's" muttered, wants to sell
his rhyming lore;"
This 1t is, and nothing more
"Come in, sir, and cease your clamor," at last
found strength TO stammer.
While spoke some poets spirit rose beside mo
from the floor,
And his presence DER me stealing full his ghastl
moss revealing,
Sent DER me dreadful feeling, sucn rs ne
knew before. .
4specter " cried l, "why thus haunt mes HE thee
back 10 poet Shore"
Quoth my caller, "Nevermore."
And methought the air grew thicker perfumed as
it were with liquor,
Mingled with the demons breathing, wnom cared
to see no more.
&Wretchl ~ cried, what devil sent thee, and what
power hath he lent thee.
That you boldly thus prevent me having peaceful
of yorey
Is my repose forever gomez Tell me, tell me, 1
impiorel"
Quoth 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 "'hs
my ambition,
If can, to learn your mission, and this mystery
explore"
Quoth the phantom, very grimly, Print my poems
I've a score"
This he said, and nothing more.
Much I marveled this unholy thing to hear dis
course slowly,
And commandingy, as though my trade no other
import bore.
@Ghost v cried, Il scorn your pleading; am now
no poetry needing,
Better be your exit speeding, ere 1 pierce your
bosom's core.
Hencel depart, and leave me in my sanctum,
lonely as BEFORE"
Quoth the phantom, "Nevermore."
~Poet" shrieked 1, thing of woman poet still, if
fend or human,
HE myself from out my presence, with thy
rhymes. forevermore.
Though you hail from Satans haven, and thy crest
be shorn and shaver,
Yet. sure thou art not craven as demand we
print your lore
Know you not tits far past midnight? Leave me,
leave me, implorel"
Quoth the demon, "Nevermore."
"Be that word sign of quitng!" cried 1, at his
ghostship splitting.
Get thee back into thy kingdom-to the realm of
rhyming lore:
Leave no poem grimly written, in the style of Poe
To remind me I've been smitten by haunting poet
bore:
Take thy hand from off my forehead, and thy form
beyond my doorl"
Quoth the specter, "Nevermore."
And the specer never swaying, with his poems
still is staying,
Still doth linger in my sanctum with his lot of
rhyming lore;
Aud his form bears all the sameness to a demon
void of tameness,
And a 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.
BLOOMINGTON, III.