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THE HAUNTED HOUR

THE FAR AWAY COUNTRY

NORA HOPPER CHESSON

_Far away's the country where I desire to go,_
_Far away's the country where the blue roses grow,_
_Far away's the country and very far away,_
_And who would travel thither must go 'twixt night and day._

_Far away's the country, and the seas are wild_
_That you must voyage over, grown man or chrisom child,_
_O'er leagues of land and water a weary way you'll go_
_Before you'll find the country where the blue roses grow._

_But O, and O, the roses are very strange and fair,_
_You'd travel far to see them, and one might die to wear,_
_Yet, far away's the country, and perilous the sea,_
_And some may think far fairer the red rose on her tree._

_Far away's the country, and strange the way to fare,_
_Far away's the country--O would that I were there!_
_It's on and on past Whinny Muir and over Brig o' Dread._
_And you shall pluck blue roses the day that you are dead._

"THE NICHT ATWEEN THE SANCTS AN' SOULS"

ALL-SOULS: KATHERINE TYNAN

The door of Heaven is on the latch
To-night, and many a one is fain
To go home for one night's watch
With his love again.

Oh, where the father and mother sit
There's a drift of dead leaves at the door
Like pitter-patter of little feet
That come no more.

Their thoughts are in the night and cold,
Their tears are heavier than the clay,
But who is this at the threshold
So young and gay?

They are come from the land o' the young,
They have forgotten how to weep;
Words of comfort on the tongue,
And a kiss to keep.

They sit down and they stay awhile,
Kisses and comfort none shall lack;
At morn they steal forth with a smile
And a long look back.

ALL-SAINTS' EVE: LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE

Oh, when the ghosts go by,
Under the empty trees,
Here in my house I sit and cry,
My head upon my knees!

Innumerable, white,
Like mist they fill the square;
The bolt is drawn, the latch made tight,
The shutter barred there.

There walks one small and glad,
New to the churchyard clod;
My little lad, my little lad,
A single year with God!

I sit and hide my head
Until they all are past,
Under the empty trees the dead
That go full soft and fast.

Up to my chamber dim,
Back to my bed I plod;
Oh, would I were a ghost with him,
And faring back to God!

A DREAM: WILLIAM ALLINGHAM

I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night