XXIX.

No fancy-motion, brain-begot,
  In eye of timid dreamer—­
The nervous finger of a sot
  Ne’er showed a plainer tremor;
To every brain it seemed too plain,
  There stood th’ Infernal Schemer!

XXX.

Mix’d brown and blue each visage grew,
  Just like a pullet’s gizzard;
Meanwhile the captain’s wandering wit,
  From tacking like an izzard,
Bore down in this plain course at last,
  “It’s Michael Scott—­the Wizard!”

XXXI.

A smile passed o’er the ruddy face: 
  “To see the poles so falter
I’m puzzled, friends, as much as you,
  For with no fiends I palter! 
Michael I’m not—­although a Scott—­
  My Christian name is Walter.”

XXXII.

Like oil it fell, that name, a spell
  On all the fearful faction;
The captain’s head (for he had read)
  Confess’d the needle’s action,
And bow’d to Him in whom the North
  Has lodged its main attraction!

THE GHOST.

A VERY SERIOUS BALLAD.

    “I’ll be your second.”—­LISTON.

In Middle Row, some years ago,
  There lived one Mr. Brown;
And many folks considered him
  The stoutest man in town.

But Brown and stout will both wear out—­
  One Friday he died hard,
And left a widow’d wife to mourn,
  At twenty pence a yard.

Now widow B. in two short months
  Thought mourning quite a tax;
And wished, like Mr. Wilberforce,
  To manumit her blacks.

With Mr. Street she soon was sweet;
  The thing came thus about: 
She asked him in at home, and then
  At church, he asked her out!

Assurance such as this the man
  In ashes could not stand;
So like a Phoenix he rose up
  Against the Hand in Hand!

One dreary night the angry sprite
  Appeared before her view;
It came a little after one,
  But she was after two!

“O Mrs. B., O Mrs. B.! 
  Are these your sorrow’s deeds,
Already getting up a flame,
  To burn your widows’ weeds?

“It’s not so long since I have left
  For aye the mortal scene;
My memory—­like Rogers’s—­
  Should still be bound in green!

“Yet if my face you still retrace,
  I almost have a doubt—­
I’m like an old Forget-me-not,
  With all the leaves torn out!

“To think that on that finger joint
  Another pledge should cling;
O Bess! upon my very soul
  It struck like ‘Knock and Ring,’”

“A ton of marble on my breast
  Can’t hinder my return;
Your conduct, ma’am, has set my blood
  A-boiling in my urn!”

“Remember, oh! remember, how
  The marriage rite did run,—­
If ever we one flesh should be
  ’Tis now—­when I have none!