Late one evening I was sitting, gloomy shadows round
Me flitting,–
Mrs. Partington, a-knitting occupied the grate before;
Suddenly I heard a patter, a slight and very trifling matter,
As if it were a thieving rat or mouse within my closet door;
A thieving and mischievous rat or mouse within my closet
Door,–Only this, and nothing more.
Then all my dreaminess forsook me; rising up, I straight-
Way shook me,
A light from off the table took, and swift the rat’s dstruc-tion swore;
Mrs. P. smiled approbation on my prompt determination,
And without more hesitation oped I wide the closet door;
Boldly, without hesitation opened wide the closet door;
Darkness there, and nothing more!
As upon the sound I pondered, what the deuce it was I
Wondered;
Could it be my ear had blundered, as at times it had
Before?
But scarce again was I reseated, ere I heard the sound repeated,
The same dull patter that had greeted me from out the
Closet door;
The same dull patter that had greeted me from out the closet door;
A gentle patter, nothing more.
Then my rage arose unbounded,–“What,” cried I, “is
This confounded
Noise with which my ear is wounded-noise I’ve never
Heard before?
If’t is presage dread of evil, if’t is made by ghost or devil,
I call on ye to be more civil-” stop that knocking at the
Door!’
Stop that strange mysterious knocking there, within my closet door;
Grant me this, if nothing more.”
Once again I seized the candle, rudely grasped the
Latchet’s handle,
Savage as a Goth or Vandal, that kicked up rumpuses of
Yore,–
“What the dickens is the matter,” said I, “to produce
this patter?”
To Mrs. P, and looked straight at her. “I don’t know,”
Said she, “I’m shore;
Lest it be a pesky rat, or something, I don’t know, I’m
Shore.”
This she said, and nothing more.
Still the noise kept on unceasing; evidently ‘t was increasing;
Like a cart-wheel wanting greasing, wore it on my nerves
Full sore;
Patter, patter, patter, patter, the rain the while made noisy clatter,
My teeth with boding ill did chatter, as when I’m troubled
By a bore-
Some prosing, dull, and dismal fellow, coming in but just
To bore;
Only this, and nothing more.
All night long it kept on tapping; vain I laid myself for
Napping,
Calling sleep my sense to wrap in darkness till the night
Was o’er;
A dismal candle, dimly burning, watched me as I lay
There turning,
In desperation wildly yearning that sleep would visit me
Once more;
Sleep, refreshing sleep, did I most urgently implore;
This I wished, and nothing more.
With the day I rose next morning, and, all idle terror
Scorning,
Went to finding out the warning that annoyed me so
Before;
When straightway, to my consternation, daylight made
the revelation
of a scene of devastation that annoyed me very sore,
such a scene of devastation as annoyed me very sore;
that it was, and nothing more:
The rotten roof had taken leaking, and the rain, a passage
Seeking,
Through the murky darkness sneaking, found my hat-box
On the floor;
There, exposed to dire disaster, lay my bran-new Sunday
Castor,
And its hapless, luckless master ne’er shall see its beauties
More-
Ne’er shall see its glossy beauty, that his glory was before;
It is gone, forevermore!
(Benjamin Penhallow Shillaber)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Light Poems, Beauty Poems, Sleep Poems, Success Poems, Morning Poems, Good & Evil Poems, Devils Poems, Boredom Poems, Will & Determination PoemsBased on Keywords: vandal, oped, thieving, evidently, goth, castor, napping, pesky, latchet, bran-new, greasing