{"collection":"Paganism & Neopaganism","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/pag/boh/boh18.htm","path":"pag/boh/boh18.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/pag/boh/boh18.htm","text":"Bring forth the raisins and the nuts--\n To-night All Hallows' Spectre struts\n Along the moonlit way.\n No time is this for tear or sob,\n Or other woes our joys to rob,\n But time for Pippin and for Bob,\n And Jack-o'-lantern gay.\nCome forth, ye lass and trousered kid,\n From prisoned mischief raise the lid,\n And lift it good and high.\n Leave grave old Wisdom in the lurch,\n Set Folly on a lofty perch,\n Nor fear the awesome rod of birch\n When dawn illumes the sky.\n'Tis night for revel, set apart\n To reillume the darkened heart,\n And rout the hosts of Dole.\n 'Tis night when Goblin, Elf, and Fay,\n Come dancing in their best array\n To prank and royster on the way,\n And ease the troubled soul.\nThe ghosts of all things, past parade,\n Emerging from the mist and shade\n That hid them from our gaze,\n And full of song and ringing mirth,\n In one glad moment of rebirth,\n Again they walk the ways of earth,\n As in the ancient days.\nThe beason light shines on the hill,\n The will-o'-wisps the forests fill\n With flashes filched from noon;\n And witches on thier broomsticks spry\n Speed here and yonder in the sky,\n And lift their strident voices high\n Unto the Hunter's moon.\nThe air resounds with tuneful notes\n From myriads of straining throats,\n All hailing Folly Queen;\n So join the swelling choral throng,\n Forget your sorrow and your wrong,\n In one glad hour of joyous song\n To honor Hallowe'en.\n--J.K. BANGS in Harper's Weekly, Nov. 5, 1910.\nWho's dat peekin' in de do'?\n Set mah heart a-beatin'!\n Thought I see' a spook for sho\n On mah way to meetin'.\n Heerd a rustlin' all aroun',\n Trees all sort o' jiggled;\n An' along de frosty groun'\n Funny shadders wriggled.\nWho's dat by de winder-sill?\n Gittin' sort o' skeery;\n Feets is feelin' kind o' chill,\n Eyes is sort o' teary.\n 'Most as nervous as a coon\n When de dawgs is barkin',\n Er a widder when some spoon\n Comes along a-sparkin'.\nWhass dat creepin' up de road,\n Quiet like a ferret,\n Hoppin' sof'ly as a toad?\n Maybe hit's a sperrit!\n Lordy! hope dey ain't no ghos'\n Come to tell me howdy.\n I ain't got no use for those\n Fantoms damp an' cloudy.\nWhass dat standin' by de fence\n Wid its eyes a-yearnin',\n Drivin' out mah common-sense\n Wid its glances burnin'?\n Don't dass skeercely go to bed\n Wid dem spookses roun' me.\n Ain't no res' fo' dis yere head\n When dem folks surroun' me.\nWhass dat groanin' soun' I hear\n Off dar by de gyardin?\n Lordy! Lordy! Lordy dear,\n Grant dis sinner pardon!\n I won't nebber--I declar'\n Ef it ain't my Sammy!\n Sambo, what yo' doin' dar?\n Yo' can't skeer yo' mammy!\n--CARLYLE SMITH in Harper's Weekly, Oct. 29, 1910.\nPixie, kobold, elf, and sprite\n All are on their rounds to-night,--\n In the wan moon's silver ray\n Thrives their helter-skelter play.\nFond of cellar, barn, or stack\n True unto the almanac,\n They present to credulous eyes\n Strange hobgoblin mysteries.\nCabbage-stumps--straws wet with dew--\n Apple-skins, and chestnuts too,\n And a mirror for some lass\n Show what wonders come to pass.\nDoors they move, and gates they hide\n Mischiefs that on moonbeams ride\n Are their deeds,--and, by their spells,\n Love records its oracles.\nDon't we all, of long ago\n By the ruddy fireplace glow,\n In the kitchen and the hall,\n Those queer, coof-like pranks recall?\nEery shadows were they then--\n But to-night they come again;\n Were we once more but sixteen\n Precious would be Hallowe'en.\n--JOEL BENTON in Harper's Weekly, Oct. 31, 1896.\nA gypsy flame in on the hearth,\n Sign of this carnival of mirth.\n Through the dun fields and from the glade\n Flash merry folk in masquerade--\n It is the witching Hallowe'en.\nPale tapers glimmer in the sky,\n The dead and dying leaves go by;\n Dimly across the faded green\n Strange shadows, stranger shades, are seen,--\n It is the mystic Hallowe'en.\nSoft gusts of love and memory\n Beat at the heart reproachfully;\n The lights that burn for those who die\n Were flickering low, let them flare high--\n It is the haunting Hallowe'en.\n--A.F. MURRAY in Harper's Weekly, Oct. 30, 1909.\nTHE END","title":"The Book of Hallowe'en: Four Poems","type":"page"}