The Fakenham Ghost





The lawns were dry in Euston Park;

(Here truth inspires my tale)

The lonely footpath, still and dark,

Led over hill and dale.



Benighted was an ancient dame,

And fearful haste she made

To gain the vale of Fakenham,

And hail its willow shade.



Her footsteps knew no idle stops,

But follow'd faster still;

And echo'd to the darksome copse

That whisper'd on the hill.



Where clam'rous rooks, yet scarcely hush'd,

Bespoke a peopled shade;

And many a wing the foliage brush'd,

And hov'ring circuits made.



The dappled herd of grazing deer,

That sought the shades by day,

Now started from her path with fear,

And gave the stranger way.



Darker it grew; and darker fears

Came o'er her troubled mind;

When, now, a short quick step she hears

Come patting close behind.



She turn'd; it stopt!--nought could she see

Upon the gloomy plain!

But, as she strove the sprite to flee,

She heard the same again.



Now terror seiz'd her quaking frame:

For, where the path was bare,

The trotting ghost kept on the same!

She mutter'd many a pray'r.



Yet once again, amidst her fright

She tried what sight could do;

When through the cheating glooms of night,

A monster stood in view.



Regardless of whate'er she felt,

It follow'd down the plain!

She own'd her sins, and down she knelt,

And said her pray'rs again.



Then on she sped; and hope grew strong,

The white park-gate in view,

Which, pushing hard, so long it swung,

That ghost and all past through.



Loud fell the gate against the post,

Her heart-strings like to crack,

For much she fear'd the grisly ghost

Would leap upon her back.



Still on, pat, pat, the goblin went,

As it had done before;

Her strength and resolution spent,

She fainted at the door.



Out came her husband, much surpris'd,

Out came her daughter dear;

Good-natur'd souls, all unadvis'd

Of what they had to fear.



The candle's gleam pierc'd through the night,

Some short space o'er the green;

And there the little trotting sprite

Distinctly might be seen.



An ass's foal had lost its dam

Within the spacious park,

And, simple as the playful lamb,

Had follow'd in the dark.



No goblin he, nor imp of sin,

No crimes he'd ever known.

They took the shaggy stranger in,

And rear'd him as their own.



His little hoofs would rattle round

Upon the cottage floor;

The matron learn'd to love the sound,

That frighten'd her before.



A favourite the ghost became,

And 'twas his fate to thrive;

And long he liv'd, and spread his fame,

And kept the joke alive.



For many a laugh went through the vale,

And some conviction too;

Each thought some other goblin tale

Perhaps was just as true.





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