The Spectre Pig
A BALLAD
IT was the stalwart butcher man,
That knit his swarthy brow,
And said the gentle Pig must die,
And sealed it with a vow.
And oh! it was the gentle Pig
Lay stretched upon the ground,
And ah! it was the cruel knife
His little heart that found.
They took him then, those wicked men,
They trailed him all along;
They put a stick between his lips,
And through his heels a thong;
And round and round an oaken beam
A hempen cord they flung,
And, like a mighty pendulum,
All solemnly he swung!
Now say thy prayers, thou sinful man,
And think what thou hast done,
And read thy catechism well,
Thou bloody-minded one;
For if his sprite should walk by night,
It better were for thee,
That thou wert mouldering in the ground,
Or bleaching in the sea.
It was the savage butcher then,
That made a mock of sin,
And swore a very wicked oath,
He did not care a pin.
It was the butcher's youngest son,--
His voice was broke with sighs,
And with his pocket-handkerchief
He wiped his little eyes;
All young and ignorant was he,
But innocent and mild,
And, in his soft simplicity,
Out spoke the tender child:--
'Oh, father, father, list to me;
The Pig is deadly sick,
And men have hung him by his heels,
[...] Read more
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
