She turned; it stopped; nought could she see Upon the gloomy plain! But as she strove the sprite to flee, She heard the same again.
Now terror seized her quaking frame, For, where the path was bare, The trotting Ghost kept on the same She muttered many a prayer.
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 followed down the plain! She owned her sins, and down she knelt And said her prayers 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 passed through.
Loud fell the gate against the post! Her heart-strings like to crack; For much she feared 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 surprised, Out came her daughter dear; Good-natured souls! all unadvised Of what they had to fear.
The candle's gleam pierced 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 followed in the dark.
No goblin he; no imp of sin; No crimes had ever known; They took the shaggy stranger in, And reared him as their own.
His little hoofs would rattle round Upon the cottage floor; The matron learned to love the sound That frightened her before.
A favourite the Ghost became, And 'twas his fate to thrive; And long he lived 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.
As I came thro' Sandgate, Thro' Sandgate, thro' Sandgate, As I came thro' Sandgate I heard a lassie sing, O weel may the keel row, The keel row, the keel row, O weel may the keel row, That my laddie's in.
O wha's like my Johnny, Sae leith, sae blythe, sae bonny? He's foremost among the mony Keel lads o' coaly Tyne: He'll set and row so tightly, Or in the dance--so sprightly-- He'll cut and shuffle sightly; 'Tis true,--were he not mine.