Cowards, 'tis said, in certain situations, Derive a sort of courage from despair, And then perform, from downright desperation, Much more than many a bolder man would dare. Nick saw the Ghost was getting in a passion, And therefore, groping till he found the chair, Seized on his awl, crept softly out of bed, And follow'd quaking where the Specter led. And down the winding stair, with noiseless tread, The tenant of the tomb pass'd slowly on, Each mazy turning of the humble shed Seem'd to his step at once familiar grown, So safe and sure the labyrinth did he tread As though the domicile had been his own, Though Nick himself, in passing through the shop, Had almost broke his nose against the mop. Despite its wooden bolt, with jarring sound, The door upon its hinges open flew; And forth the Spirit issued,--yet around It turn'd as if its follower's fears it knew, And once more beckoning, pointed to the mound, The antique Keep, on which the bright moon threw With such effulgence her mild silvery gleam, The visionary form seem'd melting in her beam. Beneath a pond'rous archway's somber shade, Where once the huge portcullis swung sublime, 'Mid ivied battlements in ruin laid, Sole, sad memorials of the olden time, The Phantom held its way,--and though afraid Even of the owls that sung their vesper chime, Pale Nicholas pursued, its steps attending, And wondering what on earth it all would end in. Within the moldering fabric's deep recess At length they reach a court obscure and lone; It seemed a drear and desolate wilderness, The blackened walls with ivy all o'ergrown; The night-bird shrieked her note of wild distress, Disturb'd upon her solitary throne, As though indignant mortal step should dare, So led, at such an hour, should venture there! --The Apparition paused, and would have spoke Pointing to what Nick thought an iron ring, But then a neighboring chanticleer awoke, And loudly 'gan his early matins sing And then "it started like a guilty thing," As that shrill clarion the silence broke. --We know how much dead gentlefolks eschew The appalling sound of "Cock-a-doodle-do!" The vision was no more--and Nick alone-- "His streamer's waving" in the midnight wind, Which through the ruins ceased not to groan; --His garment, too, was somewhat short behind,-- And, worst of all, he knew not where to find The ring,--which made him most his fate bemoan-- The iron ring,--no doubt of some trap door, 'Neath which the old dead Miser kept his store. "What's to be done?" he cried, "'t were vain to stay Here in the dark without a single clew-- Oh, for a candle now, or moonlight ray! 'Fore George, I'm sadly puzzled what to do." (Then clapped his hand behind)--"'Tis chilly too-- I'll mark the spot, and come again by day. What can I mark it by?--Oh, here's the wall-- The mortar's yielding--here I'll stick my awl!"