'TIS midnight, and the moonbeam sleeps Upon the garden sward; My lady in yon turret keeps Her tearful watch and ward. "Beshrew me!" mutters, turning pale, The stalwart seneschal; "What's he, that sitteth, clad in mail Upon our castle wall?" "Arouse thee, friar of orders grey; What ho! bring book and bell! Ban yonder ghastly thing, I say; And, look ye, ban it well! By cock and pye, the Humpty's face!" The form turned quickly round; Then totter'd from its resting-place -- . . . . . . That night the corse was found. The king, with hosts of fighting men Rode forth at break of day; Ah! never gleamed the sun till then On such a proud array. But all that army, horse and foot, Attempted, quite in vain, Upon the castle wall to put The Humpty up again. |