EPILOGUE.
THE KING-GHOST.
THE King-Ghost is abroad. His spectre legions
Sweep from their icy lakes and bleak ravines
Unto these weary and untrodden regions
Where man lies penned among his Might-have-
beens.
Keep us in safety, Lord,
What time the King-Ghost is abroad!
The King-Ghost from his gray malefic slumbers
Awakes the malice of his bloodless brain.
He marshals the innumerable numbers
Of shrieking shapes on the sepulchral plain.
Keep us, for Jesu’s sake,
What time the King-Ghost is awake!
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