The Miser
by George Albert Leddy
A GRAFTING CLINGING
MONSTROUS THING
MORE FIT FOR HORNS
THAN FIT FOR WINGS
The candle on the mantle shed a dim and lonely light;
The fire in the hearth was burning low.
The winds around the cabin seemed to wail in strange affright;
The windows seemed most ghastly decked in snow.
The Miser, gnarled and wrinkled, scantly clad, and scantly fed;
Who’d played the game for gold and always scored;
With many sins of selfishness now hanging o’er his head;
Crouched in the corner ‘mongst his earthly hoard.
He chattered like a maniac; his weasel-eyes did shine;
His fiend-like form now trembling from the cold.
He gloated in his hellish glee: “All mine! All mine! All mine!”;
His claw-like fingers mingling in the gold.
When, lo, a dusky raven came and perched above the door.
The Miser cried, “Begone; I know ye well!
You are the one who haunted me for twenty years or more!
You bought my soul for gold - you fiend of Hell!”
The Raven spoke in rasping voice: “Yea, twenty years ago,
There came a lonely stranger to your door.
He asked you for a lodging, and protection from the snow;
And you replied, ‘Begone for evermore!’
He gazed a moment on the scene; it was your wedding eve;
He gazed upon your parents and your bride.
He cried, ‘Beware ye heartless who my troubles won’t relieve!’
Then struggled on until he sank and died.
“And then the venging spirit placed a crown upon your head;
The crown was but the curse of shining gold.
You soon forgot your loved-ones; loved the shining gold instead;
And soon, for such, your happiness you sold.
Your father whom had loved you well, you hastened to his end;
Your dear old mother died of broken-heart;
The ones who in your younger days had proudly called you friend,
Now wonder at so cruel and hard a heart.
“Your wife was kind and faithful; served you early, served you late;
And stood by you when you had not a friend.
But, lo, you cursed and beat her; all your love had turned to hate.
Alas, she met a cruel and bitter end.
Ah, tremble now ye coward; ‘tis I who know your deeds;
‘Tis I who planned them all, and planned them well!
‘Tis I who’ll reap the harvest, for ‘tis I who sewed the seed;
‘Tis I who’ll drag you to eternal Hell!
“Why, if I wished to linger and recall the days of old;
Where I have been the Master, you the Slave;
Of men you’ve lured into your den and robbed them of their gold;
And sent them, boldly, to a cruel grave.
Of little children you have held for ransoms mighty high;
Of women you have lured into your fold;
And held them there as prisoners till they suffer, starve, and die;
Unless they satisfy your greed for gold.
“But no, I cannot linger; we will go back twenty years;
To the night you cast the stranger from your door.
Ah, plead ye not for mercy; there’s no mercy for you here.
Your cursed life on Earth is nearly o’er!
And I will then escort ye, fiend, into that brimstone-cell.
Revenge is sweet; it fills my soul with glee!
And then I’ll go for evermore from that eternal Hell;
But you’ll remain - for all eternity!”
The Miser old and stiff arose, and hobbled to the door;
He cried, “‘Twas you who made me do those things!”
He clutched the Raven by the throat, and dragged him to the floor;
And gleefully, he clipped the Raven’s wings.
And now the gloating Miser sits among the tainted gold;
The wild winds howl around the cabin door;
And where the candle sheds its light, the Raven sadly sits.
Alas! Alas! He’ll sit - for evermore.
***