The Ghost, The Gallant, The Gael, And The Goblin

O'er unreclaimed suburban clays     Some years ago were hobblin'     An elderly ghost of easy ways,     And an influential goblin.     The ghost was a sombre spectral shape,     A fine old five-act fogy,     The goblin imp, a lithe young ape,     A fine low-comedy bogy.     And as they exercised their joints,     Promoting quick digestion,     They talked on several curious points,     And raised this delicate question:     "Which of us two is Number One     The ghostie, or the goblin?"     And o'er the point they raised in fun     They fairly fell a-squabblin'.     They'd barely speak, and each, in fine,     Grew more and more reflective:     Each thought his own particular line     By chalks the more effective.     At length they settled some one should     By each of them be haunted,     And so arrange that either could     Exert his prowess vaunted.     "The Quaint against the Statuesque"     By competition lawful     The goblin backed the Quaint Grotesque,     The ghost the Grandly Awful.     "Now," said the goblin, "here's my plan     In attitude commanding,     I see a stalwart Englishman     By yonder tailor's standing.     "The very fittest man on earth     My influence to try on     Of gentle, p'r'aps of noble birth,     And dauntless as a lion!     Now wrap yourself within your shroud     Remain in easy hearing     Observe you'll hear him scream aloud     When I begin appearing!     The imp with yell unearthly wild     Threw off his dark enclosure:     His dauntless victim looked and smiled     With singular composure.     For hours he tried to daunt the youth,     For days, indeed, but vainly     The stripling smiled! to tell the truth,     The stripling smiled inanely.     For weeks the goblin weird and wild,     That noble stripling haunted;     For weeks the stripling stood and smiled,     Unmoved and all undaunted.     The sombre ghost exclaimed, "Your plan     Has failed you, goblin, plainly:     Now watch yon hardy Hieland man,     So stalwart and ungainly.     "These are the men who chase the roe,     Whose footsteps never falter,     Who bring with them, where'er they go,     A smack of old SIR WALTER.     Of such as he, the men sublime     Who lead their troops victorious,     Whose deeds go down to after-time,     Enshrined in annals glorious!     "Of such as he the bard has said     'Hech thrawfu' raltie rorkie!     Wi' thecht ta' croonie clapperhead     And fash' wi' unco pawkie!'     He'll faint away when I appear,     Upon his native heather;     Or p'r'aps he'll only scream with fear,     Or p'r'aps the two together."     The spectre showed himself, alone,     To do his ghostly battling,     With curdling groan and dismal moan,     And lots of chains a-rattling!     But no the chiel's stout Gaelic stuff     Withstood all ghostly harrying;     His fingers closed upon the snuff     Which upwards he was carrying.     For days that ghost declined to stir,     A foggy shapeless giant     For weeks that splendid officer     Stared back again defiant.     Just as the Englishman returned     The goblin's vulgar staring,     Just so the Scotchman boldly spurned     The ghost's unmannered scaring.     For several years the ghostly twain     These Britons bold have haunted,     But all their efforts are in vain     Their victims stand undaunted.     This very day the imp, and ghost,     Whose powers the imp derided,     Stand each at his allotted post     The bet is undecided.