The Lubber Fiend

In the woods, not long ago,     Met with Robin Goodfellw;     First we heard his horse-like laugh     In an ivy-bush near by;     Then we saw him, like a calf,     Or a frisky colt, just fly     Kicking high his frantic heels,     Squealing as a scared pig squeals.     Snorting, baaing, neighing too,     Through the woods he fairly flew;     Father followed him, but he     Could n't catch him long of limb     As a grasshopper, you see,     There's no man could capture him:     Then, besides, his color's green,     So he's rarely ever seen.     Often when you're in the woods,     Just a-walking with your moods,     And not thinking; listening how     Still it is, right near your head     Breaks the bellow of a cow     And you drop scared nearly dead:     That's old Robin you can't see     'Cause he's colored like a tree.     And I've heard he calls and calls     In the woods for help, or falls,     Like an urchin, from a tree:     You jump up and shout and run     But there's nothing there to see;     Just a snickering as of fun     in the thicket, or somewhere,     And you're madder than a hare.     Sometimes in dark woods a light     Flashes in your eyes, as bright     As a firefly after rain;     And your eyes are dazzled so     That you shut them look again     Nothing's there. That's Goodfellw,     With his jack-o'-lantern; see?     Hiding in some hollow tree.     These are pranks he plays on men     When he feels all right; but when     He is out of humor, well!     Better keep away! he'll harm:     Leads you with a heifer's bell,     Or horn-lantern, to some farm,     You suppose; but 't is n't! no!     Some old bog in which you go.     Sometimes he's called Puck, they say:     And it was the other day     Father read me from a book     That some people call him Lob     One who haunts the ingle-nook,     Or sits humped upon the hob     Whistling up the chimney-flue     Till the kettle whistles too.     He's the Lubber Fiend, that sweeps     Ashes in your face and creeps     Under cracks when north winds howl;     Hides behind the closet door     And peeps at you, like an owl,     Bumps you shrieking on the floor;     And at night he rides a mare     Round your bed and everywhere.     And he teases dogs that doze     By the fire; and, I suppose,     They must seehim in their dreams     When they snarl and glare o'erhead:     And it's he, or so it seems,     Tumbles children out of bed,     Wakes the house and makes a fuss;     For he's awful mischievous.     That's what I heard father say,     And I know it's true. Some day     I'm a-going to be a boy     Just like Robin; romp and shout,     And kick up my heels for joy,     And scare people round about;     Just play tricks on every one.     Don't you think it would be fun?     Take an old cow-horn, that's harsh     As a frog that haunts the marsh,     And when folks are in their beds     Blow it at the windowsill     Till they cover up their heads;     And when all again is still,     Hear them wonder what it was     That was making all that fuss.     Or I'll make a pumpkin face;     Light, and hide it in some place     Where are bushes; and when men     Come along I'll grunt and groan     Like an old pig in its pen;     When they run I'll throw a stone,     Or just vanish; and they'll say     " What was that, I wonder? eh?"     It would be a lot of fun,     Would n't it? to make folks run;     Jumping at them from the dark     Like a big black dog, oh my!     It would be the greatest lark!     Wonder why it is that I     Can't grow up at once like you     And do things I'd like to do?