Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow,
And Scipio's ghost walks unavenged amongst us!

Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow,
And Scipio's ghost walks unavenged amongst us!

What beck'ning ghost along the moonlight shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?

What beck'ning ghost along the moonlight shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?

The unexpected disappearance of Mr. Canning from the scene,
followed by the transient and embarrassed phantom of Lord
read more

The unexpected disappearance of Mr. Canning from the scene,
followed by the transient and embarrassed phantom of Lord
Goderich.

Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee!
read more

Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee!
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.

Where entity and quiddity,
The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly.

Where entity and quiddity,
The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly.

Now it is the time of night
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth read more

Now it is the time of night
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the churchway paths to glide.

There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave
To tell us this.

There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave
To tell us this.

Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire,
And airy tongues that syllable men's names.

Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire,
And airy tongues that syllable men's names.

Whence and what are thou, execrable shape?

Whence and what are thou, execrable shape?