Fifty Years & Other Poems/The Ghost of Deacon Brown
The Ghost of Deacon Brown
In a backwoods townLived Deacon Brown,And he was a miser old;He would trust no bank,So he dug, and sankIn the ground a box of gold,Down deep in the ground a box of gold.
He hid his gold,As has been told,He remembered that he did it;But sad to say,On the very next day,He forgot just where he hid it:To find his gold he tried and triedTill he grew faint and sick, and died.
Then on each dark and gloomy nightA form in phosphorescent white,A genuine hair-raising sight,Would wander through the town.And as it slowly roamed around,With a spade it dug each foot of ground;So the folks aboutSaid there was no doubt'Twas the ghost of Deacon Brown.
Around the churchThis Ghost would search,And whenever it would seeThe passers-byTake wings and flyIt would laugh in ghostly glee,Hee, hee!—it would laugh in ghostly glee.
And so the townWent quickly down, For they said that it was haunted;And doors and gates,So the story states,Bore a notice, "Tenants wanted."
And the town is now for let,But the ghost is digging yet.