Video Rating: 4 / 5
SONG ñ SIR RODERIC. When the night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight flies, And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies ñ When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs bay at the moon, Then is the spectres' holiday ñ then is the ghosts' high-noon! CHORUS.Ha! ha! Then is the ghosts' high-noon! As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, and the mists lie low on the fen, From grey tomb-stones are gathered the bones that once were women and men, And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to the revel that ends too soon, For cockcrow limits our holiday ñ the dead of the night's high-noon! CHORUS. Ha! ha! The dead of the night's high-noon! And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to their churchyard beds take flight, With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim "good-night"; Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its jolliest tune, And ushers in our next high holiday ñ the dead of the night's high-noon! CHORUS. Ha! ha! The dead of the night's high-noon! Ha! ha! ha! ha!
Video Rating: 5 / 5
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