From the haunted wood

It is said that the Spirits of buried men

Oft come to this wicked world again;

That the churchyard turf is often trod

By the unlaid tenants of tomb and sod.

That the midnight sea itself is swept

By those who have long beneath it slept.

And they say of this old, mossy wood

Whose hoary trunks have for ages stood

That every knoll and dim-lit glade

Is haunted at night by its restless Shade.