ID you never hear a rustling,

In the comer of your room;

When the faint fantastic fire-light

Served but to reveal the gloom?

Did you never feel the clammy

Terror, starting from each pore,

At a shocking

Sort of knocking

On your chamber door?

Did you never fancy something

Horrid, underneath the bed?

Or a ghastly skeletonian,

In the garret overhead?

Or a sudden life-like movement,

Of the Vandyke, grim and tall?

Or that ruddy

Mark, a bloody

Stain upon the wall?

Did you never see a fearful

Figure, by the rushlight low,

Crouching, creeping, crawling nearer—

Putting out its lingers—SO.

Whilst its lurid eyes glared on you

From the darkness where it sat—

And you could not,

Or you would not,

See it was the cat?