Haunted
HAUNTED? Ay, in a social wayBy a body of ghosts in dread array;But no conventional spectres they—Appalling, grim, and tricky:I quail at mine as I’d never quailAt a fine traditional spectre pale,With a turnip head and a ghostly wail,And a splash of blood on the dickey!
Mine are horrible, social ghosts,—Speeches and women and guests and hosts,Weddings and morning calls and toasts,In every bad variety:Ghosts who hover about the graveOf all that’s manly, free, and brave:You’ll find their names on the architraveOf that charnel-house, Society.
Black Monday—black as its school-room ink—With its dismal boys that snivel and thinkOf its nauseous messes to eat and drink,And its frozen tank to wash in.That was the first that brought me grief,And made me weep, till I sought reliefIn an emblematical handkerchief,To choke such baby bosh in.
First and worst in the grim array—Ghosts of ghosts that have gone their way,Which I wouldn’t revive for a single dayFor all the wealth of PLUTUS—Are the horrible ghosts that school-days scared:If the classical ghost that BRUTUS daredWas the ghost of his “Cæsar” unprepared,I’m sure I pity BRUTUS.
I pass to critical seventeen;The ghost of that terrible wedding scene,When an elderly Colonel stole my Queen,And woke my dream of heaven.No schoolgirl decked in her nurse-room curlsWas my gushing innocent Queen of Pearls;If she wasn’t a girl of a thousand girls,She was one of forty-seven!
I see the ghost of my first cigar,Of the thence-arising family jar—Of my maiden brief (I was at the Bar,And I called the Judge “Your wushup!”)Of reckless days and reckless nights,With wrenched-off knockers, extinguished lights,Unholy songs and tipsy fights,Which I strove in vain to hush up.
Ghosts of fraudulent joint-stock banks,Ghosts of “copy, declined with thanks,”Of novels returned in endless ranks,And thousands more, I suffer.The only line to fitly graceMy humble tomb, when I’ve run my race,Is, “Reader, this is the resting-placeOf an unsuccessful duffer.”
I’ve fought them all, these ghosts of mine,But the weapons I’ve used are sighs and brine,And now that I’m nearly forty-nine,Old age is my chiefest bogy;For my hair is thinning away at the crown,And the silver fights with the worn-out brown;And a general verdict sets me downAs an irreclaimable fogy.
Words in this poem 21
- haunted a.
- Inhabited by, or subject to the visits of, apparitions; frequented by a ghost.
- appalling a.
- Such as to appall; as, an appalling accident.
- spectre n.
- Something preternaturally visible; an apparition; a ghost; a phantom. [F. spectre, fr. L. spectrum an appearance, image, specter, fr. specere to look. See Spy, and cf. Spectrum.]
- ghostly a.
- Relating to the soul; not carnal or secular; spiritual; as, a ghostly confessor. [OE. gastlich, gostlich, AS. gastlic. See Ghost.]
- dickey n.
- A seat behind a carriage, for a servant.
- hover n.
- A cover; a shelter; a protection. Carew. C. Kingsley. [Etymol. doubtful.]
- dismal a.
- Fatal; ill-omened; unlucky. [Formerly a noun; e. g., "I trow it was in the dismalle." Chaucer. Of uncertain origin; but perh. (as suggested by Skeat) from OF. disme, F. dîme, tithe, the phr]
- snivel v. i.
- To run at the nose; to make a snuffling noise. [OE. snivelen, snevelen, snuvelen, freg. of sneven. See Sniff, and cf. Snuffle.]
- bosh n.
- Figure; outline; show. [Cf. G. posse joke, trifle; It. bozzo a rough stone, bozzetto a rough sketch, s-bozzo a rough draught, sketch.]
- wealth n.
- Weal; welfare; prosperity; good. [OE. welthe, from wele; cf. D. weelde luxury. See Weal prosperity.]
- plutus n.
- The son of Jason and Ceres, and the god of wealth. He was represented as bearing a cornucopia, and as blind, because his gifts were bestowed without discrimination of merit.
- ghost n.
- The spirit; the soul of man. [OE. gast, gost, soul, spirit, AS. gast breath, spirit, soul; akin to OS. g spirit, soul, D. geest, G. geist, and prob. to E. gaze, ghastly.]
- seventeen a.
- One more than sixteen; ten and seven added; as, seventeen years. [OE. seventene, AS. seofontyne, i. e., seven- ten. Cf. Seventy.]
- stole n.
- A long, loose garment reaching to the feet. [AS. stole, L. stola, Gr. stall. See Stall.]
- schoolgirl n.
- A girl belonging to, or attending, a school.
- unholy a.
- Not holy; unhallowed; not consecrated; hence, profane; wicked; impious.
- unsuccessful a.
- Not successful; not producing the desired event; not fortunate; meeting with, or resulting in, failure; unlucky; unhappy.
- duffer n.
- A peddler or hawker, especially of cheap, flashy articles, as sham jewelry; hence, a sham or cheat. Halliwell.
- chiefest a.
- First or foremost; chief; principal. [Superl. of Chief.]
- bogy n.
- A specter; a hobgoblin; a bugbear. [See Bogle.]
- irreclaimable a.
- Incapable of being reclaimed.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Haunted is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Bab Ballads, Project Gutenberg ebook #931; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: W. S. Gilbert, Haunted, in The Bab Ballads (1869), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #931, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/gilbert-bab-ballads/haunted.html, id L02367.
Form and metre
Haunted is 64 lines in 8 stanzas of 8 lines each. The rhyme scheme is AAABCCCB, complete in 7 of its 8 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 80%). 91% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.7 syllables. 13 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 19% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 AAABCCCB wayA · arrayA · theyA · trickyB · quailC · paleC · wailC · dickeyB
- 2 AAABCCCB ghostsA · hostsA · toastsA · varietyB · graveC · braveC · architraveC · societyB
- 3 AAABCCCB inkA · thinkA · drinkA · inB · griefC · reliefC · handkerchiefC · inB
- 4 AAABCCCB arrayA · wayA · dayA · plutusB · scaredC · daredC · unpreparedC · brutusB
- 5 AAABCCCB seventeenA · sceneA · queenA · heavenB · curlsC · pearlsC · girlsC · sevenB
- 6 AAABCCCB cigarA · jarA · barA · wushupB · nightsC · lightsC · fightsC · upB
- 7 AAABCCCB banksA · thanksA · ranksA · sufferB · graceC · raceC · placeC · dufferB
- 8 AAA-BBB- mineA · brineA · nineA · bogy · crownB · brownB · downB · fogy
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| HAUNTED? Ay, in a social way | 8 | /˘···/˘· |
| By a body of ghosts in dread array; | 10 | ··/˘····˘/ |
| But no conventional spectres they— | 8 | ··˘/˘/˘· |
| Appalling, grim, and tricky: | 7 | ˘/˘··/˘ |
| I quail at mine as I’d never quail | 8 | ······/· |
| At a fine traditional spectre pale, | 9 | ···˘/˘/˘· |
| With a turnip head and a ghostly wail, | 10 | ··/˘···/˘· |
| And a splash of blood on the dickey! | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Mine are horrible, social ghosts,— | 8 | ··/˘˘/˘· |
| Speeches and women and guests and hosts, | 9 | /˘·/˘···· |
| Weddings and morning calls and toasts, | 8 | /˘·/˘··· |
| In every bad variety: | 9 | ·/˘˘·˘/˘˘ |
| Ghosts who hover about the grave | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| Of all that’s manly, free, and brave: | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| You’ll find their names on the architrave | 9 | ······/˘· |
| Of that charnel-house, Society. | 9 | ··/˘·˘/˘˘ |
| Black Monday—black as its school-room ink— | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| With its dismal boys that snivel and think | 10 | ··/˘··/˘·· |
| Of its nauseous messes to eat and drink, | 10 | ··/˘/˘···· |
| And its frozen tank to wash in. | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| That was the first that brought me grief, | 8 | ········ |
| And made me weep, till I sought relief | 9 | ·······˘/ |
| In an emblematical handkerchief, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| To choke such baby bosh in. | 7 | ···/˘·· |
| First and worst in the grim array— | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Ghosts of ghosts that have gone their way, | 8 | ········ |
| Which I wouldn’t revive for a single day | 11 | ··/˘˘/··/˘· |
| For all the wealth of PLUTUS— | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Are the horrible ghosts that school-days scared: | 9 | ··/˘····· |
| If the classical ghost that BRUTUS dared | 9 | ··/˘··/˘· |
| Was the ghost of his “Cæsar” unprepared, | 9 | ·······˘/ |
| I’m sure I pity BRUTUS. | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| I pass to critical seventeen; | 8 | ···/˘/˘/ |
| The ghost of that terrible wedding scene, | 9 | ····/˘/˘· |
| When an elderly Colonel stole my Queen, | 9 | ··/˘/˘··· |
| And woke my dream of heaven. | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| No schoolgirl decked in her nurse-room curls | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| Was my gushing innocent Queen of Pearls; | 9 | ··/˘/˘··· |
| If she wasn’t a girl of a thousand girls, | 11 | ··/˘····/˘· |
| She was one of forty-seven! | 8 | ····/˘/˘ |
| I see the ghost of my first cigar, | 9 | ·······˘/ |
| Of the thence-arising family jar— | 9 | ···˘/˘/˘· |
| Of my maiden brief (I was at the Bar, | 10 | ··/˘······ |
| And I called the Judge “Your wushup!”) | 8 | ········ |
| Of reckless days and reckless nights, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| With wrenched-off knockers, extinguished lights, | 9 | ·····˘/˘· |
| Unholy songs and tipsy fights, | 8 | ˘/˘··/˘· |
| Which I strove in vain to hush up. | 8 | ········ |
| Ghosts of fraudulent joint-stock banks, | 8 | ··/˘˘··· |
| Ghosts of “copy, declined with thanks,” | 8 | ··/˘˘/·· |
| Of novels returned in endless ranks, | 9 | ·/˘˘/·/˘· |
| And thousands more, I suffer. | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| The only line to fitly grace | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| My humble tomb, when I’ve run my race, | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| Is, “Reader, this is the resting-place | 9 | ·/˘···/˘· |
| Of an unsuccessful duffer.” | 8 | ···˘/˘/˘ |
| I’ve fought them all, these ghosts of mine, | 8 | ········ |
| But the weapons I’ve used are sighs and brine, | 10 | ··/˘······ |
| And now that I’m nearly forty-nine, | 9 | ····/˘/˘· |
| Old age is my chiefest bogy; | 8 | ····/˘/˘ |
| For my hair is thinning away at the crown, | 11 | ····/˘˘/··· |
| And the silver fights with the worn-out brown; | 10 | ··/˘······ |
| And a general verdict sets me down | 9 | ··/˘/˘··· |
| As an irreclaimable fogy. | 9 | ·······/˘ |
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