Will O’ the wisp

     Follow me, follow me,
     Over brake and under tree,
     Thro’ the bosky tanglery,
     Brushwood and bramble! 
     Follow me, follow me,
     Laugh and leap and scramble! 
     Follow, follow,
     Hill and hollow,
     Fosse and burrow,
     Fen and furrow,
     Down into the bulrush beds,
     ’Midst the reeds and osier heads,
     In the rushy soaking damps,
     Where the vapours pitch their camps,
     Follow me, follow me,
     For a midnight ramble! 
     O! what a mighty fog,
     What a merry night O ho! 
     Follow, follow, nigher, nigher —
     Over bank, and pond, and briar,
     Down into the croaking ditches,
     Rotten log,
     Spotted frog,
     Beetle bright
     With crawling light,
     What a joy O ho! 
     Deep into the purple bog —
     What a joy O ho! 
     Where like hosts of puckered witches
     All the shivering agues sit
     Warming hands and chafing feet,
     By the blue marsh-hovering oils: 
     O the fools for all their moans! 
     Not a forest mad with fire
     Could still their teeth, or warm their bones,
     Or loose them from their chilly coils. 
     What a clatter,
     How they chatter! 
     Shrink and huddle,
     All a muddle! 
     What a joy O ho! 
     Down we go, down we go,
     What a joy O ho! 
     Soon shall I be down below,
     Plunging with a grey fat friar,
     Hither, thither, to and fro,
     Breathing mists and whisking lamps,
     Plashing in the shiny swamps;
     While my cousin Lantern Jack,
     With cook ears and cunning eyes,
     Turns him round upon his back,
     Daubs him oozy green and black,
     Sits upon his rolling size,
     Where he lies, where he lies,
     Groaning full of sack —
     Staring with his great round eyes! 
     What a joy O ho! 
     Sits upon him in the swamps
     Breathing mists and whisking lamps! 
     What a joy O ho! 
     Such a lad is Lantern Jack,
     When he rides the black nightmare
     Through the fens, and puts a glare
     In the friar’s track. 
     Such a frolic lad, good lack! 
     To turn a friar on his back,
     Trip him, clip him, whip him, nip him. 
     Lay him sprawling, smack! 
     Such a lad is Lantern Jack! 
     Such a tricksy lad, good lack! 
     What a joy O ho! 
     Follow me, follow me,
     Where he sits, and you shall see!

     Song

     Fair and false!  No dawn will greet
     Thy waking beauty as of old;
     The little flower beneath thy feet
     Is alien to thy smile so cold;
     The merry bird flown up to meet
     Young morning from his nest i’ the wheat
     Scatters his joy to wood and wold,
     But scorns the arrogance of gold.