The Miser

by George Albert Leddy

A GRAFTING, CLINGING, MONSTROUS THING;

MORE FIT FOR HORNS, THAN FIT FOR WINGS.

The candle on the mantle shed a dim and lonely light;

The fire in the hearth was burning low;

The winds around the cabin seemed to wail in strange affright;

The windows seemed most ghastly decked in snow.

The Miser—gnarled and wrinkled, scant’ly clad and scant’ly fed;

Who’d played the game for Gold, and always scored;

With many sins of selfishness now hanging o’er his head;

Crouched in the corner—‘mongst his earthly hoard.

He chattered like a maniac, his weasel-eyes did shine;

His fiend-like form now trembling from the cold.

He gloated in his hellish glee: “All mine, all mine, all mine!”

His claw-like fingers mingling in the Gold.

When lo, a Dusky Raven came and perched above the door;

The Miser cried, “Begone, I know ye well!

You are the one who haunted me, for twenty years or more;

You bought my soul for Gold—you fiend of Hell!”

The Raven spoke in rasping voice: “Yea, twenty years ago,

There came a lonely Stranger to your door.

He asked you for a lodging, and protection from the snow;

And you replied, ‘Begone, for evermore!’

He gazed a moment on the scene, it was your wedding eve;

He gazed upon your Parents and your Bride.

He cried, ‘Beware ye heartless, who my troubles won’t relieve!’

Then struggled on—until he sank and died.

“And then the venging Spirit placed a crown upon your head;

The crown was but the curse of shining Gold.

You soon forgot your loved-ones, loved the shining Gold instead;

And soon, for such, your happiness you sold.

Your Father, whom had loved you well, you hastened to his end;

Your dear old Mother died of broken-heart;

The ones who in your younger days had proudly called you ‘friend,’

Now wonder at so cruel and hard a heart.

“Your Wife was kind and faithful, served you early, served you late;

And stood by you when you had not a friend.

But lo, you cursed and beat her—all your love had turned to hate!

Alas, she met a cruel and bitter end.

Ah, tremble now ye coward, ‘tis I who know your deeds;

Tis I who planned them all, and planned them well;

‘Tis I who’ll reap the harvest, for ‘tis I who sewed the seed;

‘Tis I who’ll drag you to—Eternal Hell!

“Why, if I wished to linger, and recall the days of old;

Where I have been the Master, you the Slave;

Of men you’ve lured into your den, and robbed them of their Gold;

And sent them, boldly, to a cruel grave;

Of little children you have held for ransoms mighty high;

Of women you have lured into your fold;

And held them there, as prisoners, till they suffer, starve and die;

Unless they satisfy—your greed for Gold!

“But no, I cannot linger, we will go back twenty years;

To the night you cast the Stranger from your door.

Ah, plead ye not for mercy, there’s no mercy for you here;

Your cursid life on Earth—is nearly o’er!

And I will then escort, ye fiend, into that brimstone cell.

Revenge is sweet, it fills my soul with glee!

And then I’ll go for evermore, from that Eternal Hell;

But you’ll remain—for all eternity!”

The Miser, old and stiff, arose and hobbled to the door;

He cried, “‘Twas you who made me do those things!”

He clutched the Raven by the throat, and dragged him to the floor;

And gleefully—he clipped the Raven’s wings . . .

And now the gloating Miser sits among the tainted Gold;

The wild winds howl around the cabin door;

And where the candle sheds its light, the Raven sadly sits.

Alas! alas, he’ll sit—for evermore.

*****