At a Wall on an Island

In the white moonlight, where the willow waves,

He halfway gallops among the graves—

A tiny ghost in the gloom and gleam,

Content to dwell where the dead men dream,

But wary still;

For they plot him ill;

For the graveyard rabbit hath a charm

(May God defend us!) to shield from harm.

Over the shimmering slabs he goes—

Every grave in the dark he knows;

But his nest is hidden from human eye

Where headstones broken on old graves lie.

Wary still!

For they plot him ill;

For the graveyard rabbit, though sceptics scoff,

Charmeth the witch and the wizard off!

The black man creeps, when the night is dim,

Fearful, still, on the track of him;

Or fleetly follows the way he runs,

For he heals the hurts of the conjured one.

Wary still!

For they plot him ill;

The soul’s bewitched that would find release,—

To the graveyard rabbit go for peace!

He holds their secret—he brings a boon

Where winds moan wild in the dark o’ the moon;

And gold shall glitter and love smile sweet

To whoever shall sever his furry feet!

Wary still!

For they plot him ill;

For the graveyard rabbit hath a charm

(May God defend us!) to shield from harm.

The Graveyard Rabbit

by Frank Lebby Stanton