HAUNTED HOUSE
“There had stood a great house in the centre of the gardens, where now was left only that fragment of ruin. This house had been empty for a great while; years before his—the ancient man's—birth. It was a place shunned by the people of the village, as it had been shunned by their fathers before them. There were many things said about it, and all were of evil. No one ever went near it, either by day or night. In the village it was a synonym of all that is unholy and dreadful.”
―
William Hope Hodgson,
The House on the Borderland
Credit: Moonlight Journey Collage Sheets
GHOST
Brown Lady of Raynham Hall
a claimed ghost photograph by Captain Hubert C. Provand.
First published in Country Life magazine, 1936
By Source: Fair use
https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=26302476, Eena's Creations Digital Kit, Alchemist, Little Girl from Land Of Nod Studio.
The Poem "Dark Rosaleen"
O my Dark Rosaleen, Do no sigh, do not weep! The priests are on the ocean green, they march along the Deep. There's wine from the royal Pope upon the ocean green; and Spanish ale shall give you hope, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope, Shall give you health, and help, and hope, My Dark Rosaleen.
Over hills and through dales have I roamed for your sake; all yesterday I sailed with sails on river and on lake. The Erne at its highest flood I dashed across unseen, For there was lightning in my blood, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! Oh! there was lightning in my blood, Red lightning lightened through my blood,
My Dark Rosaleen!
All day long in unrest to and fro do I move, The very soul within my breast Is wasted for you,love! The heart in my bosom faints to think of you, my Queen, My life of life, my saint of saints, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! To hear your sweet and sad complaints, My life, my love, my saint of saints,
My Dark Rosaleen!
Woe and pain, pain and woe, are my lot night and noon, To see your bright face clouded so, like to the mournful moon. But yet will I rear your throne again in golden sheen;'Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! 'Tis you shall have the golden throne,'Tis you shall reign, and reign alone, My Dark Rosaleen!
Over dews, over sands will I fly for your weal; your holy delicate white hands shall girdle me with steel. At home in your emerald bowers,from morning's dawn till e'en, you'll pray for me, my flower of flowers, My Dark Rosaleen! My fond Rosaleen! You'll think of me through Daylight's hours, My virgin flower, my flower of flowers, My Dark Rosaleen!
I could scale the blue air, I could plough the high hills, Oh, I could kneel all night in prayer, to heal your many ills! And one beamy smile for you would float like light between my toils and me, my own, my true, My Dark Rosaleen! My fond Rosaleen! Would give me life and soul anew, A second life, a soul anew,
My Dark Rosaleen!
O! the Erne shall run red with redundance of blood, The earth shall rock beneath our tread, and flames wrap hill and wood, and gun-peal, a slogan cry, wake many a glen serene, ere you shall fade, ere you shall die, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! The Judgment Hour must first be nigh,ere you can fade, ere you can die, My Dark Rosaleen!
