 The Ghost's Moonshine by Thomas Lovell Beddowes Red for LibriVox.org by Brad Iverson Long It is midnight, my wedded. Let us lie under the tempest bright undreaded in the warm thunder. Tremble and weep not. What can you fear? My heart's best wish is thine, that thou art white and bedded on the softest beer in the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils that blow through the murderer's ribs to and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. Who is there, she said afraid, yet stirring and waking the poor old dead, his spade it is only making tremble and weep not. What do you crave? Where yonder grasses twine a pleasant bed, my maid, that children call a grave in the cold Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils that blow through the murderer's ribs to and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. What does thou strain above her lovely throat's whiteness, a silken chain to cover her bosom's brightness? Tremble and weep not. What do you fear? My blood is spilt like wine, thou hast strangled and slain me, lover, thou hast stabbed me, dear, in the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only her goblin doth blow through the murderer's ribs to and fro in its own Moonshine. End of poem. This recording is in the Public Domain. The Ghost's Moonshine by Thomas Lovell Beddowes Read for LibriVox.org by Brian LeRosso October 24, 2007 It is midnight, my wedded, Let us lie under the tempest bright undreaded In the warm thunder. Tremble and weep not. What can you fear? My heart's best wish is thine. That thou wert white and bedded On the softest bear in the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils that blow Through the murderer's ribs to and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. Who is there, said she afraid, yet stirring and awaking, The poor old dead? His spade, it is only making. Tremble and weep not. What do you crave? Where yonder grasses twine A pleasant bed, my maid, That children call a grave In the cold Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils that blow Through the murderer's ribs to and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. What doest thou strain above her lovely throat's whiteness? A silken chain to cover her bosom's brightness? Tremble and weep not. What do you fear? My blood is spilt like wine. Thou hast strangled and slain me, Lover. Thou hast stabbed me, dear, in the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only her goblin doth blow Through the murderer's ribs to and fro in its own Moonshine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Ghost's Moonshine by Thomas Lovell-Bettos Read for LibriVox.org by Clarica. It is midnight, my wedded. Let us lie under the tempest Bright, undreaded, in the warm thunder. Tremble and weep not. What can you fear? My heart's best wish is thine, That thou wert white And bedded on the softest beer In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs to and fro In the Ghost's Moonshine. Who is there, she said afraid, Yet stirring and awaking The poor old dead? His spade it is only making. Tremble and weep not. What do you crave? Where yonder grasses twine, A pleasant bed, my maid, That children call aggrave in the cold Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs to and fro In the Ghost's Moonshine. What doest thou strain above her lovely throat's whiteness? A silken chain to cover her bosom's brightness? Tremble and weep not. What do you fear? My blood is spilt like wine. Thou hast strangled And slain me, lover, Thou hast stabbed me dear In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only her goblin doth Blow through the murderer's ribs to and fro In its own Moonshine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Ghost's Moonshine by Thomas Lovell-Beddows redfilibrewrocks.org by Corrie Samuel It is midnight, my wedded. Let us lie under the tempest Bright, undreaded, in the warm thunder. Tremble and weep not. What can you fear? My heart's best wish is thine, That thou wert white And bedded on the softest beer In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs to and fro In the Ghost's Moonshine. Who is there, she said, afraid, Yet stirring and waking? The poor old dead? His spade It is only making Tremble and weep not. What do you crave? Where yonder grasses twine A pleasant bed, my maid, That children call aggrave In the cold Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs to and fro In the Ghost's Moonshine. What do us thou strain Above her lovely throat's whiteness? A silken chain To cover her bosom's brightness? Tremble and weep not. What do you fear? My blood is spilt like wine, Thou has strangled And slain me lover, Thou has stabbed me, dear, In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only her goblin Doth blow through the murderer's ribs to and fro In its own Moonshine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Ghost's Moonshine by Thomas Level Beddose Red for LibriVox.org by Esther It is midnight, my wedded, Let us lie under the tempest Bright and dreaded, In the warm thunder, Tremble and weep not. What can you fear? My heart's best wish is thine, That thou word white Embedded on the softest beer. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs to and fro In the Ghost's Moonshine. Who is there, she said afraid, Yet stirring and wakening, The poor old dead? His spaded is only making Tremble and weep not. What do you crave? Where yonder grasses twine, A pleasant bed, my maid, That children call a grave In the cold Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs to and fro In the Ghost's Moonshine. What does thou strain above Her lovely throat's whiteness? A silken chain to cover her bosom's brightness? Tremble and weep not. What do you fear? My blood is spilt like wine, Thou has strangled And slain me, lover, Thou has stabbed me, dear, In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only her goblin Doth blow through the murderer's ribs to and fro In its own Moonshine. And of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Ghost's Moonshine by Thomas Lowell Betos Read for LibriVox.org by J. C. Kwan Montreal, October 2007 It is midnight, my wedded, Let us lie under the tempest Bright, undreaded, In the warm thunder. Tremble and weep not. What can you fear? My heart's best wish is dine, The dowered, white, embedded On the softest beer In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs to and fro In the Ghost's Moonshine. Who is there, she said afraid, Yet stirring and waking The poor old dead? He spayed. It is only making. Tremble and weep not. What do you crave? Where yonder grasses twine? A pleasant bed, my maid, That children call a grave. In the cold Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs to and fro In the Ghost's Moonshine. What does, though, strain above her Lovely throat's whiteness? A silken chain to cover Her bosom's brightness. Tremble and weep not. What do you fear? My blood is spilt like wine, Though has strangled And slain me, lover, Though has stabbed me, dear, In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only her goblin Does blow through the murderer's ribs to and fro In its own Moonshine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Ghost's Moonshine by Thomas Lovell Beddowes Read for LibriVox.org by James Gladwin October 2007 It is midnight, my wedded. Let us lie under the tempest Bright undreaded. In the warm thunder Tremble and weep not. What can you fear? My heart's best wish is thine That thou art white And bedded on the softest beer In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils that blow through the murderer's ribs To and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. Who is there? she said, afraid, Yet, stirring and Awaking the poor old dead. His spade It is only making. Tremble and weep not. What do you crave? Where yonder grasses twine A pleasant bed, My mate, that children call a grave In the cold Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils that Blow through the murderer's ribs To and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. What does thou strain above Her lovely throat's whiteness? A silken chain to cover Her bosom's brightness? Tremble and weep not. What do you fear? My blood is spilt like wine. Thou hast strangled and slain me, Lover. Thou hast stabbed me, dear, In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only her goblin doth blow Through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in its own Moonshine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. redforlibberbox.org It is midnight, my wedded. Let us lie Under the tempest bright undreaded In the warm thunder. Tremble and weep not. What can you fear? My heart's best wish is thine, That thou wert white embedded On the softest spear in the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. Who is there? she said afraid. Yet, stirring and Awaking, the poor old dead? His spade it is only making. Tremble and weep not. What do you crave? Where yonder grasses twine A pleasant bed, my maid, That children call aggrave In the cold Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. What doest thou strain Above her lovely throat's whiteness? A silken chain To cover her bosom's brightness? Tremble and weep not. What do you fear? My blood is spilt like wine, Thou hast strangled and slain me, lover. Thou hast stabbed me, dear, In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only her goblin Does blow through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in its own Moonshine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Ghost's Moonshine by Thomas Leval Badoes Read for LibriVox.org by Cary Ford. It is midnight, my wedded. Let us lay under the tempest bright Untreaded in the warm thunder. Tremble and weep not. What can you fear? My heart best wishes thine That thou wilt white and bedded On the softest bear In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. Who is there, she said, afraid, Yet stirring and Awaking the poor old den? Has bade it as only making? Tremble and weep not. What do you crave? We yarn the grass as twine, A pleasant beard, my maid. The children call aggrave in the cold Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. What does thou strain above Her lovely throat's whiteness? A silken chain to cover Her bosom's brightness? Tremble and weep not. What do you fear? My blood is spilt like wine. Thou has strangled And slain me, lover. Thou has stabbed me, dear, In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only who goblins doth blow Through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in its own Moonshine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Ghost's Moonshine by Thomas Lovell Beddose Read for Libbervox.org by Katie Gibbany. It is midnight, my wedded. Let us lie under the tempest Bright and dreaded in the warm thunder. Tremble and weep not. What can you fear? My heart's best wish is thine, That thou word white Embedded on the softest beer in the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. Who is there, she said, afraid, Yet stirring and Awaking the poor old dead? His spade, it is only making. Tremble and weep not. What do you crave? Where yonder grasses twine A pleasant bed, my maid, That children call a grave In the cold Moonshine? Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. What dost thou strain above Her lovely throat's whiteness? A silken chain, to cover Her bosom's brightness? Tremble and weep not. What do you fear? My blood is spilt like wine. Thou has strangled and Slain me, lover. Thou has stabbed me, dear, In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only her goblin doth blow Through the murderer's ribs, to and fro In its own Moonshine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Thunder. Tremble and weep not. What can you fear? My heart's best wish is thine, That thou wort white And bedded on the softest beer In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. Who is there? She said afraid, Yet stirring and waking the poor old dead. His spade, it is only making. Tremble and weep not. What do you crave? Where yonder grasses twine? A pleasant bed, my maid, The children call a grave. In the cold Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. What does thou strain above her lovely throat's whiteness? A silken chain to cover her bosom's brightness? Tremble and weep not. What do you fear? My blood is spilt like wine. Thou hast strangled and slain me lover. Thou hast stabbed me dear in the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only her goblin doth blow through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in its own Moonshine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Let us lie under the tempest bright undreaded, In the warm thunder. Tremble and weep not. What can you fear? My heart's best wish is thine, That thou wert white and bedded On the softest beer in the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. Who is there, she said, afraid, Yet stirring and awaking, The poor old dead? His spade it is only making. Tremble and weep not. What do you crave? Where yonder grasses twine, A pleasant bed my maid, That children call a grave in the cold Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils That blow through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. What does thou strain above Her lovely throat's whiteness? A silken chain to cover Her bosom's brightness? Tremble and weep not. What do you fear? My blood is spilt like wine, Thou hast strangled and slain me, lover, Thou hast stabbed me, dear, In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only her goblin Does blow through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in its own Moonshine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Ghost's Moonshine By Thomas Lovell-Bettos Read for LibriVox.org By Leanne Howlett It is midnight, my wedded. Let us lie under the tempest Bright undreaded in the warm thunder. Tremble and weep not. What can you fear? My heart's best wish is thine, That thou wert white and bedded On the softest veer in the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils that blow Through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. Who is there, she said, afraid, Yet stirring and awaking the poor old dead? His spade, it is only making. Tremble and weep not. What do you crave? Where yonder grasses twine A pleasant bed, my maid, That children call a grave? In the cold Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils that blow Through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. What do us thou strain Above her lovely throat's whiteness? A silken chain to cover Her bosom's brightness? Tremble and weep not. What do you fear? My blood is spilt like wine, Thou hast strangled and slain, My lover, thou hast stabbed me, dear, In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only her goblin doth blow Through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in its own Moonshine. End of poem. This recording Is in the public domain. It is midnight, my wedded. Let us lie under the tempest Bright undreaded in the warm thunder. Tremble and weep not. What can you fear? My heart's best wish is thine, That thou wert white and bedded On the softest beer in the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils that blow Through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. Who is there, she said afraid, Yet stirring and awaking, The poor old dead, His spade it is only making. Tremble and weep not. What do you crave? Ray yonder grasses twine, A pleasant bed my maid, That children call a grave In the cold Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only two devils that blow Through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in the Ghost's Moonshine. What dost thou strain above her? Lovely throat's whiteness, A silken chain to cover, Her bosom's brightness, Tremble and weep not. What do you fear? My blood is spilt like wine. Thou hast strangled and slain me, lover, Thou hast stabbed me, dear, In the Ghost's Moonshine. Is that the wind? No, no. Only her goblin doth blow Through the murderer's ribs, To and fro in its own Moonshine.