Slammed behind him the door, Told how the hearse before him passed,
And where it came from before... The Dancer moves upon the stageAll eyes on her look down Some with joy at her movement Others over technicalities frown.
The crippled walks ungainly down the street Having being crippled as a boy Some look in disapproving pity None share his mothers pride and joy. That it went up to Old Clonbroney, After driving through a wall,
But it was not real: twas but a ghost, For the wall was not damaged at all. And drinking whiskey strong his nerves settled down, Though still great in him was fear,
Though you may mock and you may frown, You too’d shake if the headless horseman did appear...
For every step ungainly that allows him progress Is another step in life as his own he stakes, Not pretty to the eye is his step But to many ugly even a limp a walk makes...
Let us not pity the cripple,
Rejoice he walks, as he is glad of the chance, Enjoy the movements of the dancer on the stage, See not the faults in her dance! And in time the husband returned, A miller he was by trade,
He came to see his wife terrified, And his neighbour, a man strong, afraid, They told him of the horseman, Of the hearse, that the man had no head, He shrugged his shoulder with a sigh, Declared one of the neighbours dead.