OH! once I was gay
As a child at play,
I'm sadder now and wiser,
For it's mine to boast
I've seen the ghost
Of my maiden aunt Eliza.
I own, with a sigh,
That never I
Much did idolize her.
A Vigilant
Old termagant
Was my gaunt aunt Eliza.

I did not know,
When I laid her low
Beneath the ancient minster,
That her coffin lid
could fail to keep hid
That venerable spinster.

She told me oft
(But I hear I scoffed)
That nought on earth could stop her,
She'd rise from her grave
Should I behave
In a way she thought improper.

So I tried for days
Her ghost to raise,
Committed crimes by the dozen,
I forged a will,
Ran a private still,
And scraged my second cousin.
But she heeded nought,
And I rather thought
Perhaps she didn't get out
From the place where she was gone to.

But on Christmas day,
Sad to say!
(It was somebody else's sister),
I saw her to
'Neath the mistletoe,
Then and there I kissed her.

Then, gaunt and grim,
through blue lights dim,
Appeared my aunt Eliza,
And from my bones
With moans and groans,
That I did surprise her.

And, since that night,
A weary wight,
Haunted by aunt I wander,
That vigilant
Old termagant
Keeps up her mournful daunder.
And never a whit
Cant I get quit
Of that grim moralizer,
I'm always watched,
and mostly "cotched,"
By my gaunt aunt Eliza.

             --J.W. Brodie-Innes.