Do you mean this one, Chief? I've not heard of one called The Vampire....

The Conqueror Worm

Lo! 'tis a gala night
Withen the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedlight
In veils, drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.


Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly;
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things,
Flapping out their condor wings
Invisible Woe!


That motley drama! - oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot;
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horrow, the soul of the plot!


But see, amid the mimis rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes! - it writhes! - with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.


Out - out are all the lights - out all!
And over each quievering form,
The curtain a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm -
And the angels, all pallid and wan
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, 'Man,'
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

Edgar Allen Poe