Читать книгу Songs of the Sea and Lays of the Land - Charles Godfrey Leland - Страница 7

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There’s a place where you see the Atlantic heave

Like water boiling hot;

Where you come with grief and with joy you leave,

And they call it the Devil’s Pot.

Now there was a witch in the good old time,

And she had such power, they say,

Through rocks or stones or sand or lime,

She could always make her way.

One night on a broom she went with a whirr;

The devil he saw her fly,

And the devil he fell in love with her

As she went sailing by.

She flew like the devil to scape away,

And the devil so did he,

And she jumped from her broom without delay

And she dived to the bottom of the sea.

And she bored a hole when she got down,

And round and round she twirled,

And closed it behind as she went on,

Till she went straight through the world.

And the devil he dived in the water deep,

And he made it boil like pitch

As he roared and raved with many a leap,

But he never could find the witch.

And still he stirs it by night and day,

And seeks and finds her not;

And that is the reason, the sailors say,

Why it’s called the Devil’s Pot.

“They say that there are witches everywhere,”

Said Jones of Chesapeake, “a livin’ free;

Some in the rocks, some flyin’ in the air,

And some, in course, like fishes in the sea.

I’ve often heard strange voices in the night—

They wan’t no birds I’ll swer, nor any sitch—

One called me once by name; it gim’me fright—

And that I’m sartin was a water-witch.

One can’t in nat’ral wise account for that,

All you can call it is a Mr. E——

But there are witches, I will bet a hat;

And so I’ll sing the song of One, Two, Three,

Fust drinkin’ all your healths,”—no more he said,

But in a good round voice went straight ahead:

[2]	The Devil’s Pot is a place on the North Atlantic route where, according to sailors, there is always bad weather.