the shores of Morecambe Bay, when he was at his wits' end how he might avoid being carried bodily off to hell. Some local rhymester has woven the story into rude verse; but the transcriber has mislaid his reference to the old magazine in which the composition first appeared:—
"the devil at cockerham."
"A story strange I'll tell to you,
Of something very old and new.
New—because of it you 've never heard;
Strange—even now, upon my word.
"The devil his presence hath maintained;
He came unfettered and unchained;
In the churchyard his form was seen,
His habit mixed of blue and green;
Such ne'er before, or since, was seen.
"What time his reverence had escaped,
When the wide gates of hell wide gaped;
He with his horrid crew in plight,
From thence on lowly earth alight.
"As smoke uprolleth from some mighty fire,
These spirits blue and green rise from the mire;
All shapes and sizes they at will assume—
Of grovelling snakes, or warriors decked with plume.
"Wandering up and down the earth,
Midst scenes of sorrow, scenes of mirth;
Till at last the devil tired hard,
Alights in Cockerham Churchyard;
Invisible, but still he prowled
About, and oft at midnight howled,
Scaring the natives of the vale,
Dwelling in neighbourhood of my tale.
All things went wrong, and nought was right,
None could do aught, try as they might;
By night, by day, his presence was felt,
When they ate or fasted, stood or knelt.
