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THE DEVIL’S POT^[2]

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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:

ONE, TWO, THREE

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      I saw three witches as the wind blew cold

      In a red light to the lee;

      Bold they were and over-bold

      As they sailed over the sea;

      Calling for One, Two, Three!

      Calling for One, Two, Three!

      And I think I can hear

      It a-ringing in my ear,

      A-calling for the One, Two, Three.

      And clouds came over the sky,

      And the wind it blew hard and free,

      And the waves grew bold and over-bold

      As we sailed over the sea;

      Howling for One, Two, Three!

      Howling for their One, Two, Three!

      Oh I think I can hear

      It a-ringing in my ear,

      A-howling for their One, Two, Three!

      And the storm came roaring on,

      Such a storm as I never did see,

      And the storm it was bold and over-bold,

      And as bad as a storm could be;

      A-roaring for its One, Two, Three!

      A-howling for its One, Two, Three!

      Oh I think I can hear

      It a-howling in my ear,

      A-growling for its One, Two, Three!

      And a wave came over the deck,

      As big as a wave could be,

      And it took away the captain and the mate and a man:

      It had got the One, Two, Three!

      And it went with the One, Two, Three!

      Oh I think I can hear

      It a-rolling in my ear,

      As it went with the One, Two, Three.

      This being cheered, I said, “Some time ago

      I made a song in the Italian tongue

      About a witch and pirate—which for you

      Shall, if you like, be now in English sung.”

      “No, give it first,” cried Saltonstall, “by jingo!

      In its own nateral, Eyetalian lingo;

      What I don’t know of it ain’t worth a cent;

      Even to Rome I several times have went,

      In Naples, too, I’ve had full many a turn

      And know old Spartivento like a dern;

      And most of us, I reckon—though we’re Yankee—

      Can go the Dago, or some lingua frankey.

      We ain’t so ignorant of what we know;

      So go ahead, Signor—prestissimo!

      Ef we don’t catch the sense ’twill be a pity.”—

      So thus encouraged I began my ditty:

LA BELLA STREGA

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      Era una bella strega

      Che si bagnava alla riva;

      Vennero i pirati,

      Lei presero captiva.

      Il vento era in poppa,

      Sull’onde la nave ballò,

      La donna lacrimante

      Al

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