Samuel Taylor Coleridge — The Two Round Spaces on the Tombstone

       &nbspThe Devil believes that the Lord will come,        &nbspStealing a march without beat of drum, About the same time that he came last, On an Old Christmas-day in a snowy blast: Till he bids the trump sound neither body nor soul stirs, For the dead men's heads have slipt under their bolsters.        &nbspOh! ho! brother Bard, in our churchyard,        &nbspBoth beds and bolsters are soft and green;        &nbspSave one alone, and that's of stone,        &nbspAnd under it lies a Counsellor keen. 'Twould be a square tomb, if it were not too long; And 'tis fenced round with irons sharp, spear-like, and strong. This fellow from Aberdeen hither did skip With a waxy face and a blubber lip, And a black tooth in front, to show in part What was the colour of his whole heart.        &nbsp       &nbspThis Counsellor sweet,        &nbsp       &nbspThis Scotchman complete,        &nbsp       &nbsp(The Devil scotch him for a snake!)        &nbsp       &nbspI trust he lies in his grave awake.        &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbspOn the sixth of January,        &nbspWhen all around is white with snow,        &nbspAs a Cheshire yeoman's dairy,        &nbsp       &nbspBrother Bard, ho! ho! believe it, or no,        &nbspOn that stone tomb to you I'll show        &nbspTwo round spaces void of snow. I swear by our Knight, and his forefathers' souls, That in size and shape they are just like the holes        &nbspIn the house of privity        &nbspOf that ancient family. On those two places void of snow, There have sat in the night for an hour or so, Before sunrise, and after cock-crow, He kicking his heels, she cursing her corns, All to the tune of the wind in their horns,        &nbspThe Devil and his Grannam,        &nbspWith a snow-blast to fan 'em; Expecting and hoping the trumpet to blow, For they are cock-sure of the fellow below