Burial Ground Of The Accurst

A young mischievous Gypsy lad, one day steals from a stranger, who unbeknown to the Gypsy, has made a pact with the Devil.

I
'Tis said by the Gypsies of London who wander nigh,
That those baleful whims of the devil are seen nightly,
Walking upon a trodden earth of that graveyard high,
O'er those crumpling and rustling leaves there slightly.
II
This is the tale of a haunting being of sleight and fright,
And the gruesome and bad outcome of a cunning thief,
Who one night met his shocking death in the dark night,
And whose drear life was full of naught and teeming grief.
III
His name was Zindelo, the young son of a tatterdemalion,
Who peddl'd the busy streets of London with his brother, 
Yearning to forget his awful life as a foul slubberdegullion,
Whilst he mourn'd truly, the sad loss of his belov'd mother.
IV
One gloomy night as he had roam'd the East End of London,
He sought to steal from those new-fangl'd swines at night, 
But yet the unknown man he had stolen from was wanton,
And bore an unween'd mien of a witting soul of keen sight.
V
This unwist man I bespeak, stroll'd the street that night,
When Zindelo along with his brother robb'd the man blive,
Knocking him onto the ground unaware of his great might,
Running swiftly through the steets until the clock rang five.
VI
The next morning, they sold a stolen golden watch then,
Taking the watch to the shop of the watchmaker in the rear,
But they were amaz'd that the owner of that shop had ken,
Bearing a likeness of the man robb'd in the night before near.
VII
"I thought, ye would be coming to see me this morning, 
But yet, I did not think that it would be soon," he told them,
As a chill was felt by Zindelo and his brother as a warning,
When he grabb'd a bloom from his coat and broke a stem.
VIII
"How clumsy am I, that I broke this brittle stem I did not heed,
And forgive my unbecoming smirk and my behaviour today,
For I ne'er forget the guises of the want'd souls within need,
Yearning the better things in life and for sorrow to go away."
IX
He laugh'd, as the Gypsies ran as fast as they could go,
Reaching a corner of a street and their hearts beat'd wildly,
As an o'erwhelming fear had wield'd their minds to and fro,
Hiding by the walls speaking amongst themselves mildly.
X
As they walk'd, stood before them a willowy man beguiling,
Dress'd in a coat, with a top hat and walking stick with him,
"Did ye think, ye could hide from me lads?" he said smiling,
"Take your watch!" answer'd Zindelo with a look too grim.
XI
Zindelo threw the watch, and the fiend seiz'd it as a whim,
"You have the watch, leave us alone, for we are no harm sir,
For we are only Gypsies, who steal to live!" Zindelo told him,
But the willowy man laugh'd, "Those winds begin to stir!"
XII
A howling wind blew upon their shabby guises quickly,
"Let us go on our way, and you will ne'er see us again I beg!"
The boys told him, when they shiver'd as they abid'd fickly,
But Zindelo's brother Yanko, ran away and he broke his leg.
XIII
"Ye cannot run!" he told them as they sought Greenwich,
"What do you want from us?" Zindelo had ask'd him boldly,
"What I want now, is for ye to steal from the uppish filthy rich!"
"What do you mean by that sir?" Zindelo ask'd him coldly.
XIV
He put his walking stick onto his chest looking into his eyes, 
"If ye rob for me lads, I shall give ye wealth beyond thy dreams,
No more, shall ye be drown in wanhope rotting in slums of flies,
As a world is thine, and gone shall be thy father's screams."
XV
Upon that eerie night, Zindelo swore an oath to the devil,
Whence thereafter, his weenless life of thievery would end,
As he began to steal from those swines that were all evil, 
And they became the heartless thralls of the wick'd fiend. 
XVI
Fifteen long years had gone by, since that oath whilom, 
As Zindelo was a rich man who had his own shop of rings,
For the forlorn world he had dwell'd made him blossom,
When his greed led him to forsake those brotherly things.
XVII
One day, he had his brother murder'd as he heard a footfall,
And he was alone to wield the heart of London with behest,
But shortly, his unwieldy madness led him to his downfall,
And bring upon him straightway, his ghastly death unblest.
XVIII
He goad'd the devil, as he no longer did his bidding any more,
As tidings of his stubbornness had raught the lord of the night,
And doom'd Zindelo to a harsh death and brazen bond he tore,
Where the bleak darkness of the underworld shone no light.
XIX
As he walk'd, Zindelo met anon the willowy man as he stood,
"O thou darest me, when I gave thee the life thou want'd e'er,
And now, I shall bury thee whole alive six feet under for good,
Thou shalt reap what thou hast sow'd feeling death fore'er!"
XX
And a whirlpool of the wind swept Zindelo from the ground,
Taking swiftly his body onto the burial ground of the accurst,
Buried alive in a box with a headstone of no name and mound,
As his yells deafen'd by the dirt stifling his mouth that durst.