There was once a castle in Cornwall,
And this be its story as told here by Paul.
This Pengersick Castle that rests on Praa Sands,
Has left us some stories that none understands.
It’s haunted they tell us, by those who lived there,
And some who were guests and were caught unaware.
‘twas Henry that built the first house on the site,
Engrina Godolphin still haunts here at night.
Her presence transported by second use stones,
The lady in white who just stares . . . and then moans.
The monk oft seen pacing the high battlement,
Killed by old Henry, not at all penitent.
The hopelessness bred here by dastardly deeds,
Gives warning to strangers that no one now heeds.
There's Many a tale told ‘bout John Milliton,
A Sheriff, a Captain and quite evil one,
Who practiced the black arts in candle lit tow’r,
‘midst demons and devils at the midnight hour.
The carrack Saint Anthony foundered off shore,
With booty that Milliton couldn’t ignore.
The treasure that sank there was n’er to be found.
It settled itself into Pengersick’s ground.
The plague graves that carry a spell and a curse,
Cause people to flee them, they’re vile and perverse.
Those victims that cry from the unhallowed graves,
Give fear and give terror the visitor craves.
A girl spins and dances to lure you away,
Her innocent twirling just seeks to waylay
And lure all the spellbound quite close to the edge,
To hurl them straight down from the battlement’s ledge.
The dark demon dog with the glowing red eyes,
The battlement’s safety that hist’ry belies.
A tug on your dress by a boy only four,
A few of the stories of so many more.
So join with the sailors who prowl o’er the land,
The haunting and haunted of Pengersick’s band.
Yet even today for the few who may try,
Old Pengersick Castle can still terrify.
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