University of Virginia Library

'Twas now the witching time of night,
When reason strays, and forms that fright
Are shadowed on the palsied sight;
When fancy moulds upon the mind
Light visions on the passing wind,
And woos, with faltering tongue and sigh,
The shades o'er memory's wilds that fly;
And much the circle longed to hear
Of gliding ghost, or gifted seer,
That in that still and solemn hour
Might stretch imagination's power,
And restless fancy revel free
In painful, pleasing luxury.
Just as the battle-tale was done
The watchman called the hour of one.