Poems, chiefly pastoral By John Cunningham. The second edition. With the Addition of several pastorals and other pieces |
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THE WITCH:
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 | Poems, chiefly pastoral |  |
114
THE WITCH:
A TALE.
A witch, that from her ebon chair,
Could hurl destruction thro' the air,
Or, at her all commanding will,
Make the tumultuous ocean still:
Once, by an incantation fell,
(As the recording Druids tell)
Pluck'd the round moon, whose radiant light
Silver'd the sober noon of night,
From the domain she held above,
Down to a dark, infernal grove.
Could hurl destruction thro' the air,
Or, at her all commanding will,
Make the tumultuous ocean still:
Once, by an incantation fell,
(As the recording Druids tell)
Pluck'd the round moon, whose radiant light
Silver'd the sober noon of night,
From the domain she held above,
Down to a dark, infernal grove.
Give me, the Goddess cry'd, a cause,
Why you disturb my sacred laws?
Look at my train,—yon wand'ring host!
See how the trembling stars are lost!
Thro' the celestial regions wide,
Why do they range without a guide!
Chaos, from our confusion, may
Hope for his old detested sway.
Why you disturb my sacred laws?
Look at my train,—yon wand'ring host!
See how the trembling stars are lost!
Thro' the celestial regions wide,
Why do they range without a guide!
Chaos, from our confusion, may
Hope for his old detested sway.
115
I'm, says the Witch, severely crost,
Know that my fav'rite Squirrel's lost:
Search—for I'll have creation torn,
If he's not found before the morn.
Know that my fav'rite Squirrel's lost:
Search—for I'll have creation torn,
If he's not found before the morn.
Soon as the impious charge was giv'n—
From the tremendous stores of heaven,
Jove with a bolt—revengeful!—red!
Struck the detested monster dead.
From the tremendous stores of heaven,
Jove with a bolt—revengeful!—red!
Struck the detested monster dead.
If there are slaves to pity blind,
With power enough to plague mankind,
That for their own nefarious ends,
Tread upon Freedom and her Friends,
Let 'em beware the Witch's fate!
When their presumption's at the height,
Jove will his angry powers assume,
And the curs'd miscreants meet their doom.
With power enough to plague mankind,
That for their own nefarious ends,
Tread upon Freedom and her Friends,
Let 'em beware the Witch's fate!
When their presumption's at the height,
Jove will his angry powers assume,
And the curs'd miscreants meet their doom.
| Poems, chiefly pastoral | |