Oriental Scenes, Dramatic Sketches and Tales/The Incantation
THE INCANTATION.
A DRAMATIC SKETCH.
Scene:—The Bergstrasse Hills at Midnight—An Assembly of Witches.
First Witch.
For ever first at meeting! Sisters, where,
Where can ye linger on this lovely night?
The moon is down, but in the clear blue sky
The stars are thick; as pale as silver some,
Some bright and golden, some like burnished steel
Clustering in millions, trembling as they pierce
The midnight air. Oh! how my spirit drinks
Their influence. Come on ye tardy crew!—
Bring me my wings; I'm tied to this dull earth,
And yet 'tis beautiful. The laughing Rhine
Rolls its bright azure waves through yon wide plain
Washing the base of many a city's walls:
The gothic towers of spires. The lofty point
Stands boldly in the twilight, from the dark
Cathedral mass of Worms' most ancient church;
And lower down beneath the brightest star
Lies Mentz: the spirit of her Faust
Beams in that star, the mightiest master, he
Of our forbidden art. Clothed in a silvery mist
Across the stretching corn-fields, richly gemmed
With forests dark and rustic villages,
The Vosges mountains bound the distant view,
The fair and fertile hills of jocund France,
And to the east lies our own Odenwald,
Girt with the granite ribs of mother earth.
Steep cliffs vine-garlanded, and winding vales,
And seas of rocks sublime, and woods of pine
Mark the gay chaos, wild fantastical,
The sport of nature's most capricious mood.
Hark the owl hoots—'tis answered by the toad,
With her harsh croak—the signal—I am here!
Where is our master?
Second Witch, appearing.
He will come anon.
This is our jubilee; to-night we weave
A spell more potent, deep, and terrible,
Than ever yet hath broken the strict laws
Which bind that frail worm, man. Where'er we list,
In sea or air, whatever element
The fancy charms, 'tis ours to revel in.
See from the depths below the cauldrons rise:
Fling in your mystic gifts.
Third Witch, and others.
A spotted snake,
Choaked in the shifting sands of Mogador—
The last life-blood of the expiring wretch
Gored by a shaggy Andalusian bull,
His native wildness maddened by the thrust
Of hostile spears—foam gathered from the lips
Of a plague-smitten renegade—the beak
Of a bald vulture, wet with human gore—
A moore deer's[1] heart, snatched in the deadly feud
Between a serpent monster and the fierce
Numidian tiger, mixed with lizard's fat—
The mouldering flesh of mummies torn from out
The pyramids—and fragments of the limbs
Crushed by the blood-stained car of Jaggernaut—
Herbs gathered in the moon-shine—henbane steeped
In poisonous sweat exhaled from the dark yew
That shades a murderous[2] grave—
And wholesome plants cankered by spawn of toads—
'Twill make a slimy hell-broth such as fiends
Will purchase with invaluable gifts.
It thickens; it increases. Oh rejoice!
Emancipation from this load of clay
Is close at hand. Say whither art thou bound?
Second Witch.
Floating in air above the polar star—
Spreading its wide illimitable waves
Beyond the human eye, I love to watch
The huge leviathan as he lies stretched
Upon the old sea's surface, basking full
In the bright borealis, troubling there
The awful stillness of the summer night,
Which knows no change from day, by the loud rush
Of waters spouting from his nostrils; high
In air the rainbow columns rise.
Third Witch.
I seek
The flame-encircled Mercury, and bathe
In floods of fire. The air is molten gold,
The glorious sun shines cloudless, and the earth
Glows like a furnace. Our poor tropics seem
Bleak in comparison! By Heaven, there are
Some glorious creatures hatched so near the sun,
Death with his cold damp touch hath never dared
Invade the burning region.
Fourth Witch.
To a vale—
An Indian vale, fraught with rich musky balm
From ever-blowing roses, whose bright leaves
Drop in a crimson shower amid the stars
The jasmine sheds upon the flower-strewed earth,
Couched in a lotus bark, I steer my flight.
The sultry sun hath sunk—the dewy air
Is filled with music as it gently woos
The waving clusters of the tamarisk,
Or whispers through the clove carnation beds
In amorous sighs, lulling the soul to sleep,
Steeping the senses in delicious calm.
No dreams disturb our slumbers, we inhale
Rich perfume as we breathe, and the rapt ear
Lists to the gush of fountains, and the song
Of night's most thrilling minstrel brought in swells
By the spiced gale from distant almond groves.
Fifth Witch.
I fly to oriental plains! but ' tis
To wander amid ruins, and to share
His midnight meal with the huge vampire bat,
Nestling all day within the marble halls
Of proud Persepolis. The jackal howls,
The serpent hisses, and the eagle screams
As my adventurous spirit urges them
From their most secret haunts.
Sixth Witch.
The sport
I love to follow on Spitzbergen's shore.
Beneath the frowning icebergs, floundering seals
Perform their clumsy gambols on deep beds
Of drifted snow. I trace the sullen bear
Home to his den, or join him as he prowls
Along the cold inhospitable coast,
List to his low deep growl, and see him tear
His prey in savage joy.
Seventh Witch.
On the top
Of lofty Caucasus a hideous storm
Is brewing by the fiends of hell; the caves
Have let loose all their winds; the sooty clouds
Are filled with sulphur; in mere wantonness
The hurricane is hatched; and it might spend
Its idle fury o'er Tartarian wastes;
But I'll bestride the dingy scud, and lead
The tempest o'er the Euxine. There's a bark
Manned from the Odenwald—a dauntless crew
Who dream of the blue Rhine, and toast their wives
In Schirauz wine, yet, as they gaily quaff,
Scoff at the Persian vintage—they have drank
Their last, last drop crushed from the topaz grape
That gems their native river. We will swell
The ocean with our flood[3], let the wild winds
Rave o'er the waters, till the angry waves
Lashed into fury, climbing to the clouds,
Divide and combat. Mid the deadly crash
Of warring elements, the thunders peal,
And lightnings fierce illumination, I
Shall laugh to see the shattered vessel drive
Before the storm, wheel round and round, then sink
For ever in the fathomless abyss—
There will be music in the dying cry
Of one for whom the rest are doomed. Von Karl,
Wilt thou remember when the sweeping surge
Comes rolling onward, her whom thy false vows
Have ruined, soul and body? What doth ail
The witch pot that it slowly simmers still?
We shall be late—how dost thou mean to ride?
Eighth Witch.
I' th' tail of the comet, as it shoots across
From pole to pole the boundless fields of air,
I hold my rapid midnight course, and where
The last pearl-diver sank to rise no more,
Drop in the gulf and search for his white bones,
And plant my feet deep in the slimy ooze
Accumulations of a thousand years,
Unctuous and green, the fat of the sea wave,
And dare the ocean monsters as they gaze
With their round dull, yet, fiercely cruel eyes
Stupid, untameable, I love to rouse
The only feeling of their brutishness,
Their horrid thirst for banqueting on blood;
Then mount a dolphin's back, and swim away
Far, far beyond their reach.
Ninth Witch.
'Tis glorious sport!
Oh! who would sit beside the fire and spin,
When they can thread the ocean's maze, or dance
Upon a star-beam? My fond mother weeps,
And looks upon me with beseeching eyes,
Whene'er she hears me murmur my witch songs,
And Leopold has brought me top-knots gay
From Strasburgh and from Mentz. They've trimmed the green,
And planted flowers, and coaxed the little birds
To feed upon the window sill—they hope
To make me love these simple things. Old Paul,
The village pastor shakes his silvery locks,
Shudders and sighs, to see me reckless turn
From holy shrines; they dread to know the truth,
Yet deeply fear. They've barred the outward door
And nailed a horse-shoe o'er the threshold, strewed
The chamber with fresh rosemary; but I
Repeated thrice the magic spell, and snapped
Such britttle bonds, flew up the chimney swift
And gained high Melibœcus. See how sound
The village rustics sleep;—the hamlet lies
In that small dell. How silent its repose!
The birds are mute, not even the watch-dog's bark
Breaks the deep silence; and the evening breeze
Is hushed; there's not a leaf stirs. Haste away
To the deep forests and the boundless plains,
And chase a herd of buffaloes who spurn
The earth beneath them, as they course along
The wide savannahs and the prairies, where
The boldest hunter never yet hath dared
To track their footsteps.
Tenth Witch.
On swart Afric's coast,
Swept by a keen east wind, a locust cloud
Were drowned in ocean; the returning tide
Hath cast their loathsome bodies on the shore
To swell and putrify; that tainted air
I may breathe harmlessly. I'll drink my fill
Of the foul atmosphere; then hover o'er
A grove of chesnuts in Castilian shades,
Lured by the tinkling sound of the guitar
Tenderly sighing its fond serenade,
Hymning the praise of woman. There are eyes
In their dark languish soft and beautiful
As the black orbs of Yemen's antelopes,
Which pay the minstrel, flashing through the bars
Of the closed lattice. Should the perfumed buds
Of orange, and the fragrance-weeping lime,
Or sweeter still, the honied voice of love,
Draw the veiled beauty from her coy retreat,
I'll spread the foul contagion through the air,
Scatter the pestilence and sow the seeds
Of death in their embrace; the morning's dawn
Shall find them lifeless on a bed of flowers.
First Witch.
Enough! enough!
The cauldron boils. It is the witching hour;
The mighty form of Odin strides the hill!
And Thor's and Freyga's shadowy forms appear,
Filling the air with mist!
Second Witch.
The rocked earth quakes.
He is amongst us; grim, and dark, and tall,
In awful gloomy majesty. Perform
The magic rites in silence.
Third Witch.
They are done!—
Up and away! One blast, one rush of wind
To scare the sleeping villagers, and then
All will be calm upon the Bergstrasse hills;
No trace of witch or demon to betray
Our mid-night vigil to the eye of man.