There will be very few of my readers who will not be struck, as I was, with the remarkable resemblance of the terrible curse uttered by Intialo to the invocation in Byron’s tragedy of “Manfred.” It is like it in form, spirit, and, in many places, even in the very words. That there was, however, no knowledge of the English poem by the Italian witch-poet, and therefore no imitation, is plain from intrinsic evidence. As the question is interesting, I will here give the Incantation from “Manfred”: INCANTATION. “When the moon is on the wave, And the glow-worm in the grass, And the meteor on the grave, And the wisp on the morass; When the falling stars are shooting, And the answered owls are hooting, And the silent leaves are still In the shadow of the hill, Shall my soul be upon thine With a power and with a sign. “Though thy slumber may be deep, Yet thy spirit shall not sleep; There are shades which shall not vanish, There are thoughts thou canst not banish; By a power to thee unknown Thou canst never be alone; Thou art wrapt as with a shroud, Thou art gathered in a cloud, And for ever shalt thou dwell In the spirit of this spell. “Though thou see’st me not pass by, Thou shalt feel me with thine eye, As a thing that, though unseen, Must be near thee, and hath been; And when in that secret dread Thou hast turned around thy head, Thou shalt marvel I am not As thy shadow on the spot, And the power which thou dost feel Shall be what thou must conceal. “And a magic voice and verse Hath baptized thee with a curse, And a spirit of the air Hath begirt thee with a snare; In the wind there is a voice Shall forbid thee to rejoice; And to thee shall night deny All the quiet of her sky; And the day shall have a sun Which shall make thee wish it done. “From thy false tears I did distil An essence which hath strength to kill; From thy own heart I then did wring The black blood in its blackest spring; From thy own smile I snatched the snake, For there it coiled as in a brake; From thy own lip I drew the charm Which gave all these their chiefest harm; In proving every poison known, I found the strongest was thine own. “By thy cold breast and serpent smile, By thy unfathomed depths of guile, By that most seeming virtuous eye, By thy shut soul’s hypocrisy, By the perfection of thine art, Which passed for human thine own heart; By thy delight in others’ pain, And by thy brotherhood of Cain, I call upon thee, and compel Thyself to be thy proper hell!