Publicly Uraca follow’d Quite an honest occupation, Namely, selling mountain-simples And stuff’d birds to those who sought them. Full her cottage was of suchlike Curiosities, and frightful Was the smell of fungi in it, Cuckoo-flow’rs and elderberries. There was quite a fine collection Of the vulture tribe display’d there, With their wings extended fully, And their monstrous beaks projecting. Was’t the strange plants’ smell that mounted To my head and stupified me? Wondrous feelings stole across me, As I gazed upon those birds. They’re perchance enchanted mortals, Who, by magic art o’erpower’d, To the wretched stuff’d condition Of poor birds have been converted. Fixedly they gaze upon me, Sadly, yet with much impatience; Often they appear to throw Tow’rd the witch shy glances also. But the latter, old Uraca, Close beside her son Lascaro Cowers in the chimney corner, Melting lead and casting bullets,-- Bullets that by fate are destined To destroy poor Atta Troll. How the flames with hasty motion Quiver o’er the witch’s features! She incessantly keeps moving Her thin lips, but nothing says she; Mutters she the witches’ blessing, That the casting be successful? Oft she chuckles and oft nods she To her son, but he continues Earnestly his occupation, And as silently as Death. Swelt’ring ’neath my awe-struck feelings, To the window went I, seeking For fresh air, and then look’d downward O’er the valley far below me. What I saw on that occasion ’Tween the hours of twelve and one, I will faithfully and neatly Tell you in the following chapters. CAPUT XVIII. And it was the time of full moon On St. John the Baptist’s evening, When the wild hunt’s apparition Rush’d along the Spirit-Hollow. From the window of Uraca’s Witchlike hut I excellently Could observe the spirit-army As it sped along the valley. Capital the place I stood in For observing what was passing; I enjoy’d a full sight of the Grave-arisen dead men’s pastime. Cracking whips, and shouts and halloing, Yelping dogs and neighing horses, Notes of hunting-horns and laughter, How they joyously re-echoed! On in front by way of vanguard Ran the wondrous game they hunted, Stag and sow, in herds enormous, With the pack of hounds behind them. Huntsmen out of every region And of every age were gather’d; Hard by Nimrod of Assyria, For example, rode Charles X--. High upon their snowy horses On they rush’d; on foot there follow’d The piqueurs, the leashes holding, And the pages with the torches. Many in the wild procession Seem’d to me well-known. The horseman In the golden glist’ning armour,-- Was he not the great King Arthur?