Sorceress of mighty power![A] Hither at the midnight hour Over hill and dale I've come, Leaving ease and sleep at home: With daring aims my bosom glows; Long a stranger to repose, I have come to learn from you Whether phantoms I pursue, Or if, as reason would persuade, New worlds are on the ocean laid-- Tell me, wonder-working maid, Tell me, dire inchantress, tell, Mistress of the magic spell! [A] The fifteenth century was, like many of the preceding, an age of superstition, cruelty, and ignorance. When this circumstance, therefore, is brought into view, the mixture of truth and fiction will not appear altogether absurd or unnatural. At any rate, it has ever been tolerated in this species of poetry.--_Freneau's note._ _Inchantress_ The staring owl her note has sung; With gaping snakes my cave is hung; Of maiden hair my bed is made, Two winding sheets above it laid; With bones of men my shelves are pil'd, And toads are for my supper boil'd; Three ghosts attend to fill my cup, And four to serve my pottage up; The crow is waiting to say grace:-- Wouldst thou in such a dismal place The secrets of thy fortune trace? _Columbus_ Though death and all his dreary crew Were to be open'd on my view, I would not from this threshold fly 'Till you had made a full reply. Open wide this iron gate, I must read the book of fate: Tell me, if beyond the main Islands are reserv'd for Spain; Tell me, if beyond the sea Worlds are to be found by me: Bid your spirits disappear, Phantoms of delusive fear, These are visions I despise, Shadows and uncertainties. _Inchantress_