106 HENRY KIEKE WHITE'S POEMS. 



A burning caldron stood in the midst, 

 The flame was fierce and high, 



And all the cave so wide and long, 

 Was plainly seen thereby. 



And round about the caldron stout 

 Twelve withered w^itches stood : 



Their waists were bound with living snakes, 

 And their hair was stiif with blood. 



Their hands were gory, too ; and red 

 And fiercely flamed their eyes; 



And they were muttering indistinct 

 Their hellish mysteries. 



And suddenly they joined their hands, 



And uttered a joyous cry, 

 And round about the caldron stout 



They danced right merrily. 



Amd now they stopt ; and each prepared 



To tell what she had done, 

 Since last the Lady of the night, 



Her waning course had run. 



Behind a rock stood Gondollne, 



Thick weeds her face did veil, 



And she lean'd fearful forwarder. 

 To hear the dreadful tale. 



The first arose : She said she'd seen 



Rare sport, since the blind cat mew'd ; 



She'd been to sea, in a leaky sieve, 

 And a jovial storm had brew'd. 



She call'd around the winged winds, 



And raised a devilish rout ; 

 And she laugh'd so loud, the peals were heard 



Full fifteen leagues about. 



