Fling back the gates That bar th' Elysian fields; let Death confess Whom from our ranks he seeks.

No humble task I bring, but worthy of Erichtho's skill Of such a struggle fought for such a prize To search and tell the issue." Then the witch Pleased that her impious fame was noised abroad Thus made her answer: "If some lesser fates Thy wish had been to change, against their wish It had been easy to compel the gods To its accomplishment.

My art has power When of one man the constellations press The speedy death, to compass a delay; And mine it is, though every star decrees A ripe old age, by mystic herbs to shear The life midway.

But should some purpose set From the beginning of the universe, And all the labouring fortunes of mankind, Be brought in question, then Thessalian art Bows to the power supreme.

But if thou be Content to know the issue pre-ordained, That shall be swiftly thine; for earth and air And sea and space and Rhodopaean crags Shall speak the future.