The darkness deepens, spinning and gyrating,

The vortex grows; its vigor will not cease. 

All evil spirits, bestial and degrading,

Have gathered at the Master’s merry feast.

 

The sound of the church-bell’s muted down,

Here, jolly cymbals play their song instead.

The circle widens and the din grows loud,

And wild fiends keep darting overhead.

 

Repulsive beasts are pleased to be displayed.

The crone, alone, prays for the light of Day.