Men, beasts, and birds, in soft repose lay charm’d, No boist’rous wind the mountain-woods alarm’d; Nor did those walks of love, the myrtle-trees, Of am’rous Zephyr hear the whisp’ring breeze; All elements chain’d in unactive rest, No sense but what the twinkling stars express’d; To them (that only waked) she rears her arms, And thus commences her mysterious charms.

She turn’d her thrice about, as oft she threw On her pale tresses the nocturnal dew, Then yelling thrice a most enormous sound, Her bare knee bended on the flinty ground, “O Night,” said she, “thou confidant and guide Of secrets, such as darkness ought to hide; Ye stars and moon, that, when the sun retires, Support his empire with succeeding fires; And thou, great Hecate, friend to ny design; Songs, mutt’ring spells, your magic forces join; And thou, O Earth, the magazine that yields The midnight sorc’rer drugs; skies, mountains, fields; Ye watery powers of fountain, stream, and lake; Ye sylvan gods, and gods of night, awake, And generously your parts in my adventure take.