Enchantress.
See Circe. Magic Power.

She undertakes with Charms to disengage
Whom e'er she pleases, Others to involve
In restless Cares: makes rapid Streams stand still,
And backwards turns the Stars: from Hell she calls
Nocturnal Ghosts: the Ground, you'll see, will groan
Beneath her Feet, and Oaks from Hills descend.--

--Now with her Tresses loose,
The Priestess thunders o'er three hundred Gods,
Erebus, Chaos, three shap'd Hecate,
Virgin Diana's triple Form. The Place
With fancy'd Waters of Avernus' Fount
She sprinkles. Herbs are brought by Moonlight mow'd
With brazen Scythes, big, swoln with milky Juice
Of noxious Poyson: and the fleshy Knot
Torn from the Forehead of a new--foal'd Colt
To rob the Mother's Love.--

Three Nights were only wanting to compleat
The Time when Luna's bending Horns should meet:
When, at the full, in all her Lustre bright,
She shone on Earth, a solid Globe of Light.
Medea leaves the Court, all loosely drest,
Naked her Feet, her Hair a--down her Breast:
Thro' the dead Silence of the Night she strays,
Alone, in desart unfrequented Ways.

Men, Beasts, and Birds were wrapp'd in gentle Sleep,
No Murmurs thro' the peaceful Hedges sweep:
No Air the Leaves, no Sounds disturb the Air:
Stars only glitter in the silent Sphere.
To them she lifts her Hands with awful View;
Thrice turns, thrice sprinkles o'er her Hair with Dew:
Thrice fills the trembling Air with yelling Sound:
Then, bending, kneels upon the naked Ground.

O, Night! thou Friend to Secrecy, she cries;
Ye Stars, that nightly with the Moon arise!
Thou! triple Hecate! conscious of my Thought,
By whom the Wonders of my Skill are wrought:
Ye Charms, and magic Arts! Thou friendly Earth!
Whose Bosom gives our pow'rful Simples Birth:
Ye Mountains! Fields! Ye Winds! Thou Mother Air!
Ye murm'ring Springs! Ye Lakes and Rivers! hear:--
Ye Gods of Woods! and Gods of Night, appear.
By You I Rivers to their Fountains force;
While the Banks wonder at their backward Course:
Purge off the Clouds, the Skies with Clouds deform:
Storms turn to Calms, and make a Calm a Storm:
Raise high the Winds, again to Silence awe:
And split, with mystic Spells, the Viper's Jaw.
I cleave the Rocks, the knotted Oaks I break,
Remove the Forests, and the Mountains shake:
Force Earth to groan thro' all her hollow Caves,
And wake the slumb'ring Ghosts in silent Graves:
Thee too, O Luna! from thy Sphere I call,
Tho' Brass relieves Thee, and obstructs thy Fall.
Now I need Juices which can turn back Time,
Make Age reflourish with a youthful Prime,
Vig'rous and strong:--And I my Wish shall gain,
For sure those Stars now twinkle not in vain:
Nor hither now in vain these Dragons fly
With the wing'd Car;--
Just then the Car descended from the Sky.
Nimbly she mounts, and strokes the Dragons' Mains,
And o'er their Necks she shakes the airy Reins.
Aloft they soar; beneath her she espies
Thessalian Tempe; thence for Crete she hies.
For Herbs she seeks on Pelion's lofty Head,
And those that Ossa, and that Othrys bred,
The Growth of Pindus, and Olympus' Fruits:
Some she approves, and gathers by the Roots:
And other Plants her brazen Sickle mows.--

Nine Days and Nights had now her Chariot seen,
Searching each ranker Mead, and flow'ry Green:
She then return'd:--nor Food her Dragons knew,
But the strong Scents which from her Simples flew:
Yet their old Skins fell off, and Youth return'd a--new.
Arriv'd, without the Palace--Gate she lies,
Her bare Head cover'd only by the Skies,
And the polluting Touch of Man denies.

Now she two Altars rais'd of equal Height,
To Youth the left, to Hecate the right:
With Vervain and green Herbage these she crown'd,
And dug two Trenches near them on the Ground.
Then stuck the black fleec'd Rams, that ready stood,
And drench'd the Trenches with devoted Blood.
Vessels of smoaking Milk, and Wine she pours,
And mutters Charms to the terrestrial Pow'rs.
To Pluto King of Ghosts she next apply'd,
And gentle Proserpine his ravish'd Bride:
That, for old Æson, with the Laws of Fate
They would dispense, and lengthen out his Date.
These with repeated Pray'rs she long assails,
And by her magic Skill at last prevails:
Then calls to have decrepid Æson brought,
And stupifies him with a sleeping Draught:
On Earth his Body like a Corpse extends:
Then charges Jason, and his waiting Friends,
To quit the Place; that no unhallow'd Eye
Into her Art's forbidden Secrets pry.--
They go.--Medea with her Hair unbound,
About her Altars trips a frantic Round,
In Pieces splits the consecrated Wood,
And dips them in the Trenches drench'd with Blood,
Then on the Altars burns: The sleeping Sire
She lustrates thrice with Water, Sulphur, Fire.

Now in the Cauldron boils the grand Receipt,
And works, and foams, and whitens with the Heat:
She adds what e'er Haemonia's Vales produce,
Roots, Juices, Flowers, and Seeds of sov'reign Use,
And Gems in India's utmost Bounds refin'd,
And Stones, that Seas retiring, left behind,
And Dews, collected at the Noon of Night,
When the Moon shines, in her full Glory, bright.
To these she puts the Carcass rank and foul,
And Wings, ill--boding, of the screaming Owl:
The Bowels of a Wolf, the Sort that can
Assume or quit the Features of a Man:
The scaly Skins of small Cyniphean Snakes,
The Liver of a long--liv'd Hart she takes;
And, last, a Crow's old Beak, and hoary Head,
On which nine Ages had their Winters shed.

All these were mixt by the Barbarian Dame,
These, and a thousand more without a Name,
But for her Purpose fit.--The Med'cine now
She mingles with a wither'd Olive Bough:
When, lo! the Bough all dry so lately seen,
Stirr'd in the pow'rful Cauldron turns to Green:
Then by Degrees the leafy Branches shoot,
And soon stand loaded with a Weight of Fruit.
Then too, where e'er the Froth was scatter'd round,
And the warm Mixture had be--dropp'd the Ground,
Sudden to Sight a springing Herbage grew,
And vernal Flowers in various Colours blew.
This when Medea saw, her Blade divides
Old Æson's Throat; the frigid Blood scarce glides.
His empty'd Vessels, instant she recruits,
With the warm Juices of her magic Fruits:
While at his Mouth, and thro' his op'ning Wound,
A double Inlet her Infusion found:
His Hair and Beard the hoary Whiteness leaves;
A glossy Blackness each at once receives.
Paleness and Wrinkles from his Features fled,
And in their Stead succeeds a youthful Red:
Now a full Tide of Blood his Veins supplies,
His Limbs grow lusty, and his Muscles rise.--

Admiring Æson now himself surveys,
And to his Mind recalling former Days,
Gay, strong, and active to himself appears,
As e'er he counted his last forty Years.--

There I Canidia saw, her Feet were bare,
Tuck'd up her sable Robe, and loose her Hair:
With her fierce Sagana went stalking round;
Their hideous Howling shook the trembling Ground.
A Paleness (casting Horror round the Place)
Sat, dead and terrible, on either's Face.
Themselves at Length upon the Earth they cast,
And dug it with their Nails in frantic Haste:
Then with their Teeth a Coal--black Lamb they tore,
And in the Pit pour'd out the reeking Gore.
By this they forc'd the tortur'd Ghosts from Hell,
And Answers to their wild Demands compel.
Of Wool and Wax they made two Images,
Which the bewitch'd and Witch's Forms express,
Of Wool the Greater to torment the Less.
The Wax was to be whipp'd, and seem'd to bow,
And cringing stood, as if it fear'd the Blow.
On Hecate aloud this Beldam calls,
Tisiphone as loud the other bawls:--
A thousand Serpents hiss upon the Ground,
And Hell--hounds compass all the Garden round.
Behind the Tombs, to shun this horrid Sight,
The Moon skulk'd down.--

From Towns and hospitable Roofs she flies,
And ev'ry Dwelling of Mankind defies:
Thro' unfrequented Desarts lonely roams,
Drives out the Dead, and dwells within their Tombs.
Grateful to Hell, the living Hag descends,
And sits in black Assemblies of the Fiends:
Spight of all Laws, which Heaven, or Nature know,
The Rule of Gods above, or Man below.
Dark matted Eft--locks dangling on her Brow,
Filthy, and foul, a loathsome Burden grow:
Meager, and ghastly pale, her Face is seen,
Unknown to cheerful Day, and Skies serene:
But when the Stars are veil'd, when Storms arise,
And the blue forky Flame at Midnight flies,
Then, forth from Graves, she takes her wicked Way,
And thwarts the glancing Light'nings as they play.
Where e'er she breathes, blue Poysons round her spread,
The with'ring Grass avows her fatal Tread,
And drooping Ceres hangs her blasted Head.
Nor holy Rites, nor suppliant Pray'r she knows,
Nor seeks the Gods with Sacrifice, or Vows:
Whate'er she offers is the Spoil of Urns,
And fun'ral Fire upon her Altars burns:
Nor need she send a second Voice on high;
Scar'd at the first, the trembling Gods comply.--

Oft in the Grave, the living has she laid,
And bid reviving Bodies leave the Dead:
Oft at the fun'ral Pile she seeks her Prey,
And bears the smoking Ashes warm away:
Snatches some burning Bone, or flaming Brand,
And tares the Torch from the sad Father's Hand:
Seizes the Shroud's loose Fragments as they fly,
And picks the Coal where clammy Juices fry.
But, if preserv'd in Monuments of Stone,
She finds a Coarse whose vital Moisture's gone:
Then, greedily on every Part she flies,
Strips the dry Nails, and digs the goary Eyes.
Her Teeth from Gibbets gnaw the strangling Noose,
And from the Cross dead Murderers unloose:
The perish'd Entrails, pierc'd with soaking Showers,
The horrid Hag rapaciously devours;
And the parch'd Marrow, which the sultry Sun,
With fervid Rays, has stiffen'd in the Bone.
From Malefactors on the Tree, she steals
The putrid Limbs, and crucifying Nails:
The ropy Matter drops upon her Tongue,
With cordy Sinews oft her Jaws are strung,
And by her Teeth the Witch has often hung.

Where on the Ground the murder'd Carcass lies,
Thither, preventing Birds and Beasts, she hies:
Yet, not with Hands or Knife the Flesh divides,
Till the Wolves Fangs have rent the mangled Sides:
But, when in full Possession of their Prey,
She from their Jaws the Carcass rends away.
Nor ever yet Remorse could stop her Hand,
When human Gore her hellish Rites demand;
From the cut Throat the vital Tide she drains,
The panting Bowels takes, and empties all the Veins.
Not in the Way ordain'd by Nature's Laws,
But thro' a grisly Wound she wretch'd Infants draws;
Reeking, upon her Altars these are laid,
Or, if her Purpose asks a bolder Shade,
By her keen Knife, the Ghost she wants, is made.

When blooming Youths in early Manhood die,
She stands a terrible Attendant by:
The downy Growth from off their Cheeks she tares,
Or cuts, left handed, some selected Hairs.
Oft, when in Death her gasping Kindred lay,
Some pious Office would she feign to pay;
Stretch'd on the struggling Limbs, with dire Embrace,
She'd churn the Cheeks, and grind the ruin'd Face:
Eat off the Tongue, to the dry Palate bound,
And thro' the livid Lips, with stifled Sound,
Mutter dire Orders to the Shades profound.

Her Art now doubling Night's surrounding Shade,
Black Clouds and murky Fogs involve her Head,
While o'er th' unbury'd Heaps her Footsteps tread.
Wolves howl'd, and fled, where'er she took her Way,
And hungry Vultures left their mangled Prey:
The Savage Race, abash'd, before her yield,
And, while she culls her Prophet, quit the Field.
To various Carcasses by turns she flies,
And, griping with her gory Fingers, tries:
Till one of perfect Organs can be found,
And fibrous Lungs, uninjur'd by a Wound.

Her Choice she fix'd; then, void of Pity, struck,
In thro' the bleeding Throat, a brazen Hook:
To that a Rope she ty'd, and by the Thong,
O'er rugged Rocks she haul'd the Corps along.

And, now, she for the solemn Task prepares,
A Mantle, patch'd with various Shreds, she wears,
And binds, with twining Snakes, her wilder Hairs.
Then, thro' a fresh Incision at the Breast,
Hot Blood she pours, to circulate the rest.
Wipes off the Gore, the frozen Bosom warms,
And with strong Lunar Dews confirms her Charms.
Her gabling Tongue a mutt'ring Tone confounds,
Discordant, and unlike to human Sounds:
It seem'd, of Dogs the Bark, of Wolves the Howl,
The doleful Shrieking of the midnight Owl:
The Hiss of Snakes, the hungry Lion's Roar,
The Bound of Billows beating on the Shore:
The Groan of Winds amongst the leafy Wood,
And Burst of Thunder from the rending Cloud:
'Twas these, all these in one.--

Foaming she spoke: then rear'd her hateful Head,
And hard at hand beheld th' attending Shade.
Too well the trembling Sprite the Carcass knew,
And fear'd to enter into Life a new:
Fain from those mangled Limbs it would have run,
And, loathing, strove that House of Pain to shun.
Wroth was the Hag at lingring Death's Delay,
And wonder'd Hell could dare to disobey:
With curling Snakes, the senseless Trunk she beats,
And Curses dire, at ev'ry Lash, repeats:
With magic Numbers cleaves the groaning Ground,
And makes Hell's Caverns with her Voice resound.

Ye Fiends! she cries, Ye Sisters of Despair!
Thus?--Is it thus my Will becomes your Care?
Still sleep those Whips within your idle Hands,
Nor drive the loit'ring Ghost this Voice demands?--

And now the Blood, dissolving in the Veins,
Feeds the black Wounds, and thro' the Body strains:
The vital Vessels feel the running Heat,
And in the Breast the trembling Fibres beat:
New Life return'd, but 'twas not perfect Life,
For Death as yet maintain'd the equal Strife:
But strait the Nerves are stretch'd, the Muscles swell,
And every Pulse distends it's narrow Cell.
Then rose, erect, the Body from the Ground,
Not by Degrees, but with a sudden Bound.
The haggard Eyes forgotten Day behold,
And heavily within their Sockets roll'd:
But hardly half alive appears the Man,
Stiff are the Members, and the Visage wan:
Amaz'd, and mute, the ghastly Figure stands,
Nor knows to speak, but at her dread Commands.--
End. Purpose of Life.

Hast Thou not yet propos'd some certain End,
To which thy Life, thy ev'ry Act may tend?
Hast Thou no Mark, at which to bend thy Bow?
Or like a Boy pursu'st the Carrion Crow
With Pellets, or with Stones, from Tree to Tree,
A fruitless Toil, and liv'st Extempore.--

What aim'st Thou at, and whither tends thy Care?
In what thy utmost Good?--Delicious Fare:
And then to sun thy self in open Air.--
Hold, hold: are all thy empty Wishes such?
A good old Woman would have said as much.—