The Magician

Eachwhere, even at the altars I embrace,
She calls, her pleading arms my vision fill.
O sire revered, O mother, who did will
To bear me, am not I of hateful race?

The Eumolpid vengeful one in Samothrace
Shakes not his red robes at my threshold, still
I fly faint-hearted, leaden-footed, till
I hear the sacred dogs howl on my trace.

In every spot to wretched me are nigh
The black enchantments, hateful, sinister,
That all the wrathful Gods have bound me by;

For they have irresistibly armed her
Intoxicating mouth and deep dark eye,
To slay me surely with her kiss and tear.