CAPUT XVII.
Like a street there runs a valley,
Known by name of Spirit-Hollow;
Rugged cliffs on either side of’t
Rise to giddy elevation.
On the widest, steepest slope there,
Peers Uraca’s daring cottage
Like a watch-tow’r o’er the valley;
Thither follow’d I Lascaro.
With his mother held he counsel
In mysterious signal-language,
As to how great Atta Troll
Might be best allur’d and vanquish’d.
For we had explored his traces
Carefully, and he no longer
Could escape us. Now are number’d,
Atta Troll, thy days on earth!
As to whether old Uraca
Was in truth a mighty witch
Of distinction, as the people
In the Pyrenees asserted,
I’ll not venture to determine;
This much know I, her exterior
Was suspicious, and suspicious
Was her red eyes’ constant dripping.
Evil was her look, and squinting,
And the poor cows (’tis reported)
Whom she look’d on, in their udders
Had the milk dried suddenly.
It is even said that many
Fatted swine and strongest oxen
She had put to death, by merely
Stroking with her wither’d hands.
She at times for such offences
Was exposed to accusations
To the justice. But the latter
Was a follower of Voltaire,