"Sorceress! avaunt! I will no more of this!"
"Peace, mortal, peace! Cease, mortal, cease! See no word by thee be spoken Lest our magic charm be broken!"
As she chanted this reproof, she turned to the slave and continued in the same strain,
"Hast thou the murderous lead From the grave of the dead?"
"'Tis here," he said, prostrating himself, and giving to her, with divers mysterious ceremonies, a leaden bullet.
"Sought you the grave at midnight deep— Dug you down where dead men sleep— Search'd you—found you this charm'd ball— Did you this in silence all?"
"I did," answered the monster, prostrating himself.
"Slave, 'tis well. From fire and air We now prepare Our mystic spell!"
She commenced walking around the caldron, drawing mystic figures on the ground and in the air. At the end of the first circuit she chanted, with slow and solemn gestures and growing energy,
"A brother's hand must have shaped the lead"—