And never issued to the open light,
Till famine roused his rage, or prey provoked his might.
XXVII.
Thus, with strange terrors armed, the wizard stood,
And on the casket riveted his eyes,
And whispered for a while in ghastly mood,
Until responses from it seemed to rise
Faintly distinct, whereat the vulgar blood
Stayed its career, and even Sachems wise
Heard with a thrill,—for these dread accents rose: