WITCHES (in chorus)
Now to the Brocken the witches hie,
The stubble is yellow, the corn is green;
Thither the gathering legions fly,
And sitting aloft is Sir Urial seen:
O'er stick and o'er stone they go whirling along,
Witches and he-goats, a motley throng.
VOICES
Alone old Baubo's coming now;
She rides upon a farrow sow.
CHORUS
Honour to her, to whom honour is due!
Forward, Dame Baubo! Honour to you!
A goodly sow and mother thereon,
The whole witch chorus follows anon.
VOICE
Which way didst come?
VOICE
O'er Ilsenstein!
There I peep'd in an owlet's nest.
With her broad eye she gazed in mine!