Southward of Tabor, nestling lone and still,
An ancient village sleeps beneath the hill;
Dark Endor! can'st thou now existing be?
How creeps the blood, as thus we gaze on thee!
Hath nothing changed? Time's wave rolled on unfelt?
Is this the cave where Endor's Sorceress dwelt?
Our fancy leaps past years, — we see her now
Stand in the midst, with scorched and withered brow;
She shakes her wand of might, and weaves her spell,
And calls on powers of air and fiends of hell.