From the pages of Theocritus: Where are the bay-leaves, Thestylis, and the charms? Fetch all; with fiery wool the caldron crown; Let glamour win me back my false lord's heart! Twelve days the wretch hath not come nigh to me, Nor made enquiry if I die or live, Nor clamoured (oh unkindness!) at my door. Sure his swift fancy wanders otherwhere, The slave of Aphroditè and of Love. I'll off to Timagetus' wrestling-school At dawn, that I may see him and denounce His doings; but I'll charm him now with charms. So shine out fair, O moon! To thee I sing My soft low song: to thee and Hecatè The dweller in the shades, at whose approach E'en the dogs quake, as on she moves through blood And darkness and the barrows of the slain. All hail, dread Hecatè: companion me Unto the end, and work me witcheries Potent as Circè or Medea wrought, Or Perimedè of the golden hair! Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love . First we ignite the grain. Nay, pile it on: Where are thy wits flo...
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