'Twas not the hour when magic spells
Rock the heath's untrodden cells;
When slow the wither'd forms arise
From caves, which night with lasting sway,
Ever shrouds from mortal eyes,
Nor divides one hour with day —
Sounds unmeet for mortal ear
Chill with dread the human frame,
Then unreal shapes appear
By the blue unhallow'd flame —
Discordance strange disturbs the gentle air,
And pois'nous taints the thick'ning breezes bear.