No moralists then, righteous to excess, Would show fair Virtue in so black a dress, That they, like boys, who some feigned sprite array, First from the spectre fly themselves away: No preachers in the terrible delight, But choose to win by reason, not affright; Not, conjurors like, in fire and brimstone dwell, And draw each moving argument from Hell.

No apparition or sprite forsooth, but a full grown donkey of the Andalusian breed, lay weltering in gore, yet warm with partial life!

Swift to the lock a thousand sprites repair, A thousand wings, by turns, blow back the hair; And thrice they twitched the diamond in her ear; Thrice she looked back, and thrice the foe drew near.

We follow the stream through Siljan's lake, where superstition sees the water-sprite swim, like the sea-horse with a mane of green sea-weed, and where the aërial images present visions of witchcraft in the warm summer days.