“He took the sacramental chalice, and stretching forth his bare arm, cried in a loud voice:
‘Come ye viewless ministers of this dread hour! come from the fenny lake, the hanging rock, and the midnight cave! The moon is red—the stars are out—the sky is burning—and all nature stands aghast at what we do!’
Then, replacing the sacred vessel on the altar, he drew, one by one, from different parts of his body, from his knotted hair, from his bosom, from beneath his nails, the unholy things which he cast into it.
‘This,’ said he, ‘I plucked from the beak of a raven feeding on a murderer’s brains! This is the mad dog’s foam! These, the spurgings of a dead man’s eyes, gathered since the rising of the evening star! This is a screech-owl’s egg! This, a single drop of black blood, squeezed from the heart of a sweltered toad!…
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