The witches welcomed his coming, The dead arose from their graves, The fiends fled hustling and humming From Sheol's shadiest caves.
The goat got prouder and prouder, He fancied this power his own; Each minute he boasted louder, And talked of himself alone.
"Dear Satan, the day is breaking When earth will know me," he said; "The stars in the sky are quaking Already to hear my tread.
"My force and knowledge of magic Are surely beyond compare; I long to do something tragic And make the universe stare.
"I long to throw down a quarter, Or so, of the heavenly host, And trample the trash to mortar, To show who governs the roast.
Just then the pilgrimage ended Beside the portal of Hell; In silence Satan descended, Scarce nodding the goat farewell.
That moment his gifts departed — Gab, sorcery, speed and pluck; No longer Creation started Whenever he reared to buck.