The Witch's Fable
Michael Aloysius Connors
This is a poem about witchcraft and perhaps specifically the modern problem solution to believing in the supernatural, while not being carried away to the fantastical extents of past ages. The witches mentioned are all historical. The Witch of Endor is from the First Book of Samuel, La Voisin was a witch who was consulted by Madame de Montespan, a mistress of King Louis XIV, and Tituba is a witch from the early Americas, who is also mentioned in Arthur Miller's play The Crucible.
Hark thy servant, lend thine ear,
Brooding tempests doth draw near.
Tempests not of water, not of sand and shells,
But of evil and magic, of mystics and spells.
In times of yore, there were goblins and imps,
That populated lands as gorillas and chimps.
Swift were their spells cast upon skies and seas,
In demonic reflection they forced others to bend knees.
The Endorian sorceress banished by the king
Was visited by him when goodness he wanted to bring.
She conjured the spirit of a prophet of old,
Not knowing the evil her powers doth hold.
The ethereal wight before the witch did glow,
Scorning her evil and truth it did show.
When only did the spirit she summoned appear,
Did she realize the king was so close and so near.
Misfortune bestrode him all the days he didst roam,
Till his enemies surrounded him all alone in the gloam.
Fearing his son was not his only heir
He fell on his sword and his heart he did pare.
Though the king did die and his kingdom would wilt away,
The evil of sorcerers was never to stray.
They continued to plague both land and sea,
Disseminating gloom and banishing glee.
La Voisin was one witch by history’s name,
Who practiced her magic without any shame.
To demonic spirits she gave her esteem,
She bowed to demands and followed their schemes.
She read many fortunes and many evils foretold,
She spurned many angels and demons extolled.
On the altars of hell she brought many an oblation,
To damn herself more and forsake her salvation.
She might have stayed hidden as she had always before
If not for conferring with the king’s paramour.
Her renowned client of beauty and allure
Brought her into light and from devils obscure.
She met the fate as many before her had,
And went down to hell, her soul in blackness clad.
But only fools would think she was the last of the breed
That worshiped Baal and followed his creed.
In the New World a witch named Tituba arose
And awakened spirits from their repose.
In cauldrons and cups she mixed her haggish libations
And called them the remedies of her native agnation.
To Baal! To Satan! To whatever name,
Thy tongue doth utter and thy lips proclaim.
Offer thy hearts to their ashen lair
And turn from all brightness and worship despair.
But soon the Puritan townsfolk grew weary and vexed
About the spells Tituba would cast next.
To preclude her from invoking the devil’s gale,
They bound her up and threw her in jail.
Unlike past witches who dangled or blazed,
The reward for her freedom was given and raised.
Tituba then died in a kind of free will
To go down to hell and its dark fields till.
Whether witch or warlock, imp or devil,
Each age brings forth those who in evil revel.
In service of Satan and themselves they live and breath
And books of spells they compile and bequeath.
Witchcraft thy song, darkness thy praise,
Evil thou forge, goodness thou raze.
Sins thy crown, iniquities thy acclaim,
Grimness thy grace, temptation thy fame.
Yet, there is today a prevailing thought
That witches are spurious and evil is naught.
For simple reasons this notion persists
Most notably since the truth many men did twist.
Frenzies of men did lead powers to seize
And condemn innocents to hang in the breeze.
Both in the old world and later in the new,
Fanatics kept condemning without the slightest clue.
While pyres were built to burn blameless bones,
Others were chased and buried with stones.
Lest thou think this all ravenous fun
Around unholy souls sorcery’s web is spun.
Those who worship evil and profess its name
To a witchly succession doth lay claim.
Though warts and brooms be not their generic look,
Denial of their existence is their line and hook.
While in bygone times the devil showeth his face,
Now he makes tongues deny his unholy race.
In denial of that which canst not be seen,
He fights against God and his heavenly Queen.
Let faith and reason in tandem travail,
And superstition wane, abate, and pale.
Believe in witches, while constraining thy fears
Believe what thou see and not what thou hears.
The demonic disciples exist among us now,
And still worship Satan with a solemn vow:
“Mar thy salubrious life with evil desires hence,
Bow before Satan’s throne and do it reverence.”
Michael “Mac” Connors is a junior Politics major with Great Books and History minors. He greatly enjoys writing fiction and researching various historical and political topics. He is the chairman of the College Republicans, Vice President of the Class of 2025, writes for the Crier, and sings in the choir. He also enjoys reading the classics, learning languages, singing the praises of monarchs, and listening to Gregorian chant and Frank Sinatra.