Classic Poem

Beside the board, in antiquated chair,
The conjuror was seated at his trade.
He turned him round, and with a fixed stare,
From head to foot his speechless guest surveyed,
Till a grim smile upon his features played;
Then ope'd a volume huge of mystic lore,
Whose yellow pages Faustus might have made;
And while he conned his uncouth lesson o'er,
The stranger heard a tongue he never heard before.