Classic Poem

The conjuror took his hazel wand in hand,
And figured for a while upon the floor;
Anon his horoscope and globe he scann'd,
Then fell to muttering his fancies o'er:—
‘Boötes seems begrimmed with human gore,
And fiery Mars with tenfold lustre burns!
Dire meteors fly, and fearful brilliance pour;
Saturn, all greedy, for his children yearns;
And Juno to the earth her shapeless Vulcan spurns!’