Sensyne the cockis of Crawmound crew nevir at day,
  For dule of that devillisch deme wes with Mahoun mareit,
  And the henis of Hadingtoun sensyne wald not lay,
  For this wild wibroun wich thame widlit sa and wareit;
  And the same North Berwik Law, as I heir wyvis say,
  This Carling, with a fals east, wald away careit;
  For to luck on quha sa lykis, na langer scho tareit: 
  All this languor for love before tymes fell,
     Lang or Betok was born,
     Scho bred of ane accorne;
     The laif of the story to morne,
       To you I sall telle.]

But chiefly in Italy were traced many dim characters of ancient mythology, in the creed of tradition.  Thus, so lately as 1536, Vulcan, with twenty of his Cyclops, is stated to have presented himself suddenly to a Spanish merchant, travelling in the night, through the forests of Sicily; an apparition, which was followed by a dreadful eruption of Mount Aetna.—­Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels, p. 504 Of this singular mixture, the reader will find a curious specimen in the following tale, wherein the Venus of antiquity assumes the manners of one of the Fays, or Fatae, of romance.  “In the year 1058, a young man of noble birth had been married at Rome, and, during the period of his nuptial feast, having gone with his companions to play at ball, he put his marriage ring on the finger of a broken statue of Venus in the area, to remain, while he was engaged in the recreation.  Desisting from the exercise, he found the finger, on which he had put his ring, contracted firmly against the palm, and attempted in vain either to break it, or to disengage his ring.  He concealed the circumstance from his companions, and returned at night with a servant, when he found the finger extended, and his ring gone.  He dissembled the loss, and returned to his wife; but, whenever he attempted to embrace her, he found himself prevented by something dark and dense, which was tangible, though not visible, interposing between them; and he heard a voice saying, ’Embrace me! for I am Venus, whom this day you wedded, and I will not restore your ring.’  As this was constantly repeated, he consulted his relations, who had recourse to Palumbus, a priest, skilled in necromancy.  He directed the young man to go, at a certain hour of night, to a spot among the ruins of ancient Rome, where four roads met, and wait silently till he saw a company pass by, and then, without uttering a word, to deliver a letter, which he gave him, to a majestic being, who rode in a chariot, after the rest of the company.  The young man did as he was directed; and saw a company of all ages, sexes, and ranks, on horse and on foot, some joyful and others sad, pass along; among whom he distinguished a woman in a meretricious dress, who, from the tenuity of her garments, seemed almost naked.  She rode on a mule; her long hair, which flowed over her shoulders, was bound with a golden fillet; and in her hand was