Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes,
Which thou dost glare with!
SHAKS.: _Macbeth,_ Act iii., Sc. 4.
Many ghosts, and forms of fright,
Have started from their graves to-night;
They have driven sleep from mine eyes away.
LONGFELLOW: _Christus, Golden Legend,_ Pt. iv.
Some say no evil thing that walks by night,
In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen,
Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost
That breaks his magic chains at curfew time,
No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine,
Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
MILTON: _Comus,_ Line 432.