rather in the quiet of peace than in the storms of war. Such were the two who crossed the heath together. The witches waited impatiently their coming. For them the magic caldron had been set, and to intercept them these secret hags had stretched among the blackened grass an invisible circle which should detain their horses’ feet until they had had speech with the Thane of Glamis.
Macbeth, unappalled in the midst of scenes of bloodiest carnage, started with fear as his horse’s feet stopped suddenly within the enchanted circle. His brave spirit, fearless before all real and tangible dangers, was a slave to superstition, and the sight of these supernatural creatures daunted him more than a host of mailed enemies would have done. But the serene Banquo was moved by no such terrors. In his estimation these apparitions might be illusions of the eye, or creatures of the imagination.
“The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,
And these are of them.”
As they paused thus, the witches crossed their path, and with ghostly waving of her hands, and solemn utterance, the first spoke,—
“All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Glamis.”
The second approached, more horrible than the first, and with the same weird gestures, cried,—
“All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor.”
