Seated at night in my secret study,
Alone, reposing over the brass tripod,
A slender flame leaps out of the solitude,
Making me pronounce that which is not in vain.

With divining rod in hand, I wet the limb and foot,
Set in the middle of the branches.
Fearsome awe trembles my hand,
I await,
Heavenly Splendor!
The Divine Genius sitteth by.

He who is called prophet now, once was called seer.

—MICHEL DE NOSTRADAMUS