'Tis the night — the night Of the grave's delight, And the warlocks are at their play; Ye think that without The wild winds shout, But no, it is they — it is they.

In this stanza, Coxe conjures a Gothic, supernatural nightscape in which ordinary natural phenomena (the “wild winds” and their “shout”) are reinterpreted as the revelry of occult beings—“warlocks”—and even the grave itself is imagined as taking “delight.” The speaker addresses an audience (“Ye think…”) to overturn a rational explanation with a more eerie, imaginative one: what sounds like wind is actually the agents of death and witchcraft at play. The effect is to blur boundaries between nature and the uncanny, suggesting that darkness invites misreading, fear, and folklore—yet also a kind of perverse vitality in the imagery of nocturnal “play.”