Classic Poem

And much he told of Metai lore;
  Of W ABENOS we call enchanters;
 Of water sprites called Nebanai—
 In floating logs oft packed away,
As much at home on every shore
  As other “spirits” in decanters.
From him I learned of N ABOZHOO ,
  The Harlequin of Indian story
(A kind of half Deucalion, too,
  Who beats the Greek one in his glory);
And of the pigmy W EENG , whose tap
  Upon the forehead, near one's peepers,
Will make the liveliest hunter nap
  As soundly as The Seven Sleepers;
And of the huge W EENDIGO race
  (The Cyclopes of Red-skin fable),
Whose housewives for their breakfast place
  A whole cooked Indian on the table.