Classic Poem

I sit and beat the wizard's magic drum;
And by its mystic sound I call the beasts.
From mountain lair and forest nook they throng;
E'en mighty storms obey the dreadful sound.

I sit and beat the wizard's magic drum;
The storm and thunder answer when it calls.
Aplasemwesit, mighty whirlwind, stops
To hearken to the mystic sound I make.

I sit and beat the wizard's magic drum;
And Chibelakwe, night-air spirit, flies
To hearken to the mystic sound I make;
And old Wu'chosen, storm-bird of the North,
Rests his great pinions, causing calm to reign,
To hearken to the mystic sound I make.

I sit and beat the wizard's magic drum;
And Lumpeguin, who dwells beneath the wave,
Arises to the surface struck with awe,
To hearken to the mystic sound I make.
E'en Atwuskniges, armed with axe of stone,
Will cease his endless chopping, and be still
To hearken to the mystic sound I make.

I sit and beat the wizard's magic drum;
And Appodumken, with his long, red hair,
Ariseth from the depths, and draweth near
To hearken to the mystic sound I make.

The lightning, thunder, storm and forest sprite,
The whirlwind, gale, and spirit of the deep,
The Chibelakwe, loathly night-air ghost,
All come together, and with reverent mien
Will hearken to the mystic sound I make.