LUCIFER. Aim your lightnings At the oaken, Massive, iron-studded portals! Sack the house of God, and scatter Wide the ashes of the dead! VOICES. O, we cannot! The apostles And the martyrs, wrapped in mantles, Stand as warders at the entrance, Stand as sentinels o'erhead! THE BELLS. Excito lentos! Dissipo ventos! Paco cruentos! LUCIFER. Baffled! baffled! Inefficient, Craven spirits! leave this labour Unto Time, the great destroyer! Come away, ere night is gone! VOICES. Onward! onward! With the night wind, Over field and farm and forest, Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet, Blighting all we breathe upon!" THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. "Should you ask me whence these stories? Whence these legends and traditions, With the odours of the forest, With the dew and damp of meadows, With the curling smoke of wigwams, With the rushing of great rivers, With their frequent repetitions, And their wild reverberations, As of thunder in the mountains? I should answer, I should tell you: 'From the forests and the prairies, From the great lakes of the Northland, From the land of the Ojibways, From the land of the Dacotahs, From the mountains, moors, and fenlands, Where the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, Feeds among the reeds and rushes. I repeat them as I heard them From the lips of Nawadaha, The musician, the sweet singer.' * * * * *