"Right! Right! These are the men for me, and of these this Master was a great ensample. Therefore, Separate! Separate! Separate! My elemental power is solemnly engaged; but on the morning of the third day, it shall be given to you to work again at your Master's will. Till that time it will be as well to prevent all ingress and egress here; and at that time I will come again. Speed you well, nimble noddies; shape well and shard well, and the day is your own. While I transform my shape, sing me the song that I love. Whenever I hear it, my furtherance is the better. The imps complied, and the redoubted fiend laughed till the walls of the castle shook, while those on the top took it for the great bittern of the Hartwood, called there the Bogbumper. HYMN TO THE DEVIL. SPEED thee, speed thee! Liberty lead thee! Many this night shall hearken and heed thee. Far abroad, Demigod! What shall appal thee? Javel, or Devil, or how shall we call thee? Thine the night voices of joy and of weeping, The whisper awake, and the vision when sleeping: The bloated kings of the earth shall brood On princedoms and provinces bought with blood, Shall slubber, and snore, and to-morrow's breath Shall order the muster and march of death: The trumpets shall sound, and the gonfalons flee, And thousands of souls step home to thee. Speed thee, speed thee, &c. The warrior shall dream of battle begun, Of field-day and foray, and foeman undone; Of provinces sacked, and warrior store, Of hurry and havoc, and hampers of ore; Of captive maidens for joys abundant, And ransom vast when these grow redundant. Hurray! for the foray. Fiends ride forth a souling, For the dogs of havock are yelping and yowling. Speed thee, speed thee, &c. Make the bedesman's dream With treasure to teem; To-day and to-morrow He has but one aim, And 'tis still the same, and 'tis still the same. But well thou knowest the sot's demerit, His richness of flesh, and his poorness of spirit; And well thy images thou canst frame, On canvas of pride, with pencil of flame: A broad demesne is a view of glory, For praying a soul from purgatory: And, O let the dame be fervent and fair, Amorous, and righteous, and husband beware! For there's a confession so often repeated, The eyes are enlightened, the life-blood is heated. Hish!--Hush!--soft foot and silence, The sons of the abbot are lords of the Highlands. Thou canst make lubbard and lighthead agree, Wallow a while, and come home to thee. Speed thee, speed thee, &c.