THE CONJURER
To be chanted.
Come ye, spirits three!
Out of the East, out of the West, out of the North!
Rise ye, ma-ni-do, from your weég-a-wams
In the corners of the earth!
Blow, blow, blow thy raging tempests
Through the ranks of whining pine!
Come ye! Come ye to my chée-sah-kán
Riding on thy crazy-running winds.
Hear! Hear my potent chantings!
Bestow me the strength to work my conjurings!
Hi! Take ye my good medicine,
This precious skin of the jumping-rat
Killed in the hour when death,
When purple death walked into my lodge,—
And three moons, three moons dried
On the grave of my youngest son.
Hi! Hear me! Hear me, má-ni-dó!
Come ye, spirits three!
Out of the East, out of the West, out of the North!
Rise ye, ma-ni-do, from your weég-a-wams
In the corners of the earth!
Blow, blow, blow thy raging tempests
Through the ranks of whining pine!
Come ye! Come ye to my chée-sah-kán
Riding on thy crazy-running winds.
Hear! Hear my potent chantings!
Bestow me the strength to work my conjurings!
Hi! Take ye my good medicine,
This precious skin of the jumping-rat
Killed in the hour when death,
When purple death walked into my lodge,—
And three moons, three moons dried
On the grave of my youngest son.
Hi! Hear me! Hear me, má-ni-dó!
Come ye, spirits three!
Out of the East, out of the West, out of the North!
Hi! Blow, blow, blow thy whirling winds!
Sway my wigwam, sway it
With the breathings of the cyclone!
Hi! Bend its birchen poles
Out of the East, out of the West, out of the North!
Hi! Blow, blow, blow thy whirling winds!
Sway my wigwam, sway it
With the breathings of the cyclone!
Hi! Bend its birchen poles
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