Passamaquoddy

Nil nolbin naga ntetlitemen pekholagon.

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 Chibelaʿkwe, night-air spirit, flies To hearken to the mystic sound I make; And old Wuʾchoʿsen, 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 Chibelaʿkwe, loathly night-air ghost, All come together, and with reverent mien Will hearken to the mystic sound I make. P.