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[170] Midnight came; from out the forest moved a dusky mass that soon
     Grew to warriors, plumed and painted, grimly marching in the moon.
‘Ghosts or witches,’ said the captain, ‘thus I foil the Evil One!’
     And he rammed a silver button, from his doublet, down his gun.

Once again the spectral horror moved the guarded wall about;
     Once again the levelled muskets through the palisades flashed out,
With that deadly aim the squirrel on his tree-top might not shun,
     Nor the beach-bird seaward flying with his slant wing to the sun.

Like the idle rain of summer sped the harmless shower of lead.
     With a laugh of fierce derision, once again the phantoms fled;
Once again, without a shadow on the sands the moonlight lay,
     And the white smoke curling through it drifted slowly down the bay!

‘God preserve us!’ said the captain; “never mortal foes were there;
     They have vanished with their leader, Prince and Power of the air!

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