text:  On exulting in his magic Swept the gifted peasant on-- Though his feet were on the greensward Light from heaven around him shone; At his conjuration demons Issued from their darkness drear; Hovering round on silver pinions Angels stoop'd his songs to hear; Bow'd the Passions to his bidding Terror gaunt and Pity calm; Like the organ pour'd his thunder Like the lute his fairy psalm