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Another rolling crash, a diminishing rumble, and then the rich, deep voice of the singer: "Child of the Wind and Sun, I glide Like a tongue of flame o'er the mountain's side. Wherever falleth my blighting tread Lie the whitening bones of the silent Dead. For trail of wrath Is my red-wet path From the Sea's low rim to the glaciers high, Ai y-u-u yu yu-u-u-u! I live the better that others die.
Ai yu-u-u-u-u-u! "Oh! sweet is the scent in the evening gale, Of the dun deer wending adown the trail Where I lie, grim ambushed, with bated breath, A gray lance couched in the hand of Death! At that maddening tang White-bared each fang, Dripping anon with ambrosia red; Ai y-u-u yu yu-u-u-u! Haste, sweetheart, to the feast outspread! Ai yu-u-u-u-u-u!
What ken ye of the joys there be Of Life and of Love and of Liberty! Better hill and dell As free Ishmael Than the shackles of pomp and pageantry: Ai yu-u-u yu yu-u-u-u! Come out, oh! faint hearts, and howl with me! Ai yu-u-u-u-u-u!" In the storm of applause that rewarded his unique performance he rose and went over to the fireplace.
"But sweeter even than Life's rich wine, As, hot from the kill ah-h! draught divine! It trickles adown my ravished throat, Is my gaunt mate's deep-toned, chesty note. As o'er hill and plain She calls amain Till the welkin quivers with ecstasy: Ai y-u-u yu yu-u-u-u! 'Oh come, Beloved, to Love and me! Ai yu-u-u-u-u-u! "Manlings spawned in the cities' slime. Weaklings, withered before your prime.