That trilled on the bushes of that magic land.

# With pomposity. #

A troupe of skull-faced witch-men came

Through the agate doorway in suits of flame,

Yea, long-tailed coats with a gold-leaf crust

And hats that were covered with diamond-dust.

And the crowd in the court gave a whoop and a call

And danced the juba from wall to wall.

# With a great deliberation and ghostliness. #

But the witch-men suddenly stilled the throng

With a stern cold glare, and a stern old song: --

"Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you." . . .

# With overwhelming assurance, good cheer, and pomp. #

Just then from the doorway, as fat as shotes,

Came the cake-walk princes in their long red coats,

Canes with a brilliant lacquer shine,

And tall silk hats that were red as wine.

# With growing speed and sharply marked dance-rhythm. #

And they pranced with their butterfly partners there,

Coal-black maidens with pearls in their hair,

Knee-skirts trimmed with the jassamine sweet,

And bells on their ankles and little black feet.

And the couples railed at the chant and the frown

Of the witch-men lean, and laughed them down.

(O rare was the revel, and well worth while

That made those glowering witch-men smile.)

The cake-walk royalty then began

To walk for a cake that was tall as a man

To the tune of "Boomlay, boomlay, BOOM,"

# With a touch of negro dialect,

and as rapidly as possible toward the end. #

While the witch-men laughed, with a sinister air,

And sang with the scalawags prancing there: --

"Walk with care, walk with care,

Or Mumbo-Jumbo, God of the Congo,

And all of the other

Gods of the Congo,

Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you.

Beware, beware, walk with care,

Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, boom.

Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, boom,

Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, boom,

Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay,

BOOM."

# Slow philosophic calm. #

Oh rare was the revel, and well worth while

That made those glowering witch-men smile.

III. The Hope of their Religion

# Heavy bass. With a literal imitation

of camp-meeting racket, and trance. #

A good old negro in the slums of the town

Preached at a sister for her velvet gown.

Howled at a brother for his low-down ways,

His prowling, guzzling, sneak-thief days.

Beat on the Bible till he wore it out

Starting the jubilee revival shout.

And some had visions, as they stood on chairs,

And sang of Jacob, and the golden stairs,

And they all repented, a thousand strong

From their stupor and savagery and sin and wrong

And slammed with their hymn books till they shook the room

With "glory, glory, glory,"

And "Boom, boom, BOOM."

# Exactly as in the first section.

Begin with terror and power, end with joy. #

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