Page:Betelguese, a trip through hell.djvu/105

Rh Beneath a putrid mount of bone,

And tombs grow dank as rising sun

Makes red each dragon in the West,

She splits his heart and rasps with might,

A curse that rides the surging foam,

A message that this dastard son

Dies longing for a fatal quest—

Surcease of soul and conscience lost!

Then rants she sins unto each tomb

That sweat the lusts of those in dust,

And scarlet foam and hiss of oils

That her black deed to domes hath tossed,

Break into writhing life and bloom

As iron crowns and ceptres rust

Of fall'n monarchs crossed in coils.

Anear, two carcants glare like gold;

Afar, a ruby's light of red

Straggles thro' the pellicléd mist,

And to its vinewed dell haste I,

To catch the fleeting whispers told

To marble-lamps and head-stones, said,