Page:Betelguese, a trip through hell.djvu/50

42 And viscid mists rise in the West— Dank treasures of Damnation's dust!

In search of silence, sleep and rest.

When in a vale we lie and dream

Of sanded beach and laughing skies,

When Fancy lifts her wings and soars

To agate strands and ocean's breast,

A gangrel soul begins to scream

Black tokens of prevailing sighs

As furnace-ovens sweat giant pores.

And other things perturb each crypt,

Each vulture's brood and figent owls:

A belching mountain in the South

Hurls boulders thro' the fearful night:

A demon-quire rants from script,

Led by staccato raspings, howls;

A meteor vaults a Cauldron's mouth; A sombre maid doth long for light.

Bleak wintry winds engulf us all—

Hosannah! cry the fretful mobs;