Page:Betelguese, a trip through hell.djvu/64

56 A Soldan from green earth is hung; His heartless queen is cursed, forsworn,

Their souls house neither hope nor love

Within Damnation's burning urn.

Repress'd with hate and unspent rage

As charnel howls clash in each hall,

Each gyving hydra rends the air

With curses, hawps as rambling souls,

Lured by a grizzled warrior sage,

Storm moats before each bristling wall

And die as imps are bade to swear—

Infernal trophies of these shoals! Immingled dreams their senses storm

As Westward shadows cloak each lee;

Where censers blaze they drag their limbs,

These cursed, forsaken whelps of hell!

Their ghastly sins on vellum's sworn,

Attested, sealed, they bend each knee!

Where devils rant blood-curdling hymns,

A raving wench drowns in a well.

Unto the coals of feveréd pyres