A cracke resoundeth from highe above, I gaze
As mountayne splittes, revealinge moonlit gappe.
The caverne's trewe expanse now cometh to lighte,
Immeasurable, stretchinge endelesslie.
An isle in the lake drawes watchful eyen,
A marble tombe, its lidde slow openinge.
A fayre Ethiopien womman emergeth,
And walketh on water to the shore, to me.
Sheba, she nameth hirself, and asketh for ayde,
But rumblinge soundes, the mountayne seales once more.
A straunge sighte greteth us in the misty night:
A massive cariage drawen by twelve blak stedes.
Plumed horses snorten, adding to the haze,
Whyles twelve derk figures stonden in cloked menace.
Hir hattes adorned with fethers lyk hir mountes,
They ben dwarfed by evel perched atop the coach.
The dryver lepeth doun, tounfolk faden awey,
The Inquisitour, smal but ful of thret,
Avanceth, masked in blak, ded eyen suspicious.
We knowen oure fate: to face the drede Merlinus.
His men encirclen, herden us to the dore,
We are thrust inside, the cariage lurcheth forth.
Oure journey starteth, to what ende we wot nat,
As derknesse swalloweth us and al we knewe.
At laste we halte bifore wyde stoon steppes,
That clymben into the derknesse fer above,
A vaste halle greteth us, stretchynge endlessly.
Iren herthes with fyres brennynge brighte,
Hir flammes rechen up towardes the inky voyde,
In dymme recesses lyth a shadowed forme.
Upon a foure-post bedde, Warlock Merlinus
His fetures blurred in lyghtes uncerteyn daunce,
The Inquisitour presenteth us to his lorde.
Merlinus, payned by seeknesse, speketh at laste:
"To cavernes depe of sorcerie ye shal go,
The mynes awaiten, wher magiks secretes flowe."
Oure stomakes lurchen as we descenden for ages longe,
Til a shuddring halt bringeth us to reste.
The dore swingeth open, and oure eyen beholden
A sighte most terrible: a man of monstrous sise.
His berd is blak, his face a scouling maske,
A belt of rusty keyes encircleth his girth.
His uniforme, ones proud, now hangeth in tatters,
Whyl botes, unpolished, beren the dust of toil.
His bald hed crusted with the soot of mines,
His eyen gleem fierce bynethe his grimy browes.
His vois, a rumbel filled with hate and scorn,
Compelleth us forward into derknesse depe.
In silent stillnesse, not a soule doth stirre,
The lake, a mirrour of foreboding calme.
A sinister quiete hangeth upon the aire,
As if the world awaiteth a coming storme.
Then sudden winges, their flapping sharp and clere,
Shatter the silence of the darkened skie.
Through murky gloome, a wondrous sight appereth:
A luminous orbe, like moone, suspended hye.
Gret winges flank this balloon of purest blacke,
As if som hedlesse bird now taketh flight.
Belowe, a wicker basket slowlie falleth,
Its contentes stirring, hidden from all sight.
Bright bemes of light now pierce the inky blacke,
Revealing what the basket doth containe:
The giaunte Python, chaos in its wake,
The hexed forme of Sheba, cursed againe.
Withinne the Alchemiste's graunde complexe lieth
A glassen pyramide, the Pyramide of Lyf,
Wher writhinge water-snakes with vaste-eyed gaze
And rasour fanges pressen 'gainst translucentte walles.
Endlesse they semen, thise serpentes locked in frensye,
Hir vicious teethe tere flessh from lyvinge preye:
Grete crocodiles and pythons, large and smalle,
Whiles sinuous eeles gliden upwarde to hir doom.
Blood gusheth as softe bellyes yelden hir flessh,
Attractinge more to joinen the grislye feeste.
No lenger doon the crocodiles swimme free,
But feesten on scoles of fierce piranha fissh.
In veyn, the hunted turnen upon hir hunteres,
For nature's cruele hierarchye holdeth swey.
Ech creature feedeth upon the oon bylowe,
A pyramide of lyf and deeth entwined.
Withouten laboratorium, a gleymous pool I spye,
Seeping rounde my fote, a stickynge trace.
I turne the handle, fynde resistance stronge,
A weighte agaynst the dore, it scarsly yieldeth.
With mighty efforte, fynally it geveth,
Reveling horrors in unnatural lighte.
A bodye lyeth, in flourescent hewes,
Features blurred, yet Starbuckes forme I knowe.
His eyen, wyde open, shocke for ever fixed,
A hexe hath claymed him, this is certayn of.
When lo! A massive forme approcheth fast—
Two tentacles, vast-suckered, slimie, rise
From depthes unknowen, and probe into my craft.
More writhing armes encircle, closing in.
The beest emergeth, dripping, from the wawes,
Its single eye, cruel and glassie, fixed
Upon me, hungrie. Gaping mawe reveales
A cavernous gullet, poised to swallowe hole.
Thanne sodeyn from the redes, a soun emergeth,
A growle that swelleth to eare-splittynge rore.
The dredful trouthe unveyleth tofore myn eyen:
A lyon prowleth, his gaze fixe faste on me!
A lyon, yit nat comoun in his forme,
With hed of beste but bodie of a mayde,
Adorned in raynbowe dresse and symple shoon.
His mane a startlynge hewe of vivid grene,
Approcheth with a snarle of crymson fanges.
I stomble bak, the lake behynde, and falle
Upon the yeldynge sond. The creature loometh,
His mawe agape, sharpe teth in fersomme daunce.
Upon a rise, Merlinus stondeth, a threte
In purpil cape and golden hood, his forme
Imposinge. Nigh him, cloked in blak, his thralle
The Inquisitour kneleth, and kisseth ringe
Upon the Warlokkes skeletal, pale honde.