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<HTML>
<HEAD>
<META NAME="GENERATOR" CONTENT="Microsoft FrontPage 4.0">
<TITLE>Documento senza nome</TITLE>
<style fprolloverstyle>A:hover {color: #808000; font-weight: bold}
</style>
</HEAD>
<BODY TEXT="#00ff00" BGCOLOR="#000000" LINK="#FFFF00">
<p align="center" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><img border="0" src="immagini/hpl1.jpg" width="495" height="172"></p>
<CENTER>
</CENTER>
<h1 align="center" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">H.P. Lovecraft's<br>
FUNGI FROM YUGGOTH</h1>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2"><u>THE
36 SONNETS<br>
</u></font>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[I.
The Book]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[II.
Pursuit]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[III.
The Key]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[IV.
Recognition]<br>
[V. Homecoming]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[VI.
The Lamp]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[VII.
Zaman's Hill]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[VIII.
The Port]<br>
[IX. The Courtyard]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[X.
The Pigeon-Flyers]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XI.
The Well]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XII.
The Howler]<br>
[XIII. Hesperia]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XIV.
Star-Winds]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XV.
Antarktos]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XVI.
The Window]<br>
[XVII. A Memory]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XVIII.
The Gardens of Yin]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XIX.
The Bells]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XX.
Night-Gaunts]<br>
[XXI. Nyarlathotep]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XXII.
Azathoth]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XXIII.
Mirage]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XXIV.
The Canal]<br>
[XXV. St. Toad's]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XXVI.
The Familiars]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XXVII.
The Elder Pharos]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XXVIII.
Expectancy]<br>
[XXIX. Nostalgia]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XXX.
Background]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XXXI.
The Dweller]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XXXII.
Alienation]<br>
[XXXIII. Harbour Whistles]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XXXIV.
Recapture]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XXXV.
Evening Star]</font></p>
<p align="right" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font size="2" color="#FFCC00">[XXXVI.
Continuity]</font></p>
<br><br>
<h2 align="center" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">FUNGI FROM YUGGOTH</h2>
<font size="3">
<pre style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><a name="I">
</pre>
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">I. The
Book</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">The
place was dark and dusty and half-lost In tangles of old alleys near the quays,
Reeking of strange things brought in from the seas, And with queer curls of fog
that west winds tossed. Small lozenge panes, obscured by smoke and frost, Just
shewed the books, in piles like twisted trees, Rotting from floor to roof -
congeries Of crumbling elder lore at little cost. I entered, charmed, and from a
cobwebbed heap Took up the nearest tome and thumbed it through, Trembling at
curious words that seemed to keep Some secret, monstrous if one only knew. Then,
looking for some seller old in craft, I could find nothing but a voice that
laughed.</font></a><a name="II">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">II.
Pursuit</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">I held
the book beneath my coat, at pains To hide the thing from sight in such a place;
Hurrying through the ancient harbour lanes With often-turning head and nervous
pace. Dull, furtive windows in old tottering brick Peered at me oddly as I
hastened by, And thinking what they sheltered, I grew sick For a redeeming
glimpse of clean blue sky. No one had seen me take the thing - but still A blank
laugh echoed in my whirling head, And I could guess what nighted worlds of ill
Lurked in that volume I had coveted. The way grew strange - the walls alike and
madding - And far behind me, unseen feet were padding.</font></a><a name="III">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">III.
The Key</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">I do not
know what windings in the waste Of those strange sea-lanes brought me home once
more, But on my porch I trembled, white with haste To get inside and bolt the
heavy door. I had the book that told the hidden way Across the void and through
the space-hung screens That hold the undimensioned worlds at bay, And keep lost
aeons to their own demesnes. At last the key was mine to those vague visions Of
sunset spires and twilight woods that brood Dim in the gulfs beyond this earth's
precisions, Lurking as memories of infinitude. The key was mine, but as I sat
there mumbling, The attic window shook with a faint fumbling.</font></a><a name="IV">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">IV.
Recognition</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">The day
had come again, when as a child I saw - just once - that hollow of old oaks,
Grey with a ground-mist that enfolds and chokes The slinking shapes which
madness has defiled. It was the same - an herbage rank and wild Clings round an
altar whose carved sign invokes That Nameless One to whom a thousand smokes
Rose, aeons gone, from unclean towers up-piled. I saw the body spread on that
dank stone, And knew those things which feasted were not men; I knew this
strange, grey world was not my own, But Yuggoth, past the starryvoids - and then
The body shrieked at me with a dead cry, And all too late I knew that it was I!</font></a><a name="V">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">V.
Homecoming</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">The
daemon said that he would take me home To the pale, shadowy land I half recalled
As a high place of stair and terrace, walled With marble balustrades that
sky-winds comb, While miles below a maze of dome on dome And tower on tower
beside a sea lies sprawled. Once more, he told me, I would stand enthralled On
those old heights, and hear the far-off foam. All this he promised, and through
sunset's gate He swept me, past the lapping lakes of flame, And red-gold thrones
of gods without a name Who shriek in fear at some impending fate. Then a black
gulf with sea-sounds in the night: "Here was your home," he mocked,
"when you had sight!"</font></a><a name="VI">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">VI. The
Lamp</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">We found
the lamp inside those hollow cliffs Whose chiselled sign no priest in Thebes
could read, And from whose caverns frightened hieroglyphs Warned everyliving
creature of earth's breed. No more was there - just that one brazen bowl With
traces of a curious oil within; Fretted with some obscurely patterned scroll,
And symbols hinting vaguely of strange sin. Little the fears of forty centuries
meant To us as we bore off our slender spoil, And when we scanned it in our
darkened tent We struck a match to test the ancient oil. It blazed - great God!...
But the vast shapes we saw In that mad flash have seared our lives with awe.</font></a><a name="VII">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">VII.
Zaman's Hill</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">The
great hill hung close over the old town, A precipice against the main street's
end; Green, tall, and wooded, looking darkly down Upon the steeple at the
highway bend. Two hundred years the whispers had been heard About what happened
on the man-shunned slope - Tales of an oddly mangled deer or bird, Or of lost
boys whose kin had ceased to hope. One day the mail-man found no village there,
Nor were its folk or houses seen again; People came out from Aylesbury to stare
- Yet they all told the mail-man it was plain That he was mad for saying he had
spied The great hill's gluttonous eyes, and jaws stretched wide.</font></a><a name="VIII">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">VIII.
The Port</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">Ten
miles from Arkham I had struck the trail That rides the cliff-edge over Boynton
Beach, And hoped that just at sunset I could reach The crest that looks on
Innsmouth in the vale. Far out at sea was a retreating sail, White as hard years
of ancient winds could bleach, But evil with some portent beyond speech, So that
I did not wave my hand or hail. Sails out of lnnsmouth! echoing old renown Of
long-dead times. But now a too-swift night Is closing in, and I have reached the
height Whence I so often scan the distant town. The spires and roofs are there -
but look! The gloom Sinks on dark lanes, as lightless as the tomb!</font></a><a name="IX">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">IX. The
Courtyard</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">It was
the city I had known before; The ancient, leprous town where mongrel throngs
Chant to strange gods, and beat unhallowed gongs In crypts beneath foul alleys
near the shore. The rotting, fish-eyed houses leered at me From where they
leaned, drunk and half-animate, As edging through the filth I passed the gate To
the black courtyard where the man would be. The dark walls closed me in, and
loud I cursed That ever I had come to such a den, When suddenly a score of
windows burst Into wild light, and swarmed with dancing men: Mad, soundless
revels of the dragging dead - And not a corpse had either hands or head!</font></a><a name="X">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">X. The
Pigeon-Flyers</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">They
took me slumming, where gaunt walls of brick Bulge outward with a viscous
stored-up evil, And twisted faces, thronging foul and thick, Wink messages to
alien god and devil. A million fires were blazing in the streets, And from flat
roofs a furtive few would fly Bedraggled birds into the yawning sky While hidden
drums droned on with measured beats. I knew those fires were brewing monstrous
things, And that those birds of space had been Outside - I guessed to what dark
planet's crypts they plied, And what they brought from Thog beneath their wings.
The others laughed - till struck too mute to speak By what they glimpsed in one
bird's evil beak.</font></a><a name="XI">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XI. The
Well</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">Farmer
Seth Atwood was past eighty when He tried to sink that deep well by his door,
With only Eb to help him bore and bore. We laughed, and hoped he'd soon be sane
again. And yet, instead, young Eb went crazy, too, So that they shipped him to
the county farm. Seth bricked the well-mouth up as tight as glue - Then hacked
an artery in his gnarled left arm. After the funeral we felt bound to get Out to
that well and rip the bricks away, But all we saw were iron hand-holds set Down
a black hole deeper than we could say. And yet we put the bricks back - for we
found The hole too deep for any line to sound.</font></a><a name="XII">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XII.
The Howler</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">They
told me not to take the Briggs' Hill path That used to be the highroad through
to Zoar, For Goody Watkins, hanged in seventeen-four, Had left a certain
monstrous aftermath. Yet when I disobeyed, and had in view The vine-hung cottage
by the great rock slope, I could not think of elms or hempen rope, But wondered
why the house still seemed so new. Stopping a while to watch the fading day, I
heard faint howls, as from a room upstairs, When through the ivied panes one
sunset ray Struck in, and caught the howler unawares. I glimpsed - and ran in
frenzy from the place, And from a four-pawed thing with human face.</font></a><a name="XIII">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XIII.
Hesperia</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">The
winter sunset, flaming beyond spires And chimneys half-detached from this dull
sphere, Opens great gates to some forgotten year Of elder splendours and divine
desires. Expectant wonders burn in those rich fires, Adventure-fraught, and not
untinged with fear; A row of sphinxes where the way leads clear Toward walls and
turrets quivering to far lyres. It is the land where beauty's meaning flowers;
Where every unplaced memory has a source; Where the great river Time begins its
course Down the vast void in starlit streams of hours. Dreams bring us close -
but ancient lore repeats That human tread has never soiled these streets.</font></a><a name="XIV">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XIV.
Star-Winds</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">It is a
certain hour of twilight glooms, Mostly in autumn, when the star-wind pours Down
hilltop streets, deserted out-of-doors, But shewing early lamplight from snug
rooms. The dead leaves rush in strange, fantastic twists, And chimney-smoke
whirls round with alien grace, Heeding geometries of outer space, While
Fomalhaut peers in through southward mists. This is the hour when moonstruck
poets know What fungi sprout in Yuggoth, and what scents And tints of flowers
fill Nithon's continents, Such as in no poor earthly garden blow. Yet for each
dream these winds to us convey, A dozen more of ours they sweep away!</font></a><a name="XV">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XV.
Antarktos</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">Deep in
my dream the great bird whispered queerly Of the black cone amid the polar waste;
Pushing above the ice-sheet lone and drearly, By storm-crazed aeons battered and
defaced. Hither no living earth-shapes take their courses, And only pale auroras
and faint suns Glow on that pitted rock, whose primal sources Are guessed at
dimly by the Elder Ones. If men should glimpse it, they would merely wonder What
tricky mound of Nature's build they spied; But the bird told of vaster parts,
that under The mile-deep ice-shroud crouch and brood and bide. God help the
dreamer whose mad visions shew Those dead eyes set in crystal gulfs below!</font></a><a name="XVI">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XVI.
The Window</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">The
house was old, with tangled wings outthrown, Of which no one could ever half
keep track, And in a small room somewhat near the back Was an odd window sealed
with ancient stone. There, in a dream-plagued childhood, quite alone I used to
go, where night reigned vague and black; Parting the cobwebs with a curious lack
Of fear, and with a wonder each time grown. One later day I brought the masons
there To find what view my dim forbears had shunned, But as they pierced the
stone, a rush of air Burst from the alien voids that yawned beyond. They fled -
but I peered through and found unrolled All the wild worlds of which my dreams
had told.</font></a><a name="XVII">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XVII. A
Memory</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">There
were great steppes, and rocky table-lands Stretching half-limitless in starlit
night, With alien campfires shedding feeble light On beasts with tinkling bells,
in shaggy bands. Far to the south the plain sloped low and wide To a dark zigzag
line of wall that lay Like a huge python of some primal day Which endless time
had chilled and petrified. I shivered oddly in the cold, thin air, And wondered
where I was and how I came, When a cloaked form against a campfire's glare Rose
and approached, and called me by my name. Staring at that dead face beneath the
hood, I ceased to hope - because I understood.</font></a><a name="XVIII">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XVIII.
The Gardens of Yin</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">Beyond
that wall, whose ancient masonry Reached almost to the sky in moss-thick towers,
There would be terraced gardens, rich with flowers, And flutter of bird and
butterfly and bee. There would be walks, and bridges arching over Warm
lotos-pools reflecting temple eaves, And cherry-trees with delicate boughs and
leaves Against a pink sky where the herons hover. All would be there, for had
not old dreams flung Open the gate to that stone-lantemed maze Where drowsy
streams spin out their winding ways, Trailed by green vines from bending
branches hung? I hurried - but when the wall rose, grim and great, I found there
was no longer any gate.</font></a><a name="XIX">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XIX.
The Bells</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">Year
after year I heard that faint, far ringing Of deep-toned bells on the black
midnight wind; Peals from no steeple I could ever find, But strange, as if
across some great void winging. I searched my dreams and memories for a clue,
And thought of all the chimes my visions carried; Of quiet Innsmouth, where the
white gulls tarried Around an ancient spire that once I knew. Always perplexed I
heard those far notes falling, Till one March night the bleak rain splashing
cold Beckoned me back through gateways of recalling To elder towers where the
mad clappers tolled. They tolled - but from the sunless tides that pour Through
sunken valleys on the sea's dead floor.</font></a><a name="XX">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XX.
Night-Gaunts</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">Out of
what crypt they crawl, I cannot tell, But every night I see the rubbery things,
Black, horned, and slender, with membraneous wings, And tails that bear the
bifid barb of hell. They come in legions on the north wind's swell, With obscene
clutch that titillates and stings, Snatching me off on monstrous voyagings To
grey worlds hidden deep in nightmare's well. Over the jagged peaks of Thok they
sweep, Heedless of all the cries I try to make, And down the nether pits to that
foul lake Where the puffed shoggoths splash in doubtful sleep. But oh! If only
they would make some sound, Or wear a face where faces should be found!</font></a><a name="XXI">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XXI.
Nyarlathotep</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">And at
the last from inner Egypt came The strange dark One to whom the fellahs bowed;
Silent and lean and cryptically proud, And wrapped in fabrics red as sunset
flame. Throngs pressed around, frantic for his commands, But leaving, could not
tell what they had heard; While through the nations spread the awestruck word
That wild beasts followed him and licked his hands. Soon from the sea a noxious
birth began; Forgotten lands with weedy spires of gold; The ground was cleft,
and mad auroras rolled Down on the quaking citadels of man. Then, crushing what
he chanced to mould in play, The idiot Chaos blew Earth's dust away.</font></a><a name="XXII">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XXII.
Azathoth</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">Out in
the mindless void the daemon bore me, Past the bright clusters of dimensioned
space, Till neither time nor matter stretched before me, But only Chaos, without
form or place. Here the vast Lord of All in darkness muttered Things he had
dreamed but could not understand, While near him shapeless bat-things flopped
and fluttered In idiot vortices that ray-streams fanned. They danced insanely to
the high, thin whining Of a cracked flute clutched in a monstrous paw, Whence
flow the aimless waves whose chance combining Gives each frail cosmos its
eternal law. "I am His Messenger," the daemon said, As in contempt he
struck his Master's head.</font></a><a name="XXIII">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XXIII.
Mirage</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">I do not
know if ever it existed - That lost world floating dimly on Time's stream - And
yet I see it often, violet-misted, And shimmering at the back of some vague
dream. There were strange towers and curious lapping rivers, Labyrinths of
wonder, and low vaults of light, And bough-crossed skies of flame, like that
which quivers Wistfully just before a winter's night. Great moors led off to
sedgy shores unpeopled, Where vast birds wheeled, while on a windswept hill
There was a village, ancient and white-steepled, With evening chimes for which I
listen still. I do not know what land it is - or dare Ask when or why I was, or
will be, there.</font></a><a name="XXIV">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XXIV.
The Canal</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">Somewhere
in dream there is an evil place Where tall, deserted buildings crowd along A
deep, black, narrow channel, reeking strong Of frightful things whence oily
currents race. Lanes with old walls half meeting overhead Wind off to streets
one may or may not know, And feeble moonlight sheds a spectral glow Over long
rows of windows, dark and dead. There are no footfalls, and the one soft sound
Is of the oily water as it glides Under stone bridges, and along the sides Of
its deep flume, to some vague ocean bound. None lives to tell when that stream
washed away Its dream-lost region from the world of clay.</font></a><a name="XXV">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XXV. St.
Toad's</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">"Beware
St. Toad's cracked chimes!" I heard him scream As I plunged into those mad
lanes that wind In labyrinths obscure and undefined South of the river where old
centuries dream. He was a furtive figure, bent and ragged, And in a flash had
staggered out of sight, So still I burrowed onward in the night Toward where
more roof-lines rose, malign and jagged. No guide-book told of what was lurking
here - But now I heard another old man shriek: "Beware St.Toad's cracked
chimes!" And growing weak, I paused, when a third greybeard croaked in fear:
"Beware St. Toad's cracked chimes!" Aghast, I fled - Till suddenly
that black spire loomed ahead.</font></a><a name="XXVI">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XXVI.
The Familiars</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">John
Whateley lived about a mile from town, Up where the hills begin to huddle thick;
We never thought his wits were very quick, Seeing the way he let his farm run
down. He used to waste his time on some queer books He'd found around the attic
of his place, Till funny lines got creased into his face, And folks all said
they didn't like his looks. When he began those night-howls we declared He'd
better be locked up away from harm, So three men from the Aylesbury town farm
Went for him - but came back alone and scared. They'd found him talking to two
crouching things That at their step flew off on great black wings.</font></a><a name="XXVII">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XXVII.
The Elder Pharos</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">From
Leng, where rocky peaks climb bleak and bare Under cold stars obscure to human
sight, There shoots at dusk a single beam of light Whose far blue rays make
shepherds whine in prayer. They say (though none has been there) that it comes
Out of a pharos in a tower of stone, Where the last Elder One lives on alone,
Talking to Chaos with the beat of drums. The Thing, they whisper, wears a silken
mask Of yellow, whose queer folds appear to hide A face not of this earth,
though none dares ask Just what those features are, which bulge inside. Many, in
man's first youth, sought out that glow, But what they found, no one will ever
know.</font></a><a name="XXVIII">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XXVIII.
Expectancy</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">I cannot
tell why some things hold for me A sense of unplumbed marvels to befall, Or of a
rift in the horizon's wall Opening to worlds where only gods can be. There is a
breathless, vague expectancy, As of vast ancient pomps I half recall, Or wild
adventures, uncorporeal, Ecstasy-fraught, and as a day-dream free. It is in
sunsets and strange city spires, Old villages and woods and misty downs, South
winds, the sea, low hills, and lighted towns, Old gardens, half-heard songs, and
the moon's fires. But though its lure alone makes life worth living, None gains
or guesses what it hints at giving.</font></a><a name="XXIX">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XXIX.
Nostalgia</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">Once
every year, in autumn's wistful glow, The birds fly out over an ocean waste,
Calling and chattering in a joyous haste To reach some land their inner memories
know. Great terraced gardens where bright blossoms blow, And lines of mangoes
luscious to the taste, And temple-groves with branches interlaced Over cool
paths - all these their vague dreams shew. They search the sea for marks of
their old shore - For the tall city, white and turreted - But only empty waters
stretch ahead, So that at last they turn away once more. Yet sunken deep where
alien polyps throng, The old towers miss their lost, remembered song.</font></a><a name="XXX">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XXX.
Background</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">I never
can be tied to raw, new things, For I first saw the light in an old town, Where
from my window huddled roofs sloped down To a quaint harbour rich with
visionings. Streets with carved doorways where the sunset beams Flooded old
fanlights and small window-panes, And Georgian steeples topped with gilded vanes
- These were the sights that shaped my childhood dreams. Such treasures, left
from times of cautious leaven, Cannot but loose the hold of flimsier wraiths
That flit with shifting ways and muddled faiths Across the changeless walls of
earth and heaven. They cut the moment's thongs and leave me free To stand alone
before eternity.</font></a><a name="XXXI">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XXXI.
The Dweller</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">It had
been old when Babylon was new; None knows how long it slept beneath that mound,
Where in the end our questing shovels found Its granite blocks and brought it
back to view. There were vast pavements and foundation-walls, And crumbling
slabs and statues, carved to shew Fantastic beings of some long ago Past
anything the world of man recalls. And then we saw those stone steps leading
down Through a choked gate of graven dolomite To some black haven of eternal
night Where elder signs and primal secrets frown. We cleared a path - but raced
in mad retreat When from below we heard those clumping feet.</font></a><a name="XXXII">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XXXII.
Alienation</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">His
solid flesh had never been away, For each dawn found him in his usual place, But
every night his spirit loved to race Through gulfs and worlds remote from common
day. He had seen Yaddith, yet retained his mind, And come back safely from the
Ghooric zone, When one still night across curved space was thrown That beckoning
piping from the voids behind. He waked that morning as an older man, And nothing
since has looked the same to him. Objects around float nebulous and dim - False,
phantom trifles of some vaster plan. His folk and friends are now an alien
throng To which he struggles vainly to belong.</font></a><a name="XXXIII">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XXXIII.
Harbour Whistles</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">Over old
roofs and past decaying spires The harbour whistles chant all through the night;
Throats from strange ports, and beaches far and white, And fabulous oceans,
ranged in motley choirs. Each to the other alien and unknown, Yet all, by some
obscurely focussed force From brooding gulfs beyond the Zodiac's course, Fused
into one mysterious cosmic drone. Through shadowy dreams they send a marching
line Of still more shadowy shapes and hints and views; Echoes from outer voids,
and subtle clues To things which they themselves cannot define. And always in
that chorus, faintly blent, We catch some notes no earth-ship ever sent.</font></a><a name="XXXIV">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XXXIV.
Recapture</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">The way
led down a dark, half-wooded heath Where moss-grey boulders humped above the
mould, And curious drops, disquieting and cold, Sprayed up from unseen streams
in gulfs beneath. There was no wind, nor any trace of sound In puzzling shrub,
or alien-featured tree, Nor any view before - till suddenly, Straight in my path,
I saw a monstrous mound. Half to the sky those steep sides loomed upspread,
Rank-grassed, and cluttered by a crumbling flight Of lava stairs that scaled the
fear-topped height In steps too vast for any human tread. I shrieked - and knew
what primal star and year Had sucked me back from man's dream-transient sphere!</font></a><a name="XXXV">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XXXV.
Evening Star</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">I saw it
from that hidden, silent place Where the old wood half shuts the meadow in. It
shone through all the sunset's glories - thin At first, but with a slowly
brightening face. Night came, and that lone beacon, amber-hued, Beat on my sight
as never it did of old; The evening star - but grown a thousandfold More
haunting in this hush and solitude. It traced strange pictures on the quivering
air - Half-memories that had always filled my eyes - Vast towers and gardens;
curious seas and skies Of some dim life - I never could tell where. But now I
knew that through the cosmic dome Those rays were calling from my far, lost
home.</font></a><a name="XXXVI">
<h4 style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">XXXVI.
Continuity</font></h4>
<p style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">There is
in certain ancient things a trace Of some dim essence - more than form or weight;
A tenuous aether, indeterminate, Yet linked with all the laws of time and space.
A faint, veiled sign of continuities That outward eyes can never quite descry;
Of locked dimensions harbouring years gone by, And out of reach except for
hidden keys. It moves me most when slanting sunbeams glow On old farm buildings
set against a hill, And paint with life the shapes which linger still From
centuries less a dream than this we know. In that strange light I feel I am not
far From the fixt mass whose sides the ages are.</font>
<h5 align="center" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><font face="Times New Roman">Howard-Phillips
Lovecraft (1890-1937)</font></h5>
</a></font></font>
<p ALIGN="RIGHT" style="margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"><a HREF="shil.htm">(Supernatural
Horror in Literature)</a></p>
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