They see with their eyelids shut!
For awful coveys of terrible things,
With forked tongues and venomous stings,
On hagweed, broomsticks, and leathern wings,
Are hovering round the Hut!
Shapes, that within the focus bright
Of the Forge, are like shadows and blots;
But farther off, in the shades of night,
Clothed with their own phosphoric light,
Are seen in the darkest spots.
Sounds! that fill the air with noises,
Strange and indescribable voices,
From Hags, in a diabolical clatter-
Cats that spit curses, and apes that chatter
Scraps of cabalistical matter-
Owls that screech, and dogs that yell-
Skeleton hounds that will never be fatter-
All the domestic tribes of Hell,
Shrieking for flesh to tear and tatter,
Bones to shatter,
And who it is that must furnish the latter
Those blue-looking men know well!
Those blue-looking men that huddle together,
For all their sturdy limbs and thews,
Their unshorn locks, like Nazarene Jews,
And buffalo beards, and hides of leather,
Huddled all in a heap together,
Like timid lamb, and ewe, and wether,
And as females say,
Fit for knocking down with a feather!
In and out, in and out,
The gathering Goblins hover about,
Ev'ry minute augmenting the rout;
For like a spell
The unearthly smell
That fumes from the Furnace, chimney and mouth,
Draws them in--an infernal Legion—
From East, and West, and North, and South,
Like carrion birds from ev'ry region,
Till not a yard square
Of the sickening air
But has a Demon or two for its share,
Breathing fury, woe, and despair.
Never, never was such a sight!
It beats the very Walpurgis Night,
Display'd in the story of Doctor Faustus,
For the scene to describe,
If we were two Göthes would quite exhaust us!
Suffice it, amid that dreary swarm,
There musters each foul repulsive form
That ever a fancy overwarm
Begot in its worst delirium;
Besides some others of monstrous size,
Never before revealed to eyes,
Of the genus Megatherium!
Meanwhile the demons, filthy and foul,
Gorgon, Chimera, Harpy, and Ghoul,
Are not contented to jibber and howl
As a dirge for their late commander;
But one of the bevy-witch or wizard,
Disguised as a monstrous flying lizard,
Springs on the grisly Salamander,
Who stoutly fights, and struggles, and kicks,
And tries the best of his wrestling tricks,
No paltry strife,
But for life, dear life,
But the ruthless talons refuse to unfix,
Till far beyond a surgical case,
With starting eyes and black in the face,
Down he tumbles as dead as bricks!
A pretty sight for his mates to view!
Those shaggy murderers looking so blue,
And for him above all,
Red-bearded and tall,
With whom, at that very particular nick,
There is such an unlucky crow to pick,
As the one of iron that did the trick
In a recent bloody affair-
No wonder feeling a little sick,
With pulses beating uncommonly quick,
And breath he never found so thick,
He longs for the open air!
Three paces, or four,
And he gains the door;
But ere he accomplishes one,
The sound of a blow comes, heavy and dull,
And clasping his fingers round his skull,
However the deed was done,
That gave him that florid
Red gash on the forehead
With a roll of the eyeballs perfectly horrid, There's a tremulous quiver,
The last death-shiver,
And Red-Beard's course is run!
Halloo! Halloo!
They have done for two!
But a heavyish job remains to do!
For yonder, sledge and shovel in hand,
Like elder Sons of Giant Despair,
A couple of Cyclops make a stand,
And fiercely hammering here and there,
Keep at bay the Powers of Air-
But desperation is all in vain!
They faint--they choke,
For the sulphurous smoke
Is poisoning heart, and lung, and brain,
They reel, they sink, they gasp, they smother;
One for a moment survives his brother,
Then rolls a corpse across the other!
Hulloo! Hulloo!
And Hullabaloo !
There is only one more thing to do—
And seized by beak, and talon, and claw,
Bony hand and hairy paw,
Yea, crooked horn, and tusky jaw,
The four huge Bodies are haul❜d and shoven
Each after each in the roaring oven!
That Eisen Hutte is standing still,
Go to the Hartz whenever you will,
And there it is beside a hill,
And a rapid stream that turns many a mill;
The self-same Forge,-you'll know it at sight-
Casting upward, day and night,
Flames of red, and yellow, and white!
Ay, half a mile from the mountain gorge,
There it is, the famous Forge,
With its Furnace,-the same that blazed of yore,—
Hugely fed with fuel and ore;
But ever since that tremendous Revel,
Whatever Iron is melted therein,
As travellers know who have been to Berlin-Is all as black as the Devil!
'Twas in the year two thousand and one, A pleasant morning of May,
I sat on the gallows-tree all alone,
A chanting a merry lay,—
To think how the pest had spared my life,
To sing with the larks that day!
When up
the heath came a jolly knave,
Like a scarecrow, all in rags:
It made me crow to see his old duds
All abroad in the wind, like flags :-
So up he came to the timbers' foot
And pitch'd down his greasy bags.—
Good Lord! how blithe the old beggar was !
At pulling out his scraps,
The very sight of his broken orts
Made a work in his wrinkled chaps:
“Come down,” says he, " you Newgate-bird,
And have a taste of my snaps!”-
Then down the rope, like a tar from the mast,
I slided, and by him stood;
But I wish'd myself on the gallows again
When I smelt that beggar's food,—
A foul beef-bone and a mouldy crust;—
"Oh!" quoth he, "the heavens are good!"
Then after this grace he cast him down,
Says I, "You'll get sweeter air
A pace or two off, on the windward side,”-
For the felons' bones lay there-
But he only laugh'd at the empty skulls,
And offer'd them part of his fare.
"I never harm'd them, and they won't harm me: Let the proud and the rich be cravens!"
I did not like that strange beggar man,
He look'd so up at the heavens.
Anon he shook out his empty old poke,
"There's the crumbs," saith he, "for the ravens!"
It made me angry to see his face,
It had such a jesting look;
But while I made up my mind to speak,
A small case-bottle he took:
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