DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Polaris, v. 2, issue 2, June 1941

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Polaris, v. 2, issue 2, June 1941

Page 17

17
WAHLPURGISNACHT
by Grady L McMurtry
Upon the crags with ghostlight drenched
Writhe up the weres with hands outclenched
As now the chant of those undead
To Him who rules below is read
By ghouls who gargoyle at the sky
Red lipped with crimson, bloody dye;
Their crimson forms bepaint the rock
With flickering shadows of the Boch
To whom they offer down their prayer
On this Black Sabbath in His lair
He 'waits the moment of His sign
To sit upon this stony shrine
Among the shattered boulders strewn,
As ever higher mounts the moon.
The Noon of Night approaches near;
Satanas Rex: appear, appear!
Then swiftly stalking 'neath teh moon
On wings of wind, as though a boon
To place before His gathered host,
He, Overlord of souls now lost
Is seen across the foothilled plains
Sweeping toward the mountain chains
'Til towering far above the peak
The Breeze moans: This is whom you seek.
Hushed now as though by Death itself
Still lies the band upon a shelf
Of stone that juts above the deep;
Now cry the bats and witches weep,
Beseeching Him with words that croak
Until he lifts His arms and cloak
To shroud them all in shadows dim
Hidden from the world by Him.
The Hexentanz begins its whirl,
Within the cauldron entrails swirl;
Among those present at their grave
Are none but those whose souls are slave
To Satan Rex, the Lord of Hell,
King emperor of all who dwell
Within where leaps the flaming breath
Of blackened Sheol's pit of death.
For here are seen no common shades
But officer elite of Hades
Whose cabalistic tongue is spoken
In this vague half-world on the Brock
As in high state Satanas sits,
While demon legions of the Pits
Pay homage to the Hohle Boch
On this witch-brewed Wahlpurgisnacht.

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17 WAHLPURGISNACHT by Grady L McMurtry Upon the crags with ghostlight drenched Writhe up the weres with hands outclenched As now the chant of those undead To Him who rules below is read By ghouls who gargoyle at the sky Red lipped with crimson, bloody dye; Their crimson forms bepaint the rock With flickering shadows of the Boch To whom they offer down their prayer On this Black Sabbath in His lair He 'waits the moment of His sign To sit upon this stony shrine Among the shattered boulders strewn, As ever higher mounts the moon. The Noon of Night approaches near; Satanas Rex: appear, appear! Then swiftly stalking 'neath teh moon On wings of wind, as though a boon To place before His gathered host, He, Overlord of souls now lost Is seen across the foothilled plains Sweeping toward the mountain chains 'Til towering far above the peak The Breeze moans: This is whom you seek. Hushed now as though by Death itself Still lies the band upon a shelf Of stone that juts above the deep; Now cry the bats and witches weep, Beseeching Him with words that croak Until he lifts His arms and cloak To shroud them all in shadows dim Hidden from the world by Him. The Hexentanz begins its whirl, Within the cauldron entrails swirl; Among those present at their grave Are none but those whose souls are slave To Satan Rex, the Lord of Hell, King emperor of all who dwell Within where leaps the flaming breath Of blackened Sheol's pit of death. For here are seen no common shades But officer elite of Hades Whose cabalistic tongue is spoken In this vague half-world on the Brock As in high state Satanas sits, While demon legions of the Pits Pay homage to the Hohle Boch On this witch-brewed Wahlpurgisnacht.