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Fantasia, v. 1, issue 3, July 1941

Page 7

FANTASIA
7

THE PARISH PARSON

I have found a place to dwell, /
A quiet, peaceful part of Hell. /
Far from heavy-trafficked Styx, /
My house is built of lava bricks. /
And in my nurtured garden grows /
The black and lustrous Leper-Rose. /
On Furnace Road /
Lies my abode, /
Close by the Temple of the Toad.

And there I live, tho not in state; /
My life is dignified, sedate. /
Within our peaceful neighborhood /
Live other Martyrs of the Rood /
Who served their Master well, and now /
May share the promise of their vow: /
To live our days /
Beneath the gaze /
Of He whose eyes with evil blaze.

And of my cherished work in Hell /
I have but only this to tell : /
That once a week I don my gown /
And catch the midnight train to town /
To oversee my Sabbat's mirth /
And represent our Hell on Earth. /
A parish priest /
For those who feast /
And pledge their souls unto the Beast.

BALLET SOL

With streaming costume of the dance, /
And slanting in as though to lance /
The precessioning worlds that creep, /
Our prima donna's comet sweep /
Slips the grasp of the mighty sun, /
Whose armored might of gold is spun, /
And leaps again far into space. /
The sun is chained and gives no chase /
Tho ne'er is his love forgotten.

Ephemeral, star-begotten! 

Music of gravitic lutes /
Shape elliptical convolutes /
To which pirouetting planets whirl, /
And as their satellites they twirl /
About them, here they match their ego /
To this skirrling, high allegro. /
Each harp of closed concentric rings /
Draws from its humming, weaving strings /
A cosmic rhythm; savage drums /
Pound the elliptic plane! It thrums /
And moulds one all-embracing whole -- /
A living universe! A soul!

By Grady L McMurtry

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FANTASIA 7 THE PARISH PARSON I have found a place to dwell, / A quiet, peaceful part of Hell. / Far from heavy-trafficked Styx, / My house is built of lava bricks. / And in my nurtured garden grows / The black and lustrous Leper-Rose. / On Furnace Road / Lies my abode, / Close by the Temple of the Toad. And there I live, tho not in state; / My life is dignified, sedate. / Within our peaceful neighborhood / Live other Martyrs of the Rood / Who served their Master well, and now / May share the promise of their vow: / To live our days / Beneath the gaze / Of He whose eyes with evil blaze. And of my cherished work in Hell / I have but only this to tell : / That once a week I don my gown / And catch the midnight train to town / To oversee my Sabbat's mirth / And represent our Hell on Earth. / A parish priest / For those who feast / And pledge their souls unto the Beast. BALLET SOL With streaming costume of the dance, / And slanting in as though to lance / The precessioning worlds that creep, / Our prima donna's comet sweep / Slips the grasp of the mighty sun, / Whose armored might of gold is spun, / And leaps again far into space. / The sun is chained and gives no chase / Tho ne'er is his love forgotten. Ephemeral, star-begotten! Music of gravitic lutes / Shape elliptical convolutes / To which pirouetting planets whirl, / And as their satellites they twirl / About them, here they match their ego / To this skirrling, high allegro. / Each harp of closed concentric rings / Draws from its humming, weaving strings / A cosmic rhythm; savage drums / Pound the elliptic plane! It thrums / And moulds one all-embracing whole -- / A living universe! A soul! By Grady L McMurtry