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Fantasia, v. 1, issue 3, July 1941
Page 17
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FANTASIA 17 SUMMARY By Harold Elliot Ebon candles I have burned, / Cabalistic circles turned / By the moon's occulted light / In the waning of the night; / Arrant philtres I have brewed, / Faithfully the rite pursued, / Locked the pentagrams secure, / Said the summons loud and sure, / Combed the nether-worlds in vain, / Dared a dark ensorcelled plane, / Ferreted dimensions rolled / Multiple and manifold. / All my barbs are baited keen / With a lure that's bright and clean: / From my psychic fishing pole / Dangles my immortal soul. / Yet I gather in at last / Hooks as barren as I cast; / Not a fiend -- however small -- / Stirs responsive to my call. / By a hundred hells and one / All my spells are said and done! / Brazen gates whereon I knocked / Stand aloofly barred and locked; / Elementals mock at me / For my art's impotency; / Shadow-shapes that leap and dance / Flee my sudden backward glance. / Briefly, I have been ignored / By the Devil and his horde. / Thus it is, and so I trust / Hell may crumble into dust; / So may all that taunted me / Rot for all eternity. CORPSE By Lou Goldstone It lay uptilted on the canyon bed, / Rutted in ancient mire and more than drowned / In flowing sunset shadow. It was dead / And skeletal, the monster that we found. / Its flanks were sundered, and its iron breast / Gaped with a mortal wound. One slitted eye / Stared from the battered skull that dumbly pressed / Its funneled snout against the purple sky. The beast's own blood had soaked the carcass through: / Red crust on twisted spine and broken hood. / And then the sun went down! And down we fell, / And crawling, called on all the Gods we knew / Against the Craft of Air and Witch and Wood -- / And fled from that enchanted gorge of Hell!
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FANTASIA 17 SUMMARY By Harold Elliot Ebon candles I have burned, / Cabalistic circles turned / By the moon's occulted light / In the waning of the night; / Arrant philtres I have brewed, / Faithfully the rite pursued, / Locked the pentagrams secure, / Said the summons loud and sure, / Combed the nether-worlds in vain, / Dared a dark ensorcelled plane, / Ferreted dimensions rolled / Multiple and manifold. / All my barbs are baited keen / With a lure that's bright and clean: / From my psychic fishing pole / Dangles my immortal soul. / Yet I gather in at last / Hooks as barren as I cast; / Not a fiend -- however small -- / Stirs responsive to my call. / By a hundred hells and one / All my spells are said and done! / Brazen gates whereon I knocked / Stand aloofly barred and locked; / Elementals mock at me / For my art's impotency; / Shadow-shapes that leap and dance / Flee my sudden backward glance. / Briefly, I have been ignored / By the Devil and his horde. / Thus it is, and so I trust / Hell may crumble into dust; / So may all that taunted me / Rot for all eternity. CORPSE By Lou Goldstone It lay uptilted on the canyon bed, / Rutted in ancient mire and more than drowned / In flowing sunset shadow. It was dead / And skeletal, the monster that we found. / Its flanks were sundered, and its iron breast / Gaped with a mortal wound. One slitted eye / Stared from the battered skull that dumbly pressed / Its funneled snout against the purple sky. The beast's own blood had soaked the carcass through: / Red crust on twisted spine and broken hood. / And then the sun went down! And down we fell, / And crawling, called on all the Gods we knew / Against the Craft of Air and Witch and Wood -- / And fled from that enchanted gorge of Hell!
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