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THE HASHISH-EATER
Is fed thereby, and mounts forevermoreWith mighty tides unebbing.Lo, what cloud,Or night of sudden and supreme eclipse,Is on the suns of opal? At my side,The rivers run with a wan and ghostly gleam,Through darkness falling as the night that fallsFrom mighty spheres extinguished! Turning now,I see, betwixt the desert and the suns,The poisèd wings of all the dragon-rout,Far-flown in black occlusion thousand-foldThrough stars, and deeps, and devastated worlds,Upon my trail of terror! Griffins, rocs,And sluggish, dark chimeras, heavy-wingedAfter the ravin of dispeopled lands,With harpies, and the vulture-birds of hell—Hot from abominable feasts and fainTo cool their beaks and talons in my blood—All, all have gathered, and the wingless rear,With rank on rank of foul, colossal Worms,Like pillars of embattled night and flame,Looms on the wide horizon! From the van,I hear the shriek of wyvers, loud and shrillAs tempests in a broken fane, and roarOf sphinxes, like the unrelenting tollOf bells from tow'rs infernal. Cloud on cloud,They arch the zenith, and a dreadful windFalls from them like the wind before the storm,And in the wind my cloven garment streams,And flutters in the face of all the void,Even as flows a flaffing spirit, lostOn the Pit's undying tempest! Louder growsThe thunder of the streams of stone and bronze,—Redoubled with the roar of torrent wings,Inseparably mingled. Scarce I keepMy footing, in the gulfward winds of fear,And mighty thunders, beating to the voidIn sea-like waves incessant; and would fleeWith them, and prove the nadir-founded night
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