This page has been validated.
XXV. ST. TOAD'S
"Beware St. Toad's cracked chimes!" I heard him screamAs I plunged into those mad lanes that windIn labyrinths obscure and undefinedSouth of the river where old centuries dream.He was a furtive figure, bent and ragged,And in a flash had staggered out of sight,So still I burrowed onward in the nightToward where more roof-lines rose, malign and jagged.
No guide-book told of what was lurking here—But now I heard another old man shriek;"Beware St. Toad's cracked chimes!" And growing weak,I paused; when a third greybeard croaked in fear,"Beware St. Toad's cracked chimes!" Aghast, I fled—Till suddenly that vast spire loomed ahead.
XXVI. THE FAMILIARS
John Whately lived about a mile from town,Up where the hills begin to huddle thick;We never thought his wits were very quick,Seeing the way he let his farm run down.He used to waste his time on some queer booksHe'd found around the attic of his place,Till funny lines got creased into his face,And folks all said they didn't like his looks.
When he began those night-howls we declaredHe'd better be locked up away from harm,So three men from the Aylesbury town farmWent for him—but came back alone and scared.They'd found him talking to two crouching thingsThat at their step flew off on great black wings.
XXVII. THE ELDER PHAROS
From Leng, where rocky peaks climb bleak and bareUnder cold stars obscure to human sight,There shoots at dusk a single beam of lightWhose far blue rays make shepherds whine in prayer.They say (though none has been there) that it comesOut of a pharos in a tower of stone,Where the last Elder One lives on alone,Talking to Chaos with the beat of drums.
The Thing, they whisper, wears a silken maskOf yellow, whose queer folds appear to hideA face not of this earth, though none dares askJust what those features are, which bulge inside.Many, in man's first youth, sought out that glow,But what they found, no one will ever know.
