Rash climbers of Eiglophian steeps,

Beware the bale of Haon-Dor

Who lives within the mountain's core

Where deathless evil never sleeps.

 

A chill of horror walks those halls

Where dwells the centuried Sorcerer

As in a nighted sepulchre

A deathly gloom forever palls.

 

In ebon shroud and cowl he stands

On his high dais empentacled,

While monsters clawed and tentacled

Abase themselves at his commands.

 

Leering from walls of seamless stone,

A thousand demons bow before

The sable form of Haon-Dor

Hunched on his high, five-pillared throne.

 

And now from out the caverned gloom

Of towering Mount Voormithadreth

He sends dark messengers of death

To blight the lands with fright and doom.

 

THE END.