FORBIDDEN PURPOSE

The sun is low on the hills tonight,

And the she-wolf’s howl is blending

With the muffled cry of the last rook afly,

Down to his nest descending.

And home is far from here tonight,

From the darkened woods we’re treading,

Where the silent snarl of the oak-tree’s gnarl

Fills every step with dreading.

The night grows cold and silent now,

As like a dying ember

The sun is out – and we are left

The midst of deep December.

And what dark Grail our goal tonight?

What purpose brings us forth?

What monster’s lair or castle fair

Where we must prove our worth?

We seek the bone-interréd Good

In graves of dead men lying;

We come to steal this sacred veal

Or perish in the trying!

So thus, we creep beneath the trees,

Our fearful hearts a-pounding,

Until we reach the catacombs

And Mardor takes a sounding.

The honest man’s in bed tonight,

And dreams his dreams unknowing.

He’ll never know and never see

The frontier of our going.

No turning from our purpose now –

No holding back or slowing!

(Why do our lanthorns flicker so,

When no cold wind is blowing?)

How carefully have we prepared

This night-time’s holy venture!

We will prevail where others failed,

Or face the final censure.

No trick of fate can thwart us now,

No act of god, or man;

No happenstance, or fall of chance

Can spoil our perfect plan!

For courage is our badge tonight,

And fortitude our banner,

And rectitude our attitude

And confident our manner!

Escuchio holds out the net,

Fortuno cracks the door:

Asai and I hold fast our breath –

Now need we wait no more!

But hold! What dreadful sound is that?

What evil presence spies us?

With rattling bones and ghostly groans,

That threatens and defies us?

With stricken faces frightened white,

First one and then another

Stops and turns, and casts about,

And whispers to his brother.

What awful demons from their graves

Might not the long-dead call?

What spirit pale will we unveil

When we its grave despoil?

Then as one man, we turn and flee

Unconquerable terror

That shreds the soul and spoils the dream

And sends us hell-for-leather!

Eftsoons the night is dark again;

No lanthorns blight its umbra.

No silly fools with futile tools

Disturb its peaceful slumber.

And so, as sullen morning breaks

Upon our bleeding shame,

Behind closed doors we clutch our straws

To choose who is to blame.