9 THE MEWLIPS


    The shadows where the Mewlips dwell


    Are dark and wet as ink,


    And slow and softly rings their bell,


    As in the slime you sink.


    You sink into the slime, who dare


    To knock upon their door,


    While down the grinning gargoyles stare


    And noisome waters pour.


    Beside the rotting river-strand


    The drooping willows weep,


    And gloomily the gorcrows stand


    Croaking in their sleep.


    Over the Merlock Mountains a long and weary way,


    In a mouldy valley where the trees are grey,


    By a dark pool''s borders without wind or tide,


    Moonless and sunless, the Mewlips hide.


    The cellars where the Mewlips sit


    Are deep and dank and cold


    With single sickly candle lit;


    And there they count their gold.


    Their walls are wet, their ceilings drip;


    Their feet upon the floor


    Go softly with a squish-flap-flip,


    As they sidle to the door.


    They peep out slyly; through a crack


    Their feeling fingers creep,


    And when they''ve finished, in a sack


    Your bones they lake to keep.


    Beyond the Merlock Mountains, a long and lonely road.


    Through the spider-shadows and the marsh of Tode,


    And through the wood of hanging trees and the gallows-weed,


    You go to find the Mewlips ?C and the Mewlips feed.