"The Adventures of Tom Bombadil" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tolkien J. R. R.)

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 — and the Mewlips feed.