The Lord Of The Terrible Land Poem by David Mitchell

Galloping, galloping, galloping onward
To Death in the distant dark.

The rider he rode on a sable mare
That was ever so fair to see
And each evening at sunset he went from his home
and he rode oh so swift o'er the lea.

For he'd plighted an oath in days of yore
To the Lord of the Terrible Land
And each evening at sunset he went from his home
Towards its yellow sand.

It was many a year since he'd plighted his oath,
The promise he never could break,
That he'd travel each night to the Terrible Land
Or drown in the fiery lake.

So the rider he road when the sun 'gan descend
And he never did dare to delay:
'You will come to my grim and grotesque domains
Ere the ending of every day.'

He arrived every night at the gates of black,
And roar'd like a lion wroth;
And the gates they would open and squeal and crack,
Then slam together both.

'Have you brought the Demand? ' said a bloodcurdling voice,
And the Rider said he had.
'You have brought the weregild-price, I see:
If not, I would be mad! '

The weregild-price he spoke of was
The price of a human eye:
So every night he brought to that land
A human doomed to die.

And every night the lord of that land
Would pluck out that human's eyes
And add to his collection
That grew to a notable size.

And as the human was of no more use
To the lord of the terrible land,
He would kill it, then deposit the corpse
Upon the yellow sand.

The Rider did not like this at all,
And one day his conscience said:
I will not go as the agent of death:
I will go to sleep in my bed.

He went to bed but did not sleep
A minute of the night:
For he knew he should drown in the lake of fire
Before the morning light.

At midnight the Lord of the Terrible Land
Stormed into the Rider's home
And roared, 'Stand forth, thou traitor knave,
And say why thou didst not come.'

'I will not, ' said the Rider, with strength,
'Be part of your crime any more.'
'Thou wilt, ' said the Lord of the Terrible Land,
'For thou wast in days of yore.'

'I will not! ' cried the Rider, 'nor yield to thee,
Though DEATH stand in the way!
'Then DEATH it is, and DEATH for thee
Before the dawn of day! '





Without a word the Rider was whisked
Once more to the Terrible Land
And cast into the lake of fire,
Surrounded by Death's foul band.

And as the flames about him leapt,
He managed one thing to say,
'May your eyes be pluck'd out and your tongue cut off,
Until your dying day! '

(Thursday,10th August,2006.)