The White Ship

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Foreword

This is an Anglish wending of The White Ship by H. P. Lovecraft. Went by Wordwork. See the wender's leaf for more on the wordings.

English Spelling

I am Basil Elton, keeper of the North Head light that my father and eldfather kept before me. Far from the shore stands the grey lighthouse, above sunken slimy stones that be seen when the tide is nether, but unseen when the tide is high. By that beacon for a yearhundred have swept the stunning tall ships of the seven seas. In the days of my eldfather there were many; in the days of my father not so many; and now there be so few that I sometimes feel weirdly alone, as though I were the last man on our tungle.

From far shores came those white-sailed crafts of old; from far Eastern shores where warm suns shine and sweet smells linger about outlandish groves and shining churches. The old shiplords of the sea came often to my eldfather and told him of these things, which in wend he told to my father, and my father told to me in the long harvest evenings when the wind howled eerily from the East. And I have read more of these things, and of many things besides, in the books men gave me when I was young and filled with wonder.

But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is the hidden lore of sea. Hewn, green, grey, white, or black; smooth, ruffled, or highlandish; that sea is not calm. All my days have I watched it and listened to it, and I know it well. At first it told to me only the bare little tales of calm beaches and near havens, but with the years it grew more friendly and spoke of other things; of things more outlandish and more far-away in room and in time. Sometimes at twilight the grey mists of the outlook have sundered to yeave me glimpses of the ways beyond; and sometimes at night the deep waters of the sea have grown shire and glowing, to yeave me glimpses of the ways beneath. And these glimpses have been as often of the ways that were and the ways that might be, as of the ways that are; for sea is more fern than the barrows, and laden with the mins and the swevens of Time.

Out of the South it was that the White Ship would come when the moon was full and high in the heavens. Out of the South it would glide so smoothly and whistly over the sea. And whether the sea was rough or calm, and whether the wind was friendly or unwilling, it would always glide smoothly and whistly, its sails far-off and its long weird layers of rudders shifting steadily. One night I glimpsed upon the topside a man, bearded and shrouded, and he looked to beckon me to leave for fair unknown shores. Many times afterward I saw him under the full moon, and ever did he beckon me.

Swithe brightly did the moon shine on the night I answered the clepe, and I walked out over the waters to the White Ship on a bridge of moonbeams. The man who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me in a soft tongue I looked to know well, and the stounds were filled with soft songs of the ruddersmen as we glided away into a riddling South, golden with the glow of that full, mellow moon.

And when the day dawned, rosy and dazzling, I beheld the green shore of far lands, bright and sheen, and to me unknown. Up from the sea rose lordly shelves of greenness, tree-studded, and shewing here and there the gleaming white roofs and beams of outlandish churches. As we drew nearer the green shore the bearded man told me of that land, the Land of Zar, where abide all the swevens and thoughts of sheenness that come to men once and then be forgotten. And when I looked upon the shelves eft I saw that what he said was true, for among the sights before me were many things I had once seen through the mists beyond the outlook and in the glowing depths of sea. There too were shapes and swevens more wonderful than any I had ever known; the swevens of young shops who quole in wishfulness before the world could learn of what hy had seen and swevened. But we did not set foot upon the sloping meadows of Zar, for it is told that hie who treads hem may nevermore eftcome to here homely shore.

As the White Ship sailed whistly away from the hallowed shelves of Zar, we beheld on the far outlook ahead the spires of a mighty stead; and the bearded man said to me: “This is Thalarion, the Stead of a Thousand Wonders, wherein abide all those riddles that man has worked worthless to fathom.” And I looked eft, at nearer breadth, and saw that the stead was greater than any stead I had known or swevened of before. Into the heavens the spires of its churches reached, so that no man might behold here tops; and far back beyond the outlook stretched the grim, grey walls, over which one might glimpse only a few roofs, weird and foreboding, yet donned with rich frills and spaning carvings. I yearned mightily to go into this spellbinding yet withstanding stead, and besought the bearded man to land me at the stone wharf by the great carven gate Akariel; but he softly withsaid my wish, saying: “Into Thalarion, the Stead of a Thousand Wonders, many have gone but none came back. Therein walk only devils and mad things that be no longer men, and the streets be white with the unburied bones of those who have looked upon the wraith Lathi, that leads over the stead.” So the White Ship sailed on by the walls of Thalarion, and followed for many days a southward-flying bird, whose glistening feathers matched the heavens out of which it had arisen.

Then came we to a mild seaboard rich with blossoms of every hue, where as far inland as we could see bathed lovely groves and gleaming wineframes beneath a midday sun. From buers beyond our sight came bursts of song and snatches of wordly frith, bestrewn with soft laughter so heavenly that I besought the rowers onward in my keenness to reach the setting. And the bearded man spoke no word, but watched me as we came near the lily-lined shore. Shortly, a wind blowing from over the blossomed meadows and leafy woods brought a smell at which I shook. The wind grew stronger, and the lift was filled with the deadly, lichhouse stench of sickness-stricken towns and open graveyards. And as we sailed madly away from that loathsome shore the bearded man spoke at last, saying: “This is Xura, the Land of Lusts Unfulfilled.”

So once more the White Ship followed the bird of heaven, over warm blessed seas fanned by fondling, sweet breezes. Day after day and night after night did we sail, and when the moon was full we would listen to soft songs of the ruddersmen, sweet as on that far night when we sailed away from my far homeland. And it was by moonlight that we moored at last in the harbour of Sona-Nyl, which is warded by twin headlands of hurst that rise from the sea and meet in a shining bow. This is the Land of Frills, and we walked to the green shore upon a golden bridge of moonbeams.

In the Land of Sona-Nyl there is neither time nor room, neither suffering nor death; and there I abode for many elds. Green be the groves and fields, bright and sweet-smelling the blossoms, hewn and gleefull the streams, shire and cool the springs, and athel and lovely the churches, strongholds, and steads of Sona-Nyl. Of that land there is no bound, for beyond each sight of sheenness rises another more sheen. Over the upland and amidst the wonder of steads rove at will the blithe folk, of whom all be gifted with unmarred loveliness and wemless blissfulness. For the elds that I abode there I wandered blissfully through groves where whimsiful shrines peep from handsome crowds of shrubs, and where the white walks be hemmed with soft blossoms. I climbed mild hills from whose tops I could see spellbinding overlooks of loveliness, with steepled towns nestling in blooming dales, and with the golden caps of whopping steads glittering on the endlessly far outlook. And I saw by moonlight the sparkling sea, the hurst headlands, and the still harbour wherein lay moored the White Ship.

It was upon the full moon one night in the unending year of Tharp that I saw outlined the beckoning shape of the otherworldly bird, and felt the first stirrings of unrest. Then I spoke with the bearded man, and told him of my new yearnings to leave for faraway Cathuria, which no man hath seen, but which all believe to lie beyond the basalt beams of the West. It is the Land of Hope, and in it shine the wholesome beliefs of all that we know elsewhere; or at least so men say. But the bearded man said to me: “Beware of those threatening seas wherein men say Cathuria lies. In Sona-Nyl there is no shathe nor death, but who can tell what lies beyond the basalt beams of the West?” Natheless at the next full moon I boarded the White Ship, and with the wary bearded man left the blithe harbour for unfared seas.

And the bird of heaven flew before, and led us toward the basalt beams of the West, but this time the ruddersmen sang no soft songs under the full moon. In my mind I would often see the unknown Land of Cathuria with its wonderful groves and halls, and would wonder what new mirths there foresaw me. “Cathuria,” I would say to myself, “is the abode of gods and the land of unrimed steads of gold. Its woods be of aloe and sandalwood, even as the sweet smelling groves of Camorin, and among the trees flutter sheen birds sweet with song. On the green and blossomed barrows of Cathuria stand churches of rosy marmstone, rich with carven and drawn wolders, and having in here yards cool springs of silver, where purl with dazzling song the sweet smelling waters that come from the shraff-born stream Narg. And the steads of Cathuria be hemmed with golden walls, and here floorings also be of gold. In the groves of these steads be weird ballockworts, and sweet smelling mere whose beds be of coral and elksand. At night the streets and the groves be lit with bright lightvats shaped from the three-hued shell of the shellpad, and here shill the soft ringing of the singer and the harper. And the houses of the steads of Cathuria be all great halls, each built over a sweet smelling waterway bearing the waters of the holy Narg. Of marmstone and porphyry be the houses, and roofed with glittering gold that throws back the beams of the sun and strengthens the wonder of the steads as blissful gods see hem from the far-flung caps. Fairest of all is the hall of the great king Dorieb, whom some say to be a halfgod and others a god. High is the hall of Dorieb, and many be the spires of marmstone upon its walls. In its wide halls many manifolds gather, and here hang the keepsakes of the elds. And the roof is of clean gold, set upon tall beams of red and hewn, and having such carven lichnesses of gods and heleths that hy who looks up to those heights strikes to look upon the living Olympus. And the floor of the hall is of glass, under which flow the cunningly lighted waters of the Narg, rich with showy fish not known beyond the bounds of lovely Cathuria.”

Thus would I speak to myself of Cathuria, but ever would the bearded man warn me to wend back to the blithe shores of Sona-Nyl; for Sona-Nyl is known of men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria.

And on the thirty-first day that we followed the bird, we beheld the basalt beams of the West. Shrouded in mist hy were, so that no man might look beyond hem or see here caps — which indeed some say reach even to the heavens. And the bearded man once more bade me to wend back, but I heeded him not; for from the mists beyond the basalt beams I liched there came the ringing of singer and harper; sweeter than the sweetest songs of Sona-Nyl, and singing mine own worths; the worths of me, who had fared far under the full moon and abode in the Land of Frills.

So to the loud of song the White Ship sailed into the mist betwixt the basalt beams of the West. And when the glee ended and the mist lifted, we beheld not the Land of Cathuria, but a swift-flowing withstandless sea, over which our helpless ship was borne toward some unknown goal. Soon to our ears came the far thunder of falling waters, and to our eyes arose on the far outlook ahead the titanish spray of a great waterfall, wherein the seas of the world drop down to unending nothingness. Then did the bearded man say to me with tears on his cheek: “We have forsaken the fair Land of Sona-Nyl, which we may never behold eft|. The gods be greater than men, and hy have overcome.” And I shut my eyes before the crash that I knew would come, shutting out the sight of the heavenly bird which flapped its unkind woaden wings over the edge of the falls.

Out of that crash came darkness, and I heard the howling of men and of things which were not men. From the East stormy winds arose, and chilled me as I stooped on the cut of sodden stone which had risen beneath my feet. Then as I heard another crash I opened my eyes and beheld myself upon the shelf of that lighthouse from whence I had sailed so many elds ago. In the darkness beneath there loomed the great blurred outlines of a craft breaking up on the evil stones, and as I looked out over the wrack I saw that the light had trucked for the first time since my eldfather had undernumb its care.

And in the later watches of the night, when I went within the tower, I saw on the wall a rimebook which still held as when I had left it at the stound I sailed away. With the dawn I went down the tower and looked for wrack upon the stones, but what I found was only this: a weird dead bird whose hue was as of the hewn heavens, and a lone shattered spear, of a whiteness greater than that of the wave-tips or of the barrow snow.

And thereafter the sea told me its riddles no more; and though many times since has the moon shone full and high in the heavens, the White Ship from the South came never eft.

Anglish Spelling

I am Basil Elton, keeper of the North Head ligt that my father and eldfather kept before me. Far from the score stands the grey ligthuse, abuf sunken slimy stones that be seen hwen the tide is nether, but unseen hwen the tide is hih. By that beaken for a yearhundred haf swept the stunning tall scips of the sefen seas. In the days of my eldfather there were many; in the days of my father not so many; and now there be so few that I sometimes feel weerdly alone, as thoug I were the last man on ure tungel.

From far scores came those hwite-sailed crafts of old; from far Eastern scores hwere warm suns scine and sweet smells linger abute utelandisc grofes and scining circes. The old sciplords of the sea came often to my eldfather and told him of these things, hwic in wend he told to my father, and my father told to me in the long harfest efenings hwen the wind huled eerily from the East. And I haf read more of these things, and of many things besides, in the books men gafe me hwen I was yung and filled with wunder.

But more wunderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is the hidden lore of sea. Hewn, green, grey, hwite, or black; smooth, ruffled, or hihlandisc; that sea is not calm. All my days haf I waced it and listened to it, and I know it well. At first it told to me only the bare littel tales of calm beeces and near hafens, but with the years it grew more frendly and spoke of other things; of things more utelandisc and more far-away in room and in time. Sumtimes at twiligt the grey mists of the utelook haf sundered to gife me glimpses of the ways beyond; and sumtimes at nigt the deep waters of the sea haf grown sceer and glowing, to gife me glimpses of the ways beneath. And these glimpses haf been as often of the ways that were and the ways that migt be, as of the ways that be; for sea is more fern than the barrows, and laden with the mins and the swefens of Time.

Ute of the Suth it was that the Hwite Scip would cum hwen the moon was full and hige in the hefens. Ute of the Suth it would glide so smoothly and hwistly ofer the sea. And hwether the sea was ruh or calm, and hwether the wind was frendly or unwilling, it would always glide smoothly and hwistly, its sails far-off and its long weerd layers of rudders scifting stedily. One nigt I glimpsed upon the topside a man, bearded and scruded, and he looked to beckon me to leafe for fair unknown scores. Many times afterward I saw him under the full moon, and efer did he beckon me.

Swithe brigtly did the moon scine on the nigt I answered the clepe, and I walked ute ofer the waters to the Hwite Scip on a bricg of moonbeams. The man hwo had beckoned now spoke a welcum to me in a soft tung I looked to know well, and the stunds were filled with soft songs of the ruddersmen as we glided away into a riddling Suth, golden with the glow of that full, mellow moon.

And hwen the day dawned, rosy and dasling, I beheld the green score of far lands, brigt and sceen, and to me unknown. Up from the sea rose lordly scelfes of greenness, tree-studded, and scewing here and there the gleeming hwite roofs and beams of utelandisc circes. As we drew nearer the green score the bearded man told me of that land, the Land of Zar, hwere abide all the swefens and thougts of sceenness that cum to men ons and then be forgotten. And hwen I looked upon the scelfes eft I saw that hwat he said was trew, for among the sigts before me were many things I had ons seen thruh the mists beyond the utelook and in the glowing depths of sea. There too were scapes and swefens more wunderful than any I had efer known; the swefens of yung scops hwo cwole in wiscfulness before the world could lern of hwat hy had seen and swefened. But we did not set foot upon the sloping meadows of Zar, for it is told that hy hwo treads hem may nefermore eftcum to here homely score.

As the Hwite Scip sailed hwistly away from the hallowed scelfes of Zar, we beheld on the far utelook ahead the spires of a migty stead; and the bearded man said to me: “Thiss is Thalarion, the Stead of a Thusand Wunders, hwerein abide all those riddels that man has worked worthless to fathom.” And I looked eft, at nearer breadth, and saw that the stead was greater than any stead I had known or swefened of before. Into the heafens the spires of its circes reaced, so that no man migt behold here tops; and far back beyond the utelook streced the grim, grey walls, ofer hwic one migt glimps only a few roofs, weerd and foreboding, yet donned with ric frills and spaning carfings. I yearned migtily to go into thiss spellbinding yet withstanding stead, and besougt the bearded man to land me at the stone hwarf by the great carfen gate Akariel; but he softly withsaid my wisc, saying: “Into Thalarion, the Stead of a Thusand Wunders, many haf gone but none came back. Therein walk only defils and mad things that be no longer men, and the streets be hwite with the unberried bones of those hwo haf looked upon the wraith Lathi, that leads ofer the stead.” So the Hwite Scip sailed on by the walls of Thalarion, and followed for many days a suthward-flying bird, hwos glistening feathers maced the heafens ute of hwic it had arisen.

Then came we to a mild seaboard ric with blossoms of efery hew, hwere as far inland as we could see bathed lufly grofes and gleeming wineframes beneath a midday sun. From bowers beyond our sigt came bursts of song and snaces of wordly frith, bestrewn with soft laffter so heafenly that I besawt the rowers onward in my keenness to reace the setting. And the bearded man spoke no word, but waced me as we came near the lily-lined score. Scortly, a wind blowing from ofer the blossomed meadows and leafy woods brougt a smell at hwic I scook. The wind grew stronger, and the lift was filled with the deadly, lichuse stenc of sickness-stricken tunes and open grafeyards. And as we sailed madly away from that loathesum score the bearded man spoke at last, saying: “Thiss is Xura, The Land of Lusts Unfulfilled.”

So ons more the Hwite Scip followed the bird of heafen, ofer warm blessed seas fanned by fondling, sweet breeses. Day after day and nigt after nigt did we sail, and hwen the moon was full we would listen to soft songs of the ruddersmen, sweet as on that far nigt hwen we sailed away from my far homeland. And it was by moonligt that we moored at last in the harber of Sona-Nyl, hwic is warded by twin headlands of hurst that rise from the sea and meet in a scining bow. Thiss is the Land of Frills, and we walked to the green score upon a golden bricg of moonbeams.

In the Land of Sona-Nyl there is neither time nor room, neither suffering nor death; and there I abode for many elds. Green be the grofes and feelds, brigt and sweet-smelling the blossoms, hewn and gleefull the streams, sceer and cool the springs, and athel and lufly the circes, strongholds, and steads of Sona-Nyl. Of that land there is no bund, for beyond eac site of sceenness rises another more sceen. Ofer the upland and amidst the wonder of steads rofe at will the blithe folk, of hwom all be yifted with unmarred lufliness and wemless blissfulness. For the elds that I abode there I wandered blissfully threw grofes hwere hwimsiful scrines peep from handsum crudes of scrubs, and hwere the hwigt walks be hemmed with soft blossoms. I climbed mild hills from hwos tops I could see spellbinding oferlooks of lufliness, with steepled tunes nestling in blooming dales, and with the golden caps of hwopping steads glittering on the endlessly far utelook. And I saw by moonligt the sparkling sea, the hurst headlands, and the still harber hwerein lay moored the Hwite Scip.

It was upon the full moon one nigt in the unending year of Tharp that I saw utelined the beckoning scape of the heafenly bird, and felt the first stirrings of unrest. Then I spoke with the bearded man, and told him of my new yearnings to leafe for faraway Cathuria, hwic no man hath seen, but hwic all beleefe to lie beyond the basalt beams of the West. It is the Land of Hope, and in it scine the hwolesum beleeffs of all that we know elshwere; or at least so men say. But the bearded man said to me: “Beware of those thretening seas hwerein men say Cathuria lies. In Sona-Nyl there is no scathe nor deth, but hwo can tell hwat lies beyond the basalt beams of the West?” Natheless at the next full moon I boarded the Hwite Scip, and with the wary bearded man left the blithe harber for unfared seas.

And the bird of heafen flew before, and led us toward the basalt beams of the West, but thiss time the ruddersmen sang no soft songs under the full moon. In my mind I would often see the unknown Land of Cathuria with its wonderful grofes and halls, and would wonder hwat new mirths there foresaw me. “Cathuria,” I would say to myself, “is the abode of gods and the land of unrimed steads of gold. Its woods be of aloe and sandalwood, efen as the sweet smelling grofes of Camorin, and among the trees flutter sceen birds sweet with song. On the green and blossomed barrows of Cathuria stand circes of rosy marmstone, ric with carfen and drawn wolders, and hafing in here yards cool springs of silfer, hwere purl with dasling song the sweet smelling waters that come from the scraff-born stream Narg. And the steads of Cathuria be hemmed with golden walls, and here floorings also be of gold. In the grofes of these steads be weerd ballockworts, and sweet smelling mere hwos beds be of coral and elksand. At nigt the streets and the groves be lit with brigt ligtfats scaped from the three-hewed scell of the scellpad, and here scill the soft ringing of the singer and the harper. And the huses of the steads of Cathuria be all great halls, eac bilt ofer a sweet smelling waterway bearing the waters of the holy Narg. Of marmstone and porfyry be the huses, and roofed with glittering gold that throws back the beams of the sun and strengthens the wonder of the steads as blissful gods see hem from the far-flung caps. Fairest of all is the hall of the great king Dorieb, hwom sum say to be a halfgod and others a god. Hige is the hall of Dorieb, and many be the spires of marmstone upon its walls. In its wide halls many manifolds gather, and here hang the keepsakes of the elds. And the roof is of clean gold, set upon tall beams of red and hewn, and hafing suc carfen licenesses of gods and heleths that hy hwo looks up to those higts strikes to look upon the lifing Olympus. And the floor of the hall is of glass, under hwic flow the cunningly lited waters of the Narg, ric with scowy fisc not known beyond the bunds of lufly Cathuria.”

Thus would I speak to myself of Cathuria, but efer would the bearded man warn me to wend back to the blithe scores of Sona-Nyl; for Sona-Nyl is known of men, hwile none hath efer beheld Cathuria.

And on the thirty-first day that we followed the bird, we beheld the basalt beams of the West. Scruded in mist hy were, so that no man migt look beyond hem or see here caps — hwic indeed sum say reac efen to the hefens. And the bearded man onss more bade me to wend back, but I heeded him not; for from the mists beyond the basalt beams I liced there came the ringing of singer and harper; sweeter than the sweetest songs of Sona-Nyl, and singing mine own worths; the worths of me, hwo had fared far under the full moon and abode in the Land of Frills.

So to the lude of song the Hwite Scip sailed into the mist betwixt the basalt beams of the West. And hwen the glee ended and the mist hove, we beheld not the Land of Cathuria, but a swift-flowing withstandless sea, ofer hwic ure helpless scip was borne toward sum unknown goal. Soon to ure ears came the far thunder of falling waters, and to ure eyes arose on the far utelook ahed the titanisc spray of a great waterfall, hwerein the seas of the world drop dune to unending nothingness. Then did the bearded man say to me with tears on his ceeck: “We haf forsaken the fair Land of Sona-Nyl, hwic we may nefer behold eft. The gods be greater than men, and hy haf ofercum.” And I scut my eyes before the crasc that I knew would cum, scutting ute the site of the heafenly bird hwic flapped its unkind woaden wings ofer the ecg of the falls.

Ute of that crasc came darkness, and I heard the huling of men and of things hwic were not men. From the East stormy winds arose, and cilled me as I stooped on the cut of sodden stone hwic had risen beneath my feet. Then as I herd another crasc I opened my eyes and beheld myself upon the scelf of that ligthuse from hwenss I had sailed so many elds ago. In the darkness beneath there loomed the great blurred utelines of a craft breaking up on the efil stones, and as I looked ute ofer the wrack I saw that the ligt had trucked for the first time sinss my eldfather had undernumb its care.

And in the later waces of the nigt, hwen I went within the tuer, I saw on the wall a rimebook hwic still held as hwen I had left it at the stund I sailed away. With the dawn I went down the tuer and looked for wrack upon the stones, but hwat I fund was only thiss: a weerd dead bird hwos hew was as of the hewn heafens, and a lone scattered spear, of a hwiteness greater than that of the wafe-tips or of the barrow snow.

And thereafter the sea told me its riddels no more; and thoug many times sinss has the moon scon full and hie in the heafens, the Hwite Scip from the Suth came nefer eft.

Wordwork Spelling

Í am Basil Elton, céper of þe Norþ Hed lít þat mí faþer and eldfaþer cept béfoar mé. Far from þe schoar stands þe grey líthúss, abuf suncen slímy stóns þat sén hwen þe tíd is neþer, but unsén hwen þe tíd is hí. þat bécen for a yérhundred haf swept þe stuning toal schips of þe sefen sés. In þe deys of mí eldfaþer þer wer meny; in þe deys of mí faþer not só meny; and nú þer só few þat í sumtíms fél wérdly alón, as þó í wer þe last man on úr tungel.

From far schoars cám þós hwít-sáld crafts of old; from far Éstern schoars hwer warm suns schín and swét smels linger abút útlandisch grófes and schíning chirches. Þe old schiplords of þe sé cám often too mí eldfaþer and told him of þés þings, hwich in wend hé told too mí faþer, and mí faþer told too mé in þe long harfest éfnings hwen þe wind húld érily from þe Ést. And í haf red moar of þés þings, and of meny þings bésíds, in þe boocs men gafe me hwen í was yung and filld wiþþ wunder.

But moar wunderful þan þe loar of old men and þe loar of boocs is þe hiden loar of . Hewn, grén, grey, hwít, or blac; smooþ, ruffeld, or hílandisch; þat is not calm. Oal mí deys haf í wachd it and listend to it, and í cnow it well. At first it told too mé ónly þe bear litel táls of calm béchs and nér háfens, but wiþþ þe yérs it grew moar frendly and spóc of oþer þings; of þings moar útlandisch and moar far-awey in room and in tím. Sumtíms at twílít þe grey mists of þe útlooc haf sunderd too yif mé glimpses of þe weys béyond; and sumtíms at nít þe deep waters of þe sé haf grown schér and glowing, too yif mé glimpses of þe weys bénéþþ. And þese glimpses haf bén as often of þe weys þat wer and þe weys þat mít bé, as of þe weys þat ; for is moar fern þan þe barows, and láden wiþþ þe mins and þe swéfens of Tím.

Út of þe Súþ it was þat þe Hwít Schip wood cum hwen þe moon was full and hí in þe hefens. Út of þe Súþ it wood glíd smooþly and hwistly ofer þe sé. And hweþer þe sé was ruff or calm, and hweþer þe wind was frendly or unwilling, it wood alweys glíd smooþly and hwistly, its sáls far-off and its long wérd leyers of ruders schifting stedily. Wun nít í glimpsd upon þe topsíd a man, bérded and schrúded, and hé loocd too becen mé too léf for fear uncnown schoars. Meny tíms afterward í saw him under þe full moon, and efer did hé becen mé.

Swíþ brítly did þe moon schín on þe nít í answerd þe clép, and í walcd út ofer þe waters to þe Hwít Schip on a bricg of moonbéms. Þe man hwoo had becend nú spóc a welcum too mé in a soft tung í loocd to cnow well, and þe stúnds wer filld wiþþ soft songs of þe rudersmen as we glíded awey intoo a rideling Súþ, golden wiþþ þe glow of þat full, melow moon.

And hwen þe dey dawned, rósy and dasling, í béheld þe grén schoar of far lands, brít and schén, and to mé uncnown. Up from þe sé rós lordly schelfs of grénness, tré-studed, and schewing hér and þer þe gléming hwít rooffs and béms of útlandisch chirchs. As wé drew nérer þe grén schoar þe bérded man told mé of þat land, þe Land of Zar, hwer ebíd oal þe swéfens and þawts of schénness þat cum to men wunss and þen forgoten. And hwen í loocd upon þe schelfs eft í saw þat hwat hé seyd was trew, for amung þe síts béfoar mé wer meny þings í had wunss sén þrew þe mists béyond þe útlooc and in þe glowing depþs of . Þer too wer scháps and swéfens moar wunderful þan eny í had efer cnown; þe swéfens of yung schops hwoo cwól in wischfulness béfoar þe world cood lern of hwat had sén and swéfend. But wé did not set foot upon þe slóping medows of Zar, for it is told þat hwoo treds hem mey nefermoar eftcum to hér hómlig schoar.

As þe Hwít Schip sáld hwistly awey from þe hallowd schelfes of Zar, wé béheld on þe far útlooc ahed þe spírs of a míty sted; and þe bérded man seyd too mé: “Þiss is Þalarion, þe Sted of a Þúsand Wunders, hwerin ebíd oal þós ridels þat man has worcd worþless to faþom.” And í loocd eft, at nérer bredþ, and saw þat þe sted was gráter þan eny sted í had cnown or swéfend of béfoar. Intoo þe hefens þe spírs of its chirchs réchd, só þat nó man mít béhold hér tops; and far bac béyond þe útlooc strechd þe grim, grey woals, ofer hwich wun mít glimps only a few rooffs, weerd and foarbóding, yet dond wiþþ rich frills and spáning carfings. Í yernd mítyly too gó intoo þiss spellbínding yet wiþþstanding sted, and bésawt þe bérded man too land mé at þe stón hwarff bí þe grát carfen yát Akariel; but hé softly wiþþseyd mí wisch, seying: “Intoo Þalarion, þe Sted of a Þúsand Wunders, meny haf gon but nun cám bac. Þerin walc only defils and mad þings þat no longer men, and þe streets hwít wiþþ þe unberyd bóns of þós hwoo haf loocd upon þe wráþ Laþi, þat léds ofer þe sted.” Sé þe Hwít Schip sáld on þe woals of Þalarion, and folowd for meny deys a súþward-flíing bird, hwoos glistening feþers machd þe hefens út of hwich it had arisen.

Þen cám wé too a míld séboard rich wiþþ blosoms of efery hew, hwer as far inland as wé cood sé báþd lufly grófs and gléming wínfráms bénéþþ a middey sun. From búrs béyeond úr sít cám bersts of song and snachs of wordly friþþ, béstrewn wiþþ soft lafter só hefenly þat í bésawt þe rowers onward in mí cénness to réch þe seting. And þe bérded man spóc nó word, but wachd mé as wé cám nér þe lily-línd schoar. Schortly, a wind blowing from ófer þe blosomd medows and léffy woods brawt a smell at hwich í schooc. Þe wind grew stronger, and þe lift was filld wiþþ þe dedly, lichhúss stench of sicness-stricen túns and ópen gráfeyards. And as wé sáld madly awey from þat lóþsum schoar þe bérded man spóc at last, seying: “Þiss is Xura, Þe Land of Lusts Unfulfilld.”

Só wunss moar þe Hwít Schip folowd þe bird of hefen, ofer warm blessd sés fand bí fondling, swét bréses. Dey after dey and nít after nít did wé sál, and hwen þe moon was full we wood listen too soft songs of þe rudersmen, swét as on þat far nít hwen wé sáld awey from mí far hómland. And it was bí moonlít þat wé moard at last in þe harber of Sona-Nyl, hwich is warded bí twin hedlands of hirst þat rís from þe sé and mét in a schíning bow. Þiss is þe Land of Frills, and we walcd to þe grén schoar upon a golden bricg of moonbéms.

In þe Land of Sona-Nyl þer is néþer tím nor room, néþer suffering nor deþ; and þer í ebód for meny elds. Grén þe grófs and félds, brít and swét-smelling þe blosoms, hewn and gléful þe stréms, schér and cool þe springs, and aþel and luflig þe chirches, strongholds, and steds of Sona-Nyl. Of þat land þer is no búnd, for béyeond éch sít of schénness ríses anoþer moar schén. Ofer þe upland and amidst þe wunder of steds róf at will þe blíþ folc, of hwoom oal yiftd wiþþ unmard luflyness and wemless blissfulness. For þe elds þat í ebód þer í wanderd blissfully þrew grófs hwer hwimsyful schrínes pép from handsum crúdes of schrubs, and hwer þe hwít walcs hemd wiþþ soft blosoms. Í clímbd míld hills from hwoos tops í cood sé spellbínding oferloocs of luflyness, wiþþ stépld túnes nesteling in blooming dáls, and wiþþ þe golden caps of hwoping steds glitering on þe endlessly far útlooc. And í saw bí moonlít þe sparcling sé, þe hirst hedlands, and þe still harber hwerin ley moard þe Hwít Schip.

It was upon þe full moon wun nít in þe unending yér of Þarp þat í saw útlínd þe becening scháp of þe hefenly bird, and felt þe first stirrings of unrest. Þen í spóc wiþþ þe bérded man, and told him of mí new yernings too léf for farawey Caþuria, hwich nó man haþ sén, but hwich oal béléf too lí béyond þe basalt béms of þe West. It is þe Land of Hóp, and in it schín þe hwólsum béléffs of oal þat wé cnow elshwer; or at lést só men sey. But þe bérded man seyd too mé: “Béwear of þós þretening sés hwerin men sey Caþuria lís. In Sona-Nyl þer is nó scáþ nor deþþ, but hwoo can tell hwat lís béyond þe basalt béms of þe West?” Náþeless at þe next full moon í boarded þe Hwít Schip, and wiþþ þe weary bérded man left þe blíþ harber for unfeard sés.

And þe bird of hefen flew béfoar, and led us tooward þe basalt béms of þe West, but þiss tíme þe rudersmen sang nó soft songs under þe full moon. In mí mínd í wood often þe uncnown Land of Caþuria wiþþ its wunderful grófs and hoals, and wood wunder hwat new mirþþs þer foarsaw mé. “Caþuria,” í wood sey too míself, “is þe ebód of gods and þe land of unrímd steds of gold. Its woods of aló and sandalwood, efen as þe swét smelling grófs of Camorin, and amung þe trés fluter schén birds swét wiþþ song. On þe grén and blosomd barows of Caþuria stand chirchs of rósy marmstón, rich wiþþ carfen and drawn wolders, and hafing in hér yards cool springs of silfer, hwer purl wiþþ dasling song þe swét smelling waters þat cum from þe schraff-born strém Narg. And þe steds of Caþuria hemd wiþþ golden woals, and hér floarings alsó of gold. In þe grófs of þés steds wérd boalockworts, and swét smelling mérs hwos beds of coral and elcsand. At nít þe stréts and þe grofs lit wiþþ brít lítfats schápd from þe þré-hewd schell of þe schellpad, and hér schill þe soft ringing of þe singer and þe harper. And þe hússes of þe steds of Caþuria oal grát hoals, éch bilt ofer a swét smelling waterwey bearing þe waters of þe hóly Narg. Of marmstón and porfiry þe hússes, and rooffd wiþþ glitering gold þat þrows back þe béms of þe sun and strengþens þe wunder of þe steds as blissful gods hem from þe far-flung caps. Fearest of oal is þe hoal of þe grát cing Dorieb, hwoom sum sey too bé a halfgod and oþers a god. Hí is þe hoal of Dorieb, and meny þe spírs of marmstón upon its woals. In its wíd hoals meny menyfolds gaþer, and hér hang þe képsács of þe elds. And þe roof is of clén gold, set upon toal béms of red and hewn, and hafing such carfen lichnesses of gods and heleþs þat hwoo loocs up too þós híts strícs to looc upon þe lifing Olympus. And þe floar of þe hoal is of glass, under hwich flow þe cuningly lítd waters of þe Narg, rich wiþþ schowy fisch not cnown béyond þe búnds of lufly Caþuria.”

Þuss wood í spék too míself of Caþuria, but efer wood þé bérded man warn mé too wend bac too þe blíþ schoars of Sona-Nyl; for Sona-Nyl is cnown of men, hwíl nun haþ efer béheld Caþuria.

And on þe þirty-first dey þat wé folowd þe bird, wé béheld þe basalt béms of þe West. Schrúded in mist wer, só þat no man mít looc béyond hem or sé hér caps — hwich indéd sum sey réch éfen too þe hefens. And þe bérded man wuns moar bád mé too wend bac, but í héded him not; for from þe mists béyond þe basalt béms í lichd þer came þe ringing of singer and harper; swéter þan þe swétest songs of Sona-Nyl, and singing mín own worþs; þe worþs of mé, hwoo had feard far under þe full moon and ebód in þe Land of Frills.

So too þe lúd of song þe Hwít Schip sáld intoo þe mist bétwixt þe basalt béms of þe West. And hwen þe glé ended and þe mist hóf, wé béheld not þe Land of Caþuria, but a swift-flowing wiþþstandless sé, ófer hwich úr helpless schip was born tooward sum uncnown gól. Soon too úr érs cám þe far þunder of foaling waters, and to úr ís arós on þe far útlooc ahed þe titanisch sprey of a grát waterfoal, hwerin þe sés of þe world drop dún too unending nóþingness. Þen did þe bérded man sey too mé wiþþ térs on his cheec: “Wé haf foarsácen þe fear Land of Sona-Nyl, hwich wé mey nefer béhold eft. Þe gods gráter þan men, and hy haf ofercum.” And í schut mí ís béfoar þe crasch þat í cnew wood cum, schutting út þe sít of þe hefenly bird hwich flapd its unkínd wóden wings ofer þe ecg of þe foals.

Út of þat crasch cám darcness, and í herd þe húling of men and of þings hwich wer not men. From þe Ést stormy winds arós, and chilld mé as í stoopd on þe cut of soden stón hwich had risen béneeþþ mí fét. Þen as í herd anoþer crasch í opend mí ís and béheld míself upon þe schelff of þat lítehúss from hwenss í had sáld só meny elds agó. In þe darcness bénéþþ þer loomd þe grát blurd útlíns of a craft bráking up on þe efil stóns, and as í loocd út ofer þe wrac í saw þat þe lít had trucd for þe first tím sinss mí eldfaþer had undernumb its cear.

And in þe láter wachs of þe nít, hwen í went wiþþin þe túer, í saw on þe woal a rimebook hwic still held as hwen í had left it at þe stúnd í sáld away. Wiþþ þe dawn í went down þe tower and loocd for wrack upon þe stóns, but hwat í fúnd was only þiss: a wérd ded bird hwoos hew was as of þe hewn hefens, and a lón schatterd spér, of a hwítness gráter þan þat of þe wáf-tips or of þe barow snow.

And þerafter þe told mé its ridels nó moar; and þow meny tíms sinss has þe moon schon full and hí in þe hefens, þe Hwít Schip from þe Súþ cám nefer eft.


Wordwork Unthawed Anglish Spelling

Ai am Basil Elton, ceeper of þe Norþ Hed lait þat mai faþer and eldfaþer cept beefoar mee. Far from þe schoar stands þe grei laithawss, abuf suncen slaimy stowns þat bee seen hwen þe taid is neþer, but unseen hwen þe taid is hai. Bai þat beecen for a yeerhundred haf swept þe stuning toal schips of þe sefen sees. In þe deis of mai eldfaþer þer wer meni; in þe deis of mai faþer not sow meni; and naw þer bee sow few þat ai sumtaims feel weerdli alown, as þow ai wer þe last man on awr tungel.