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Alexander Theroux - Over The Hills And Far Away Lyrics

Over the Hills and Far Away Lyrics Let there be pie.
Why else a sky?
—D. J. ENRIGHT

IT WAS STRAIGHT OUT, all highway, a perfect shaft toward the sunpolished horizon. Whistling along at a good clip, Darconville listened to the clattering rattles and backfiring of the van, a music uplifting him as mile after mile fell away in a momentum that seemed to gather up once more the impetus of his life. Already he felt Isabel’s absence and dearly wished her there with him if for no other rеason than to toss her cares to the rushing wind and lеave them all behind. Where will we go? He knew. It would be his gift to her, for with the ecstasy of knowing they’d never outrun the mystery and majesty of that question, he also knew the answer lay hidden in the most varied, the most wondrous, the most divine harmonies possible, for no journey, he thought, is so delightful as that which leads no one knows whither nor whither why—and what journey ever ends when, waiting at the other end, one waits for love?

Where would they go!

Darconville, with the wind abaft his beam and the needle into red, flew across the Virginia border and was sailing free! The melodious racket of his conveyance somehow echoed the melodious racket in his head—everywhere, the Rising of the North! To live, to work, to love was the same thing! His heart exploded in joy and he cried out to Isabel! Come away and marry me under a skyblue tent in Coromandel, dance a week and a day with the boggarts and bogles, and we’ll away on a moonbeam to the Isles of the Blest where winter all in flower humbles the spring! Where would you like to go? To see the white jaguars of Mustaghata?The petrified village in the Cyrenaica?The buried cities of Turkestan?The spectres glimmering on the Horselberg? Or the Mongolian land of Bielovodye where there is peace and plenty and never a soul has been? Or would you live a strange remote life in the gold-encrusted valleys of Ophir, the spice-land of Punt, the pepper forests of Malabar, the City of Mansa, or Cambalu, where in the treetops funny-faced ghosts sit twittering all the night? Come, hurry away with me to Quippishland, Mt. Yoop, and the secret City of Blinking! To Goshen, the far Moluccas, and Aspramont! To the porcelain abodes of Almansor, the Vale of Rephaim, the Land of Juba, Bean Island, and the Cataracts of Downcrash! Let us visit the weird towers of Klingsor, the excavations of Transoxania, and the deserted city of Fatephur Sikri! Drop what you’re doing and travel with me to Holy Mulberry, the Eden of Granusion, and climb to the top of Inchcape Rock where the abbot of Aberbrothock once fixed a bell or visit the Magdeburg Spheres where the pressure without makes a vacuum within and no one ever can tell!

Darconville bowled out of the Baltimore Harbor Tunnel just past noon and soon raised Wilmington.

Come, we’ll visit the sparkling Electrides and the Bitch’s Tomb at Capo Helles, the Cathedral of Quimper, the rubbish-mounds of Krokodopolis, and the magic goldfields of Nimis Sollicitaris! We’ll wrestle an angel in Penuel, chase hippocentaurs to the ends of Pluvalia, burrow into the vole holes of Mt. Radio, and sail into the strange Cirknickzersky Lake in Carniola whose waters gush so fast out of the ground its speed can overtake light! Or would you prefer to visit Mohenjo-Daro in Sind and Harappa in the Punjab, ride into the mists of Pellucidar, or follow the nomadic Hurrians into the sandcones of Mesopotamia? Done! Done! Or shall it be the Nonestic Ocean? The twin cities of Hieraconopolis? Or Castle Graveolent? The caves of Aber Cleddyf? The Court of the Boy King, the windswept plateau of Leng, or the rose-red lands of Araby, almost as old as time? Come, heart of my heart, take my hand, and we’ll trip through the firestorms of Mount Chimaera, the sandstorms of Yazd, the lost colony of Aphrodisium, Hither Spain, the promontory of the Cimbri, and into the haunts of coot and hern to watch old Mrs. Hickabout kick bold Mrs. Kickabout cold through the thickabout!

He left route 95, rumbled over the Delaware Memorial Bridge, and swung onto the New Jersey turnpike.

Cry ahoy! Open scuttles! Our rendezvous are appointed! We’ll journey to Smyrna, Cyme, the Land of Fount, the Sepulchres of Zenu, and the foggy forests of Ermenonville! We’ll go hand in hand to Quadling Country, the Oracle of Trophonius, the River of January, the Shapeless Magma of Nun, and then to the Dark Mere of Locmariaquer which vouches antiquities no body can know! And then to the State of Swat! Walvis Bay! The Land of Dictionopolis! The black pagodas of Kanarak! Come, we’ll disappear in the Hills of the Rubber Pig, the hidden islands of Tarquinium, Fairytown, and the pit called Because! We’ll look at the crocodiles of Arabastrae, the white elves of Alfheim, the detestable Ore of Ebuda, the guebers of the Kerman Desert, and the Glumms of Nosmnbdsgrsutt who use their wings for both flying and for clothes! We’ll go to Great Blasket, Nantasket, and the Valley of Casket, run through the Polyglot Garden, stroll about Sumatra under the manchineel trees, and listen to the clashing of holy kettles at Jupiter’s brazen oracle at Dodona!

During the long stretch of highway Spellvexit complained of the heat, and, after setting him on a box to ride shotgun by the window, Darconville put his foot to the floor passing Bordentown and was out front and flying.

The earth does not withhold! Delve! Mold! Listen to the words of the world! Come, come, return with me in time to the Kingdom of Rimsin, Quatna, the bejeweled land of Palaikastro, the shaft-graves of Argolid, the underwater remains of Nora, the Panionion of Mt. Mycale, the bazaar of Dioscurias, the medieval thorp of Joiry, the Department of Tarragon, and the Isle of Apedefts! We’ll row over Atlantis in triremes, splash into the Gulf of Dews, drop wishing pennies into the sacred Zem-Zem, and watch the palms wave in Hispaniola and the bird-headed Zwings of the African deserts who make geometry of sunshine and peck words in the air with their beaks! We’ll dance little rigadoons with the water-sorcerers of Vitziputzli, play bowls with the gnomes of Lint, march off to Dipsody, and chase flashes of light all the way from the seven-fold Nile to far Taprobany! Come, let’s pitch our tents in Sechem, in the emerald meadows of Thuringia, at the reaches of Scrabster, on the Island of Usedom, above the high plateaux of Cundinamarca and Mount Two Breasts and the sky-ypointing rocks of mystical Wak-Wak which are transfigured by dawn into huge gem-bright amethysts! Run along with me to the land of Whimzies and Phantasms, the Points of Chance, the Closed City of Thera, ancient Regulbium and Rutupiae, Xuntain, Zawi Chemi Shanidar, and the duckmarshes of weird little Quailalia where trees bear fruit in the form of tiny geese who drop full-grown from the branches and proceed to waddle away!

Darconville wheeled into New York City, following the rays of the late afternoon sun.

Penetrate us, minstrelsy! Unfold our hands! Let us sojourn together in Mesach and dwell a spell in the tents of Kedar or on the man-made mountains of Cholula and ride submersibles down to the sunken harbors of Caesarea, Apollonia, Chersonesos! Come, we’ll fly through muspel-light to the planet Tormance and somersault over the stars into the Bay of Rainbows, then paddle in a silly fat all the way to the Mare Frigoris, out to the Oceanus Procellarum and squeak tiny horns, and dunk in a puddle the Man-in-the-Moon who carries a bundle of thorns! Let’s take the secret highway to Mezzoramia, pay our chiminage and visit the Eatalls in Ethiopia, the noseless tribes of Aetheria, the magic sheat-fish of Baggade and the pea-headed people of Particuous, and then trace the high coasts along the lands of the Strapfoots who have feet like leather thongs and the Blackcloaks that do live in the curves of the Caucasus! Courage, now, and we’ll strike a match and peek at the poison hayfields of Crustimium, the Green Sea of Gloom, the toxic trees of Macassar, the bone-strewn cemeteries of Megatherium, the piggeries of Sljeme, dogless Sygaros, the dank-venom-dripping hall of Nastrand, the smoke-holes of Sittacene, and Jotunheim, the abode of giants, then tiptoe round the tower of the deceitful Witch of Sokótska Dama, avoid the naked night-traveling troglodytes of Moppinland who put away their dead amid laughter, tightropewalk the circular precipice that encloses Malebolge, and then pondering that put a hole in our hat and take a trip through our mind on a hunchback’s back or a jampot smack or a walloping window-blind!

Night fell as Darconville crossed the Bronx and speeding into the New England Thruway he thought: O rising stars! O Isabel! Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with some of you!

Unravel the maps! Raise your eyes! Point! Where was your finger, on the tropical island of Samburan? The Palace of the Kyabazinga of Busoga? Heliopolis? East Harptree, Thrapston, Much Wenlock? The Seven Cities of Cibola? Wherever! To the endless announcements! Wherever! Come with me to the Bridge of Whangpoo, the Land of Shinar, the Valley of Jehosaphat, the Isle of Robbers, the vast chaotic gulf of perpetual twilight at Ginungagap, the wilds of Barbagia, Weenieville, or Quintana Roo or Jamberoo or Timbuctoo or Waterloo or Fernando Poo! Let’s poke into the jungles of the Ptoemphani who have a dog for a king, stare upon the headless Blemmyae, race the ostriches of Numidia, sample the delicious hotcakes of Naraka, sing riddles to each other in the Lantern language spoken only in the Isles of Nowhere, skip along to the Promontory of Figs and converse with the twenty philosophical recluses of Ulubrae, eat the fossil meats of Diplodocus, and sit in the briarpatch at teatime in West Barnstable with Old Mother West Wind and the Merry Little Breezes! Come, we’ll watch the doltheads playing at skittles on the top of the Land of Magog, the dragons on the plains of Lop, the white sheep of Cephisus, and the alligators of distant Thorax who have pouches for eyes and snap their jaws when they sing! Will you come to visit the Gillygaloo who lays square eggs? Or question the Eternal Man who reclines on the Couches of Beulah? Tickle under their chins microscopical djinns or tease geloscopical dwales who live in The Tree That Can Never Be and fish for chocolate whales?

The lights of Bridgeport and New Haven flashed by, the sea air freshening Darconville but putting Spellvexit to sleep. Don’t sleep, cat, he thought—live with me to love!

Welcome, space! Speed, time! Our fancies scheme for aspiration! Would you live with me in the Grotto of Sybils, Aleppo, Bantam, Laguna de los Xarayes, the darklands of Cabul or the blade of Laurasia or the Thousand Isles of Spicery? What matter where? Wish but with a wink and enter the wheels of the Mundane Egg, ride in a dirigible over Rippleland, pass through the green Cimmerian Forest where things pushed into the ground can never come out again, or enter the Land of Brass, the untamed parts of Tzucox, Mosquitia, the Monastery of Altamura, east Griqualand, Ingatestone, the Kingdom of Stern, the Temple of Dobayba, and then watch pigmies battle the cranes in Upper Egypt, perch on the Siege Perilous at Camelot, visit the Knights Templars of Warpsgrove and the Crutched Friars of Whaplode, swim in Lake Chogagogmanchegegagogchbunagungamaug, listen to stories of the Qarlugs and the Ghuzz and the Fatimids, make love under a Javanese thunderstorm in the ramparts of Bogor, summon carps with a clap in Kyoto, and then hand in hand we’ll kick up the sand and travel to see the woman and man who killed the blue spider in Blanchepowder Land!

Halfway through Connecticut, Darconville pipped on his flashlight and looked at his watch: 10:30 P.M.

Advancing, let us tramp for what, undreamed of, has long awaited us in shapes, horizons, passages! Come, wander with me to the capital of Amaurote, Obulcula, the Continent of Mu, the campestral landscapes of Montfontaine and Loisy, the regal seat of Abdalazis, the horse boxes of Megiddo, the temple of Nisroch at Nineveh, the Island of Chaneph, the sparkling fountains of Mnemosyne, and the Mouse Tower near Bingen where cruel Archbishop Hatto was devoured by mice! We’ll visit the Tartar shamans who can summon snow, the fools of Aegipotami, Queen Zixi of Ix, Og of the Iron Scales, the Great Lew Chew, the suppository traders from the Kingdom of Zuy, and the ornithocratic world of the Madonna of Goldfinches! All of them! The malevolent Octodecemajiences, the black Fungs of Baghdad, the faceless pirates of Strongolo, and the Ninox Owls who wear gaiters and live above the land that loses its shadow! Come, we’ll splash down in Alienville, Concupium, and the sea of Sugar Cane Juice, question the Sick King in Bokhara, gather cat-thyme in Cilicia and attar of roses in Phaselis, take a sail in a ship with Jack Sixpip and Tom Bunyip and Dick Wishlip, then go and see old Pillicock sit on Pillicock Hill and sing “Hallo, Hallo!”

Darconville drove into Massachusetts.

We shall rise forever and drift over quintillions of things and thrust our beautiful faces into dawn after dawn! We’ll go on long mysterious quests to see the magnetic rock on the Klebermeer, the black knulps of Shantung, Mt. Nebo where Moses is buried, the City of Humpbacked Women in India, and the three trees of Hudimesnil! And then to Tyde Castle, Fumeland, the Valley of Cheviot, the underworld Garden of Deduit, the land of Nod, the savannahs of Blodd, and the faraway, faraway extra-faraway all out-glittering stairwells of God! We shall clasp hands and walk the dizzy heights of Wenchwan and Aucanguilca, then cross down the fried roads of Al ‘Aziziyah and Dallol, wrun around in Wroxeter, slide down the falls of the Sabbatic River in the Kingdom of Agrippa that runs only on Saturdays and call upon the Choromandacians who have no speech but only can scream or the one-eyed Arimaspians or the Keakles who teach rabbits their prayers! And on and on to Kurdistan, the lost Lyonesse, the monastery of Disembodenburg, Winkie Country, the wooden palace of the King of Tonga in Nukualofa, Opis, and the Shalimar Gardens, and if the wind is up and the evening clear coast in a blue-sailed shell down the Guadalquivir to hop on the Harpasian Rock a mere finger can twiddle, then stop by Yedo, the Thymbran temple, and hide in the Riphaean mountains right in the middle! And then to Klang and the secret abodes of the blessed in Twat and if you’re not tired I’ll tell you what, we’ll creep out at night with one and all and when the moon is shining and bright trip out to trot and trot to dance and dance a jig at the Jellicle Ball!

It was then into Boston, and Darconville soon caught the lights of Cambridge, reflecting like drops of gold in the river Charles.

Welcome, fate! The future shall be greater than all the past! It shines with prophecies, unborn deeds, liberty and love! Come, finally, with me to the Land of Cinnamon, the olive yards by the river Alpheus, the Isles of Orcades and the promontory of the Cimbri, Aneroid and Gravelburg, the medieval castle of Broglio, the empire of Lugalzaggisi and the masses of Negropont, Maleventum, and Orinoco! Come away with me and wander through the Upper Valley of Greater Zap, eat the ten-pound peaches of Chinaland, climb the spires of the foursquare city of Golgonooza, wave to the gold-guarding griffins in the Deserts of Gobi, pray with the holy apocalypts in the ancient monasteries of St. Neot, Pill, Axholme, Stixwould, Drax, Tip-tree, and Burnham-on-Crouch, then watch the Plow of Jehovah and the Harrow of Shaddai pass over the dead, and then maybe sit on a dune in the month of June by the amber waters of the Syllabub Sea where the tide comes in in an opal mist, splashing in sweetly like the sound of a kiss, and we’ll trip upon trenches and dance upon dishes and see whither the hither of yon, but if without reason you should find me gone, I won’t be buried among the dead—no, go instead and look for me where eternity goes, in another world where the rain makes bows, for there’ll be restored by the hand of art whatever’s lost in the human heart, for something of us will always be, and forever-more I’ll live for you if forevermore you’ll live for me.

It was long past midnight and very dark when, awakening the night-porter at Harvard, Darconville was let into his rooms, and, exhausted, he fell down on his bed and went immediately to sleep.