"Three times Randolph Carter
dreamed of the marvelous city, and three times was he snatched
away while still he paused on the high terrace above it. All
golden and lovely it blazed in the sunset, with walls, temples,
colannades and arched bridges of veined marble, silver-basined
fountains of prismatic spray in broad squares and perfumed gardens,
and wide streets marching between delicate trees and blossom-laden
urns and ivory statues in gleaming rows; while on steep northward
slopes climbed tiers of red roofs and old peaked gables harbouring
little lanes of grassy cobbles. It was a fever of the gods, a
fanfare of supernal trumpets and a clash of immortal cymbals.
Mystery hung about it as clouds about a fabulous unvisited mountain;
and as Carter stood breathless and expectant on that balustraded
parapet there swept up to him the poignancy and suspense of almost-vanished
memory, the pain of lost things and the maddening need to place
again what once had been an awesome and momentous place."
Continue to the
Cavern of Flames.