And oh, it was a fell, fell place,
With dead black trees all round,
And a quag that boiled and writhed and coiled
Where had been solid ground.

For every tree that stood there,
And the green grass every blade,
Shrivelled and died on every side,
Whenever the price was paid.

And in despair they left him there,
And there his body lay,
Till his sad soul came, all black with shame,
And carried it away.

And those denied a sepulture
In that most dismal spot,
Gibbered and flew, a ghastly crew,
Incensed with rage, that grew and grew,
Against Iscariot.

For their souls were all in torment,
While their bodies uncovered lay,
And never a moment's rest was theirs,
Either by night or day.

That was a place of wailings,
And the grisly things of Death,--
The bare black arms of the trees above,