A SENTINEL YONDER HILLS-PART 4

,who shall come down to hade to redeem me? The windy sail or kismet? None;for Naturewit thrust no man with apotheosis,Then there's a thraldom,minacious heels,pounding my he-man and treading at one's heels,shall i dreamyard holocaust fret by my sangfroid girth of heighhos? far be it,Shall i not be wright so sturdy,with sublime graffiti,to wriggle froth free this pugnacious furnace,to whose featherbrained dunces,no fiddlesticks poached,to strangle a clairvoyant orgy,and then die dreamyard intestate ere my sentinel lays?Or shall i live,is it not for barndoor hit?That sempiternal sanguinary bank of insolent hell,marshed with horror of oblivious memoirs of deplorable and departed souls,the sheol of no return,wherein all men onward bound,to which my mysticism placates,where eternities tis eternities,decrepit bones and quiscent bones lay,when quietened by quietus,at queer earth's querrulous loins and such cremated cannot be doused,this whole shebang greedily horrifies deep breath,where bloody dickens,salve yonder