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Title: John Keats Author: Collected Poetry * A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook * eBook No.: 0608481.txt Language: English Date first posted: November 2006 Date most recently updated: November 2006 Project Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created from printed editions which are in the public domain in Australia, unless a copyright notice is included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with a particular paper edition. Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing this file. This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg of Australia License which may be viewed online at http://gutenberg.net.au/licence.html To contact Project Gutenberg of Australia go to http://gutenberg.net.au -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Title: John Keats Author: Collected Poetry Contents: The Eve of St. Agnes Ode to a Nightingale Ode on a Grecian Urn Hyperion THE EVE OF ST. AGNES I. St. Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold: Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Like pious incense from a censer old, Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith. II. His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man; Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees, And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees: The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to freeze, Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails: Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries, He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails. III. Northward he turneth through a little door, And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor; But no--already had his deathbell rung; The joys of all his life were said and sung: His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve: Another way he went, and soon among Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve, And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve. IV. That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft; And so it chanc'd, for many a door was wide, From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft, The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide: The level chambers, ready with their pride, Were glowing to receive a thousand guests: The carved angels, ever eager-eyed, Star'd, where upon their heads the cornice rests, With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts. V. At length burst in the argent revelry, With plume, tiara, and all rich array, Numerous as shadows haunting fairily The brain, new stuff d, in youth, with triumphs gay Of old romance. These let us wish away, And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady there, Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day, On love, and wing'd St. Agnes' saintly care, As she had heard old dames full many times declare. VI. They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve, Young virgins might have visions of delight, And soft adorings from their loves receive Upon the honey'd middle of the night, If ceremonies due they did aright; As, supperless to bed they must retire, And couch supine their beauties, lily white; Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire. VII. Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline: The music, yearning like a God in pain, She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine, Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping train Pass by--she heeded not at all: in vain Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier, And back retir'd; not cool'd by high disdain, But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere: She sigh'd for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the year. VIII. She danc'd along with vague, regardless eyes, Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short: The hallow'd hour was near at hand: she sighs Amid the timbrels, and the throng'd resort Of whisperers in anger, or in sport; 'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn, Hoodwink'd with faery fancy; all amort, Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn, And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn. IX. So, purposing each moment to retire, She linger'd still. Meantime, across the moors, Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire For Madeline. Beside the portal doors, Buttress'd from moonlight, stands he, and implores All saints to give him sight of Madeline, But for one moment in the tedious hours, That he might gaze and worship all unseen; Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss--in sooth such things have been. X. He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell: All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords Will storm his heart, Love's fev'rous citadel: For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes, Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords, Whose very dogs would execrations howl Against his lineage: not one breast affords Him any mercy, in that mansion foul, Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul. XI. Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came, Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand, To where he stood, hid from the torch's flame, Behind a broad hail-pillar, far beyond The sound of merriment and chorus bland: He startled her; but soon she knew his face, And grasp'd his fingers in her palsied hand, Saying, "Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this place; "They are all here to-night, the whole blood-thirsty race! XII. "Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand; "He had a fever late, and in the fit "He cursed thee and thine, both house and land: "Then there 's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit "More tame for his gray hairs--Alas me! flit! "Flit like a ghost away."--"Ah, Gossip dear, "We're safe enough; here in this arm-chair sit, "And tell me how"--"Good Saints! not here, not here; "Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier." XIII. He follow'd through a lowly arched way, Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume; And as she mutter'd "Well-a--well-a-day!" He found him in a little moonlight room, Pale, lattic'd, chill, and silent as a tomb. "Now tell me where is Madeline," said he, "O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom "Which none but secret sisterhood may see, "When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving piously." XIV. "St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes' Eve-- "Yet men will murder upon holy days: "Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve, "And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays, "To venture so: it fills me with amaze "To see thee, Porphyro!--St. Agnes' Eve! "God's help! my lady fair the conjuror plays "This very night: good angels her deceive! "But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle time to grieve." XV. Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon, While Porphyro upon her face doth look, Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone Who keepeth clos'd a wond'rous riddle-book, As spectacled she sits in chimney nook. But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told His lady's purpose; and he scarce could brook Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold, And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. XVI. Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart Made purple riot: then doth he propose A stratagem, that makes the beldame start: "A cruel man and impious thou art: "Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream "Alone with her good angels, far apart "From wicked men like thee. Go, go!--I deem "Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem. XVII. "I will not harm her, by all saints I swear," Quoth Porphyro: "O may I ne'er find grace "When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer, "If one of her soft ringlets I displace, "Or look with ruffian passion in her face: "Good Angela, believe me by these tears; "Or I will, even in a moment's space, "Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears, "And beard them, though they be more fang'd than wolves and bears." XVIII. "Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul? "A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing, "Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll; "Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening, "Were never miss'd."--Thus plaining, doth she bring A gentler speech from burning Porphyro; So woful, and of such deep sorrowing, That Angela gives promise she will do Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe. XIX. Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy, Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide Him in a closet, of such privacy That he might see her beauty unespied, And win perhaps that night a peerless bride, While legion'd fairies pac'd the coverlet, And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed. Never on such a night have lovers met, Since Merlin paid his Demon all the monstrous debt. XX. "It shall be as thou wishest," said the Dame: "All cates and dainties shall be stored there "Quickly on this feast-night: by the tambour frame "Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to spare, "For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare "On such a catering trust my dizzy head. "Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer "The while: Ah! thou must needs the lady wed, "Or may I never leave my grave among the dead." XXI. So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear. The lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd; The dame return'd, and whisper'd in his ear To follow her; with aged eyes aghast From fright of dim espial. Safe at last, Through many a dusky gallery, they gain The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd, and chaste; Where Porphyro took covert, pleas'd amain. His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain. XXII. Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade, Old Angela was feeling for the stair, When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid, Rose, like a mission'd spirit, unaware: With silver taper's light, and pious care, She turn'd, and down the aged gossip led To a safe level matting. Now prepare, Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed; She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove fray'd and fled. XXIII. Out went the taper as she hurried in; Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died: She clos'd the door, she panted, all akin To spirits of the air, and visions wide: No uttered syllable, or, woe betide! But to her heart, her heart was voluble, Paining with eloquence her balmy side; As though a tongueless nightingale should swell Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell. XXIV. A casement high and triple-arch'd there was, All garlanded with carven imag'ries Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, And diamonded with panes of quaint device, Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings; And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries, And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings. XXV. Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven:--Porphyro grew faint: She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint. XXVI. Anon his heart revives: her vespers done, Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees: Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled. XXVII. Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay, Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away; Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day; Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain; Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims pray; Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. XXVIII. Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced, Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, And listen'd to her breathing, if it chanced To wake into a slumberous tenderness; Which when he heard, that minute did he bless, And breath'd himself: then from the closet crept, Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stept, And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo!--how fast she slept. XXIX. Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set A table, and, half anguish'd, threw thereon A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet:-- O for some drowsy Morphean amulet! The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion, The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet, Affray his ears, though but in dying tone:-- The hall door shuts again, and all the noise is gone. XXX. And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep, In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd, While he from forth the closet brought a heap Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd; With jellies soother than the creamy curd, And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon; Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon. XXXI. These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand On golden dishes and in baskets bright Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand In the retired quiet of the night, Filling the chilly room with perfume light.-- "And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake! "Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite: "Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, "Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache." XXXII. Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream By the dusk curtains:--'twas a midnight charm Impossible to melt as iced stream: The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam; Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies: It seem'd he never, never could redeem From such a stedfast spell his lady's eyes; So mus'd awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies. XXXIII. Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,-- Tumultuous,--and, in chords that tenderest be, He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute, In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans mercy:" Close to her ear touching the melody;-- Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan: He ceased--she panted quick--and suddenly Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone. XXXIV. Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep: There was a painful change, that nigh expell'd The blisses of her dream so pure and deep At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with many a sigh; While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly. XXXV. "Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even now "Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, "Made tuneable with every sweetest vow; "And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear: "How chang'd thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear! "Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, "Those looks immortal, those complainings dear! "Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, "For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go." XXXVI. Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far At these voluptuous accents, he arose, Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose; Into her dream he melted, as the rose Blendeth its odour with the violet,-- Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set. XXXVII. 'Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet: "This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!" 'Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and beat: "No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! "Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine.-- "Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring? "I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, "Though thou forsakest a deceived thing;-- "A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing." XXXVIII. "My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! "Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? "Thy beauty's shield, heart-shap'd and vermeil dyed? "Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest "After so many hours of toil and quest, "A famish'd pilgrim,--saved by miracle. "Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest "Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well "To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel." XXXIX. 'Hark! 'tis an elfin-storm from faery land, "Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed: "Arise--arise! the morning is at hand;-- "The bloated wassaillers will never heed:-- "Let us away, my love, with happy speed; "There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see,-- "Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead: "Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be, "For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee." XL. She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around, At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears-- Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found.-- In all the house was heard no human sound. A chain-droop'd lamp was flickering by each door; The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound, Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar; And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor. XLI. They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall; Like phantoms, to the iron porch, they glide; Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl, With a huge empty flaggon by his side; The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide, But his sagacious eye an inmate owns: By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide:-- The chains lie silent on the footworn stones;-- The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groan. XLII. And they are gone: ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe, And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm, Were long be-nightmar'd. Angela the old Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face deform; The Beadsman, after thousand aves told, For aye unsought for slept among his ashes cold. ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,-- That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim: Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain-- To thy high requiem become a sod. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toil me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep? ODE ON A GRECIAN URN Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal--yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,"--that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. HYPERION A Fragment Book I Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star, Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone, Still as the silence round about his lair; Forest on forest hung about his head Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest. A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more By reason of his fallen divinity Spreading a shade: the Naiad 'mid her reeds Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips. Along the margin-sand large foot-marks went, No further than to where his feet had stray'd, And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead, Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed; While his bow'd head seem'd list'ning to the Earth, His ancient mother, for some comfort yet. It seem'd no force could wake him from his place; But there came one, who with a kindred hand Touch'd his wide shoulders, after bending low With reverence, though to one who knew it not. She was a Goddess of the infant world; By her in stature the tall Amazon Had stood a pigmy's height: she would have ta'en Achilles by the hair and bent his neck; Or with a finger stay'd Ixion's wheel. Her face was large as that of Memphian sphinx, Pedestal'd haply in a palace court, When sages look'd to Egypt for their lore. But oh! how unlike marble was that face: How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self. There was a listening fear in her regard, As if calamity had but begun; As if the vanward clouds of evil days Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear Was with its stored thunder labouring up. One hand she press'd upon that aching spot Where beats the human heart, as if just there, Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain: The other upon Saturn's bended neck She laid, and to the level of his ear Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake In solemn tenour and deep organ tone: Some mourning words, which in our feeble tongue Would come in these like accents; O how frail To that large utterance of the early Gods! "Saturn, look up!--though wherefore, poor old King? "I have no comfort for thee, no not one: "I cannot say, "O wherefore sleepest thou?' "For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth "Knows thee not, thus afflicted, for a God; "And ocean too, with all its solemn noise, "Has from thy sceptre pass'd; and all the air "Is emptied of thine hoary majesty. "Thy thunder, conscious of the new command, "Rumbles reluctant o'er our fallen house; "And thy sharp lightning in unpractised hands "Scorches and burns our once serene domain. "O aching time! O moments big as years! "All as ye pass swell out the monstrous truth, "And press it so upon our weary griefs "That unbelief has not a space to breathe. "Saturn, sleep on:--O thoughtless, why did I "Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude? "Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes? "Saturn, sleep on! while at thy feet I weep." As when, upon a tranced summer-night, Those green-rob'd senators of mighty woods, Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars, Dream, and so dream all night without a stir, Save from one gradual solitary gust Which comes upon the silence, and dies off, As if the ebbing air had but one wave; So came these words and went; the while in tears She touch'd her fair large forehead to the ground, Just where her falling hair might be outspread A soft and silken mat for Saturn's feet. One moon, with alteration slow, had shed Her silver seasons four upon the night, And still these two were postured motionless, Like natural sculpture in cathedral cavern; The frozen God still couchant on the earth, And the sad Goddess weeping at his feet: Until at length old Saturn lifted up His faded eyes, and saw his kingdom gone, And all the gloom and sorrow of the place, And that fair kneeling Goddess; and then spake, As with a palsied tongue, and while his beard Shook horrid with such aspen-malady: "O tender spouse of gold Hyperion, "Thea, I feel thee ere I see thy face; "Look up, and let me see our doom in it; "Look up, and tell me if this feeble shape "Is Saturn's; tell me, if thou hear'st the voice "Of Saturn; tell me, if this wrinkling brow, "Naked and bare of its great diadem, "Peers like the front of Saturn. Who had power "To make me desolate? whence came the strength? "How was it nurtur'd to such bursting forth, "While Fate seem'd strangled in my nervous grasp? "But it is so; and I am smother'd up, "And buried from all godlike exercise "Of influence benign on planets pale, "Of admonitions to the winds and seas, "Of peaceful sway above man's harvesting, "And all those acts which Deity supreme "Doth ease its heart of love in.--I am gone "Away from my own bosom: I have left "My strong identity, my real self, "Somewhere between the throne, and where I sit "Here on this spot of earth. Search, Thea, search! "Open thine eyes eterne, and sphere them round "Upon all space: space starr'd, and lorn of light; "Space region'd with life-air; and barren void; "Spaces of fire, and all the yawn of hell.-- "Search, Thea, search! and tell me, if thou seest "A certain shape or shadow, making way "With wings or chariot fierce to repossess "A heaven he lost erewhile: it must--it must "Be of ripe progress--Saturn must be King. "Yes, there must be a golden victory; "There must be Gods thrown down, and trumpets blown "Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival "Upon the gold clouds metropolitan, "Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir "Of strings in hollow shells; and there shall be "Beautiful things made new, for the surprise "Of the sky-children; I will give command: "Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn?" This passion lifted him upon his feet, And made his hands to struggle in the air, His Druid locks to shake and ooze with sweat, His eyes to fever out, his voice to cease. He stood, and heard not Thea's sobbing deep; A little time, and then again he snatch'd Utterance thus.--"But cannot I create? "Cannot I form? Cannot I fashion forth "Another world, another universe, "To overbear and crumble this to nought? "Where is another chaos? Where?"--That word Found way unto Olympus, and made quake The rebel three.--Thea was startled up, And in her bearing was a sort of hope, As thus she quick-voic'd spake, yet full of awe. "This cheers our fallen house: come to our friends, "O Saturn! come away, and give them heart; "I know the covert, for thence came I hither." Thus brief; then with beseeching eyes she went With backward footing through the shade a space: He follow'd, and she turn'd to lead the way Through aged boughs, that yielded like the mist Which eagles cleave upmounting from their nest. Meanwhile in other realms big tears were shed, More sorrow like to this, and such like woe, Too huge for mortal tongue or pen of scribe: The Titans fierce, self hid, or prison-bound, Groan'd for the old allegiance once more, And listen'd in sharp pain for Saturn's voice. But one of the whole mammoth-brood still kept His sov'reignty, and rule, and majesty;-- Blazing Hyperion on his orbed fire Still sat, still snuff'd the incense, teeming up From man to the sun's God; yet unsecure: For as among us mortals omens drear Fright and perplex, so also shuddered he-- Not at dog's howl, or gloom-bird's hated screech, Or the familiar visiting of one Upon the first toll of his passing-bell, Or prophesyings of the midnight lamp; But horrors, portion'd to a giant nerve, Oft made Hyperion ache. His palace bright Bastion'd with pyramids of glowing gold, And touch'd with shade of bronzed obelisks, Glar'd a blood-red through all its thousand courts, Arches, and domes, and fiery galleries; And all its curtains of Aurorian clouds Flush'd angerly: while sometimes eagle's wings, Unseen before by Gods or wondering men, Darken'd the place; and neighing steeds were heard, Not heard before by Gods or wondering men. Also, when he would taste the spicy wreaths Of incense, breath'd aloft from sacred hills, Instead of sweets, his ample palate took Savour of poisonous brass and metal sick: And so, when harbour'd in the sleepy west, After the full completion of fair day,-- For rest divine upon exalted couch And slumber in the arms of melody, He pac'd away the pleasant hours of ease With stride colossal, on from hall to hall; While far within each aisle and deep recess, His winged minions in close clusters stood, Amaz'd and full of fear; like anxious men Who on wide plains gather in panting troops, When earthquakes jar their battlements and towers. Even now, while Saturn, rous'd from icy trance, Went step for step with Thea through the woods, Hyperion, leaving twilight in the rear, Came slope upon the threshold of the west; Then, as was wont, his palace-door flew ope In smoothest silence, save what solemn tubes, Blown by the serious Zephyrs, gave of sweet And wandering sounds, slow-breathed melodies; And like a rose in vermeil tint and shape, In fragrance soft, and coolness to the eye, That inlet to severe magnificence Stood full blown, for the God to enter in. He enter'd, but he enter'd full of wrath; His flaming robes stream'd out beyond his heels, And gave a roar, as if of earthly fire, That scar'd away the meek ethereal Hours And made their dove-wings tremble. On he flared, From stately nave to nave, from vault to vault, Through bowers of fragrant and enwreathed light, And diamond-paved lustrous long arcades, Until he reach'd the great main cupola; There standing fierce beneath, he stampt his foot, And from the basements deep to the high towers Jarr'd his own golden region; and before The quavering thunder thereupon had ceas'd, His voice leapt out, despite of godlike curb, To this result: "O dreams of day and night! "O monstrous forms! O effigies of pain! "O spectres busy in a cold, cold gloom! "O lank-ear'd Phantoms of black-weeded pools! "Why do I know ye? why have I seen ye? why "Is my eternal essence thus distraught "To see and to behold these horrors new? "Saturn is fallen, am I too to fall? "Am I to leave this haven of my rest, "This cradle of my glory, this soft clime, "This calm luxuriance of blissful light, "These crystalline pavilions, aud pure fanes, "Of all my lucent empire? It is left "Deserted, void, nor any haunt of mine. "The blaze, the splendor, and the symmetry, "I cannot see--but darkness, death and darkness. "Even here, into my centre of repose, "The shady visions come to domineer, "Insult, and blind, and stifle up my pomp.-- "Fall!--No, by Tellus and her briny robes! "Over the fiery frontier of my realms "I will advance a terrible right arm "Shall scare that infant thunderer, rebel Jove, "And bid old Saturn take his throne again."-- He spake, and ceas'd, the while a heavier threat Held struggle with his throat but came not forth; For as in theatres of crowded men Hubbub increases more they call out "Hush!" So at Hyperion's words the Phantoms pale Bestirr'd themselves, thrice horrible and cold; And from the mirror'd level where he stood A mist arose, as from a scummy marsh. At this, through all his bulk an agony Crept gradual, from the feet unto the crown, Like a lithe serpent vast and muscular Making slow way, with head and neck convuls'd From over-strained might. Releas'd, he fled To the eastern gates, and full six dewy hours Before the dawn in season due should blush, He breath'd fierce breath against the sleepy portals, Clear'd them of heavy vapours, burst them wide Suddenly on the ocean's chilly streams. The planet orb of fire, whereon he rode Each day from east to west the heavens through, Spun round in sable curtaining of clouds; Not therefore veiled quite, blindfold, and hid, But ever and anon the glancing spheres, Circles, and arcs, and broad-belting colure, Glow'd through, and wrought upon the muffling dark Sweet-shaped lightnings from the nadir deep Up to the zenith,--hieroglyphics old, Which sages and keen-eyed astrologers Then living on the earth, with labouring thought Won from the gaze of many centuries: Now lost, save what we find on remnants huge Of stone, or marble swart; their import gone, Their wisdom long since fled.--Two wings this orb Possess'd for glory, two fair argent wings, Ever exalted at the God's approach: And now, from forth the gloom their plumes immense Rose, one by one, till all outspreaded were; While still the dazzling globe maintain'd eclipse, Awaiting for Hyperion's command. Fain would he have commanded, fain took throne And bid the day begin, if but for change. He might not:--No, though a primeval God: The sacred seasons might not be disturb'd. Therefore the operations of the dawn Stay'd in their birth, even as here 'tis told. Those silver wings expanded sisterly, Eager to sail their orb; the porches wide Open'd upon the dusk demesnes of night; And the bright Titan, phrenzied with new woes, Unus'd to bend, by hard compulsion bent His spirit to the sorrow of the time; And all along a dismal rack of clouds, Upon the boundaries of day and night, He stretch'd himself in grief and radiance faint. There as he lay, the Heaven with its stars Look'd down on him with pity, and the voice Of Coelus, from the universal space, Thus whisper'd low and solemn in his ear. "O brightest of my children dear, earth-born "And sky-engendered, Son of Mysteries "All unrevealed even to the powers "Which met at thy creating; at whose joys "And palpitations sweet, and pleasures soft, "I, Coelus, wonder, how they came and whence; "And at the fruits thereof what shapes they be, "Distinct, and visible; symbols divine, "Manifestations of that beauteous life "Diffus'd unseen throughout eternal space: "Of these new-form'd art thou, oh brightest child! "Of these, thy brethren and the Goddesses! "There is sad feud among ye, and rebellion "Of son against his sire. I saw him fall, "I saw my first-born tumbled from his throne! "To me his arms were spread, to me his voice "Found way from forth the thunders round his head! "Pale wox I, and in vapours hid my face. "Art thou, too, near such doom? vague fear there is: "For I have seen my sons most unlike Gods. "Divine ye were created, and divine "In sad demeanour, solemn, undisturb'd, "Unruffled, like high Gods, ye liv'd and ruled: "Now I behold in you fear, hope, and wrath; "Actions of rage and passion; even as "I see them, on the mortal world beneath, "In men who die.--This is the grief, O Son! "Sad sign of ruin, sudden dismay, and fall! "Yet do thou strive; as thou art capable, "As thou canst move about, an evident God; "And canst oppose to each malignant hour "Ethereal presence:--I am but a voice; "My life is but the life of winds and tides, "No more than winds and tides can I avail:-- "But thou canst.--Be thou therefore in the van "Of circumstance; yea, seize the arrow's barb "Before the tense string murmur.--To the earth! "For there thou wilt find Saturn, and his woes. "Meantime I will keep watch on thy bright sun, "And of thy seasons be a careful nurse."-- Ere half this region-whisper had come down, Hyperion arose, and on the stars Lifted his curved lids, and kept them wide Until it ceas'd; and still he kept them wide: And still they were the same bright, patient stars. Then with a slow incline of his broad breast, Like to a diver in the pearly seas, Forward he stoop'd over the airy shore, And plung'd all noiseless into the deep night. Book II Just at the self-same beat of Time's wide wings Hyperion slid into the rustled air, And Saturn gain'd with Thea that sad place Where Cybele and the bruised Titans mourn'd. It was a den where no insulting light Could glimmer on their tears; where their own groans They felt, but heard not, for the solid roar Of thunderous waterfalls and torrents hoarse, Pouring a constant bulk, uncertain where. Crag jutting forth to crag, and rocks that seem'd Ever as if just rising from a sleep, Forehead to forehead held their monstrous horns; And thus in thousand hugest phantasies Made a fit roofing to this nest of woe. Instead of thrones, hard flint they sat upon, Couches of rugged stone, and slaty ridge Stubborn'd with iron. All were not assembled: Some chain'd in torture, and some wandering. Coeus, and Gyges, and BriareŘs, Typhon, and Dolor, and Porphyrion, With many more, the brawniest in assault, Were pent in regions of laborious breath; Dungeon'd in opaque element, to keep Their clenched teeth still clench'd, and all their limbs Lock'd up like veins of metal, crampt and screw'd; Without a motion, save of their big hearts Heaving in pain, and horribly convuls'd With sanguine feverous boiling gurge of pulse. Mnemosyne was straying in the world; Far from her moon had Phoebe wandered; And many else were free to roam abroad, But for the main, here found they covert drear. Scarce images of life, one here, one there, Lay vast and edgeways; like a dismal cirque Of Druid stones, upon a forlorn moor, When the chill rain begins at shut of eve, In dull November, and their chancel vault, The Heaven itself, is blinded throughout night. Each one kept shroud, nor to his neighbour gave Or word, or look, or action of despair. Creus was one; his ponderous iron mace Lay by him, and a shatter'd rib of rock Told of his rage, ere he thus sank and pined. Iapetus another; in his grasp, A serpent's plashy neck; its barbed tongue Squeez'd from the gorge, and all its uncurl'd length Dead; and because the creature could not spit Its poison in the eyes of conquering Jove. Next Cottus: prone he lay, chin uppermost, As though in pain; for still upon the flint He ground severe his skull, with open mouth And eyes at horrid working. Nearest him Asia, born of most enormous Caf, Who cost her mother Tellus keener pangs, Though feminine, than any of her sons: More thought than woe was in her dusky face, For she was prophesying of her glory; And in her wide imagination stood Palm-shaded temples, and high rival fanes, By Oxus or in Ganges' sacred isles. Even as Hope upon her anchor leans, So leant she, not so fair, upon a tusk Shed from the broadest of her elephants. Above her, on a crag's uneasy shelve, Upon his elbow rais'd, all prostrate else, Shadow'd Enceladus; once tame and mild As grazing ox unworried in the meads; Now tiger-passion'd, lion-thoughted, wroth, He meditated, plotted, and even now Was hurling mountains in that second war, Not long delay'd, that scar'd the younger Gods To hide themselves in forms of beast and bird. Nor far hence Atlas; and beside him prone Phorcus, the sire of Gorgons. Neighbour'd close Oceanus, and Tethys, in whose lap Sobb'd Clymene among her tangled hair. In midst of all lay Themis, at the feet Of Ops the queen all clouded round from sight; No shape distinguishable, more than when Thick night confounds the pine-tops with the clouds: And many else whose names may not be told. For when the Muse's wings are air-ward spread, Who shall delay her flight? And she must chaunt Of Saturn, and his guide, who now had climb'd With damp and slippery footing from a depth More horrid still. Above a sombre cliff Their heads appear'd, and up their stature grew Till on the level height their steps found ease: Then Thea spread abroad her trembling arms Upon the precincts of this nest of pain, And sidelong fix'd her eye on Saturn's face: There saw she direst strife; the supreme God At war with all the frailty of grief, Of rage, of fear, anxiety, revenge, Remorse, spleen, hope, but most of all despair. Against these plagues he strove in vain; for Fate Had pour'd a mortal oil upon his head, A disanointing poison: so that Thea, Affrighted, kept her still, and let him pass First onwards in, among the fallen tribe. As with us mortal men, the laden heart Is persecuted more, and fever'd more, When it is nighing to the mournful house Where other hearts are sick of the same bruise; So Saturn, as he walk'd into the midst, Felt faint, and would have sunk among the rest, But that he met Enceladus's eye, Whose mightiness, and awe of him, at once Came like an inspiration; and he shouted, "Titans, behold your God!" at which some groan'd; Some started on their feet; some also shouted; Some wept, some wail'd, all bow'd with reverence; And Ops, uplifting her black folded veil, Show'd her pale cheeks, and all her forehead wan, Her eye-brows thin and jet, and hollow eyes. There is a roaring in the bleak-grown pines When Winter lifts his voice; there is a noise Among immortals when a God gives sign, With hushing finger, how he means to load His tongue with the full weight of utterless thought, With thunder, and with music, and with pomp: Such noise is like the roar of bleak-grown pines; Which, when it ceases in this mountain'd world, No other sound succeeds; but ceasing here, Among these fallen, Saturn's voice therefrom Grew up like organ, that begins anew Its strain, when other harmonies, stopt short, Leave the dinn'd air vibrating silverly. Thus grew it up--"Not in my own sad breast, "Which is its own great judge and searcher out, "Can I find reason why ye should be thus: "Not in the legends of the first of days, "Studied from that old spirit-leaved book "Which starry Uranus with finger bright "Sav'd from the shores of darkness, when the waves "Low-ebb'd still hid it up in shallow gloom;-- "And the which book ye know I ever kept "For my firm-based footstool:--Ah, infirm! "Not there, nor in sign, symbol, or portent "Of element, earth, water, air, and fire,-- "At war, at peace, or inter-quarreling "One against one, or two, or three, or all "Each several one against the other three, "As fire with air loud warring when rain-floods "Drown both, and press them both against earth's face, "Where, finding sulphur, a quadruple wrath "Unhinges the poor world;--not in that strife, "Wherefrom I take strange lore, and read it deep, "Can I find reason why ye should be thus: "No, no-where can unriddle, though I search, "And pore on Nature's universal scroll "Even to swooning, why ye, Divinities, "The first-born of all shap'd and palpable Gods, "Should cower beneath what, in comparison, "Is untremendous might. Yet ye are here, "O'erwhelm'd, and spurn'd, and batter'd, ye are here! "O Titans, shall I say 'Arise!'--Ye groan: "Shall I say 'Crouch!'--Ye groan. What can I then? "O Heaven wide! O unseen parent dear! "What can I? Tell me, all ye brethren Gods, "How we can war, how engine our great wrath! "O speak your counsel now, for Saturn's ear "Is all a-hunger'd. Thou, Oceanus, "Ponderest high and deep; and in thy face "I see, astonied, that severe content "Which comes of thought and musing: give us help!" So ended Saturn; and the God of the Sea, Sophist and sage, from no Athenian grove, But cogitation in his watery shades, Arose, with locks not oozy, and began, In murmurs, which his first-endeavouring tongue Caught infant-like from the far-foamed sands. "O ye, whom wrath consumes! who, passion-stung, "Writhe at defeat, and nurse your agonies! "Shut up your senses, stifle up your ears, "My voice is not a bellows unto ire. "Yet listen, ye who will, whilst I bring proof "How ye, perforce, must be content to stoop: "And in the proof much comfort will I give, "If ye will take that comfort in its truth. "We fall by course of Nature's law, not force "Of thunder, or of Jove. Great Saturn, thou "Hast sifted well the atom-universe; "But for this reason, that thou art the King, "And only blind from sheer supremacy, "One avenue was shaded from thine eyes, "Through which I wandered to eternal truth. "And first, as thou wast not the first of powers, "So art thou not the last; it cannot be: "Thou art not the beginning nor the end. "From chaos and parental darkness came "Light, the first fruits of that intestine broil, "That sullen ferment, which for wondrous ends "Was ripening in itself. The ripe hour came, "And with it light, and light, engendering "Upon its own producer, forthwith touch'd "The whole enormous matter into life. "Upon that very hour, our parentage, "The Heavens and the Earth, were manifest: "Then thou first-born, and we the giant-race, "Found ourselves ruling new and beauteous realms. "Now comes the pain of truth, to whom 'tis pain; "O folly! for to bear all naked truths, "And to envisage circumstance, all calm, "That is the top of sovereignty. Mark well! "As Heaven and Earth are fairer, fairer far "Than Chaos and blank Darkness, though once chiefs; "And as we show beyond that Heaven and Earth "In form and shape compact and beautiful, "In will, in action free, companionship, "And thousand other signs of purer life; "So on our heels a fresh perfection treads, "A power more strong in beauty, born of us "And fated to excel us, as we pass "In glory that old Darkness: nor are we "Thereby more conquer'd, than by us the rule "Of shapeless Chaos. Say, doth the dull soil "Quarrel with the proud forests it hath fed, "And feedeth still, more comely than itself? "Can it deny the chiefdom of green groves? "Or shall the tree be envious of the dove "Because it cooeth, and hath snowy wings "To wander wherewithal and find its joys? "We are such forest-trees, and our fair boughs "Have bred forth, not pale solitary doves, "But eagles golden-feather'd, who do tower "Above us in their beauty, and must reign "In right thereof; for 'tis the eternal law "That first in beauty should be first in might: "Yea, by that law, another race may drive "Our conquerors to mourn as we do now. "Have ye beheld the young God of the Seas, "My dispossessor? Have ye seen his face? "Have ye beheld his chariot, foam'd along "By noble winged creatures he hath made? "I saw him on the calmed waters scud, "With such a glow of beauty in his eyes, "That it enforc'd me to bid sad farewell "To all my empire: farewell sad I took, "And hither came, to see how dolorous fate "Had wrought upon ye; and how I might best "Give consolation in this woe extreme. "Receive the truth, and let it be your balm." Whether through poz'd conviction, or disdain, They guarded silence, when Oceanus Left murmuring, what deepest thought can tell? But so it was, none answer'd for a space, Save one whom none regarded, Clymene; And yet she answer'd not, only complain'd, With hectic lips, and eyes up-looking mild, Thus wording timidly among the fierce: "O Father, I am here the simplest voice, "And all my knowledge is that joy is gone, "And this thing woe crept in among our hearts, "There to remain for ever, as I fear: "I would not bode of evil, if I thought "So weak a creature could turn off the help "Which by just right should come of mighty Gods; "Yet let me tell my sorrow, let me tell "Of what I heard, and how it made me weep, "And know that we had parted from all hope. "I stood upon a shore, a pleasant shore, "Where a sweet clime was breathed from a land "Of fragrance, quietness, and trees, and flowers. "Full of calm joy it was, as I of grief; "Too full of joy and soft delicious warmth; "So that I felt a movement in my heart "To chide, and to reproach that solitude "With songs of misery, music of our woes; "And sat me down, and took a mouthed shell "And murmur'd into it, and made melody-- "O melody no more! for while I sang, "And with poor skill let pass into the breeze "The dull shell's echo, from a bowery strand "Just opposite, an island of the sea, "There came enchantment with the shifting wind, "That did both drown and keep alive my ears. "I threw my shell away upon the sand, "And a wave fill'd it, as my sense was fill'd "With that new blissful golden melody. "A living death was in each gush of sounds, "Each family of rapturous hurried notes, "That fell, one after one, yet all at once, "Like pearl beads dropping sudden from their string: "And then another, then another strain, "Each like a dove leaving its olive perch, "With music wing'd instead of silent plumes, "To hover round my head, and make me sick "Of joy and grief at once. Grief overcame, "And I was stopping up my frantic ears, "When, past all hindrance of my trembling hands, "A voice came sweeter, sweeter than all tune, "And still it cried, 'Apollo! young Apollo! "'The morning-bright Apollo! young Apollo!' "I fled, it follow'd me, and cried 'Apollo!' "O Father, and O Brethren, had ye felt "Those pains of mine; O Saturn, hadst thou felt, "Ye would not call this too indulged tongue "Presumptuous, in thus venturing to be heard." So far her voice flow'd on, like timorous brook That, lingering along a pebbled coast, Doth fear to meet the sea: but sea it met, And shudder'd; for the overwhelming voice Of huge Enceladus swallow'd it in wrath: The ponderous syllables, like sullen waves In the half-glutted hollows of reef-rocks, Came booming thus, while still upon his arm He lean'd; not rising, from supreme contempt. "Or shall we listen to the over-wise, "Or to the over-foolish giant, Gods? "Not thunderbolt on thunderbolt, till all "That rebel Jove's whole armoury were spent, "Not world on world upon these shoulders piled, "Could agonize me more than baby-words "In midst of this dethronement horrible. "Speak! roar! shout! yell! ye sleepy Titans all. "Do ye forget the blows, the buffets vile? "Are ye not smitten by a youngling arm? "Dost thou forget, sham Monarch of the Waves, "Thy scalding in the seas? What, have I rous'd "Your spleens with so few simple words as these? "O joy! for now I see ye are not lost: "O joy! for now I see a thousand eyes "Wide glaring for revenge!"--As this he said, He lifted up his stature vast, and stood, Still without intermission speaking thus: "Now ye are flames, I'll tell you how to burn, "And purge the ether of our enemies; "How to feed fierce the crooked stings of fire, "And singe away the swollen clouds of Jove, "Stifling that puny essence in its tent. "O let him feel the evil he hath done; "For though I scorn Oceanus's lore, "Much pain have I for more than loss of realms: "The days of peace and slumberous calm are fled; "Those days, all innocent of scathing war, "When all the fair Existences of heaven "Came open-eyed to guess what we would speak:-- "That was before our brows were taught to frown, "Before our lips knew else but solemn sounds; "That was before we knew the winged thing, "Victory, might be lost, or might be won. "And be ye mindful that Hyperion, "Our brightest brother, still is undisgraced-- "Hyperion, lo! his radiance is here!" All eyes were on Enceladus's face, And they beheld, while still Hyperion's name Flew from his lips up to the vaulted rocks, A pallid gleam across his features stern: Not savage, for he saw full many a God Wroth as himself. He look'd upon them all, And in each face he saw a gleam of light, But splendider in Saturn's, whose hoar locks Shone like the bubbling foam about a keel When the prow sweeps into a midnight cove. In pale and silver silence they remain'd, Till suddenly a splendour, like the morn, Pervaded all the beetling gloomy steeps, All the sad spaces of oblivion, And every gulf, and every chasm old, And every height, and every sullen depth, Voiceless, or hoarse with loud tormented streams: And all the everlasting cataracts, And all the headlong torrents far and near, Mantled before in darkness and huge shade, Now saw the light and made it terrible. It was Hyperion:--a granite peak His bright feet touch'd, and there he stay'd to view The misery his brilliance had betray'd To the most hateful seeing of itself. Golden his hair of short Numidian curl, Regal his shape majestic, a vast shade In midst of his own brightness, like the bulk Of Memnon's image at the set of sun To one who travels from the dusking East: Sighs, too, as mournful as that Memnon's harp He utter'd, while his hands contemplative He press'd together, and in silence stood. Despondence seiz'd again the fallen Gods At sight of the dejected King of Day, And many hid their faces from the light: But fierce Enceladus sent forth his eyes Among the brotherhood; and, at their glare, Uprose Iapetus, and Creus too, And Phorcus, sea-born, and together strode To where he towered on his eminence. There those four shouted forth old Saturn's name; Hyperion from the peak loud answered, "Saturn! Saturn sat near the Mother of the Gods, In whose face was no joy, though all the Gods Gave from their hollow throats the name of "Saturn!" Book III Thus in alternate uproar and sad peace, Amazed were those Titans utterly. O leave them, Muse! O leave them to their woes; For thou art weak to sing such tumults dire: A solitary sorrow best befits Thy lips, and antheming a lonely grief. Leave them, O Muse! for thou anon wilt find Many a fallen old Divinity Wandering in vain about bewildered shores. Meantime touch piously the Delphic harp, And not a wind of heaven but will breathe In aid soft warble from the Dorian flute; For lo! 'tis for the Father of all verse. Flush every thing that hath a vermeil hue, Let the rose glow intense and warm the air, And let the clouds of even and of morn Float in voluptuous fleeces o'er the hills; Let the red wine within the goblet boil, Cold as a bubbling well; let faint-lipp'd shells, On sands, or in great deeps, vermilion turn Through all their labyrinths; and let the maid Blush keenly, as with some warm kiss surpris'd. Chief isle of the embowered Cyclades, Rejoice, O Delos, with thine olives green, And poplars, and lawn-shading palms, and beech, In which the Zephyr breathes the loudest song, And hazels thick, dark-stemm'd beneath the shade: Apollo is once more the golden theme! Where was he, when the Giant of the Sun Stood bright, amid the sorrow of his peers? Together had he left his mother fair And his twin-sister sleeping in their bower, And in the morning twilight wandered forth Beside the osiers of a rivulet, Full ankle-deep in lilies of the vale. The nightingale had ceas'd, and a few stars Were lingering in the heavens, while the thrush Began calm-throated. Throughout all the isle There was no covert, no retired cave Unhaunted by the murmurous noise of waves, Though scarcely heard in many a green recess. He listen'd, and he wept, and his bright tears Went trickling down the golden bow he held. Thus with half-shut suffused eyes he stood, While from beneath some cumbrous boughs hard by With solemn step an awful Goddess came, And there was purport in her looks for him, Which he with eager guess began to read Perplex'd, the while melodiously he said: "How cam'st thou over the unfooted sea? "Or hath that antique mien and robed form "Mov'd in these vales invisible till now? "Sure I have heard those vestments sweeping o'er "The fallen leaves, when I have sat alone "In cool mid-forest. Surely I have traced "The rustle of those ample skirts about "These grassy solitudes, and seen the flowers "Lift up their heads, as still the whisper pass'd. "Goddess! I have beheld those eyes before, "And their eternal calm, and all that face, "Or I have dream'd."--"Yes," said the supreme shape, "Thou hast dream'd of me; and awaking up "Didst find a lyre all golden by thy side, "Whose strings touch'd by thy fingers, all the vast "Unwearied ear of the whole universe "Listen'd in pain and pleasure at the birth "Of such new tuneful wonder. Is't not strange "That thou shouldst weep, so gifted? Tell me, youth, "What sorrow thou canst feel; for I am sad "When thou dost shed a tear: explain thy griefs "To one who in this lonely isle hath been "The watcher of thy sleep and hours of life, "From the young day when first thy infant hand "Pluck'd witless the weak flowers, till thine arm "Could bend that bow heroic to all times. "Show thy heart's secret to an ancient Power "Who hath forsaken old and sacred thrones "For prophecies of thee, and for the sake "Of loveliness new born."--Apollo then, With sudden scrutiny and gloomless eyes, Thus answer'd, while his white melodious throat Throbb'd with the syllables.--"Mnemosyne! "Thy name is on my tongue, I know not how; "Why should I tell thee what thou so well seest? "Why should I strive to show what from thy lips "Would come no mystery? For me, dark, dark, "And painful vile oblivion seals my eyes: "I strive to search wherefore I am so sad, "Until a melancholy numbs my limbs; "And then upon the grass I sit, and moan, "Like one who once had wings.--O why should I "Feel curs'd and thwarted, when the liegeless air "Yields to my step aspirant? why should I "Spurn the green turf as hateful to my feet? "Goddess benign, point forth some unknown thing: "Are there not other regions than this isle? "What are the stars? There is the sun, the sun! "And the most patient brilliance of the moon! "And stars by thousands! Point me out the way "To any one particular beauteous star, "And I will flit into it with my lyre, "And make its silvery splendour pant with bliss. "I have heard the cloudy thunder: Where is power? "Whose hand, whose essence, what divinity "Makes this alarum in the elements, "While I here idle listen on the shores "In fearless yet in aching ignorance? "O tell me, lonely Goddess, by thy harp, "That waileth every morn and eventide, "Tell me why thus I rave, about these groves! "Mute thou remainest--Mute! yet I can read "A wondrous lesson in thy silent face: "Knowledge enormous makes a God of me. "Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions, "Majesties, sovran voices, agonies, "Creations and destroyings, all at once "Pour into the wide hollows of my brain, "And deify me, as if some blithe wine "Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk, "And so become immortal."--Thus the God, While his enkindled eyes, with level glance Beneath his white soft temples, stedfast kept Trembling with light upon Mnemosyne. Soon wild commotions shook him, and made flush All the immortal fairness of his limbs; Most like the struggle at the gate of death; Or liker still to one who should take leave Of pale immortal death, and with a pang As hot as death's is chill, with fierce convulse Die into life: so young Apollo anguish'd; His very hair, his golden tresses famed Kept undulation round his eager neck. During the pain Mnemosyne upheld Her arms as one who prophesied.--At length Apollo shriek'd;--and lo! from all his limbs Celestial THE END.
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