JOHN KEATS

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, 90
And all the gloom and sorrow of the place,
And that fair kneeling Goddess; and then
spake,

95

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, 100
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,

105

Of peaceful sway above man's harvesting, 110
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,
115

Here on this spot of earth. Search, Thea,
search!

-

I 20

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
Be of ripe progress
it must
- Saturn must be King.
Yes, there must be a golden victory;
There must be Gods thrown down, and trum-

pets blown

Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival
Upon the gold clouds metropolitan,
Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir

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130

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?"

Northward he turneth through a little door, And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue

20

Flatter'd to tears this agèd 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 25 Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve, And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve.

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, 30
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 cross35 wise on their breasts.

!