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Actions of rage and passion ; even as
Lay vast and edgeways; like a dismal cirque
Of Druid stones, upon a forlorn moor,
The Heaven itself, is blinded throughout night. As thou canst move about, an evident God; Each one kept shroud, nor to his neighbor gave And canst oppose to each malignant hour
Or word, or look, or action of despair. Ethereal presence -I am but a voice;
Creus was one; his ponderous iron mace My life is but the life of winds and tides,
Lay by him, and a shatter'd rib of rock. No more than winds and tides can I avail : Told of his rage, ere he thus sank and pined. But thou canst.—Be thou therefore in the van Iapetus another; in his grasp, Of circumstance; yea, seize the arrow's barb A serpent's plashy neck; its barbed tongue Before the tense string murmur.—To the earth! Squeezed from the gorge, and all its uncurl'd length For there thou wilt find Saturn, and his woes. Dead; and because the creature could not spit Meantime I will keep watch on thy bright sun, Its poison in the eyes of conquering Jove. And of thy seasons be a careful nurse."
Next Cottus : prone he lay, chin uppermost,
He ground severe his skull, with open mouth
More thought than woe was in her dusky face, Forward he stoop'd over the airy shore,
For she was prophesying of her glory ; .
Palm-shaded temples, and high rival fanes,
Shed from the broadest of her elephants.
Above her, on a crag's uneasy shelve,
As grazing ox unworried in the meads ;
He meditated, plotted, and even now And Saturn gain'd with Thea that sad place Was hurling mountains in that second war, Where Cybele and the bruised Titans mourn'd. Not long delay'd, that scared the younger Gods It was a den where no insulting light
To hide themselves in forms of beast and bird. Could glimmer on their tears; where their own groans Not far hence Atlas; and beside him prone They felt, but heard not, for the solid roar
Phorcus, the sire of Gorgons. Neighbor'd close Of thunderous waterfalls and torrents hoarse, Oceanus, and Tethys, in whose lap Pouring a constant bulk, uncertain where. Sobb’d Clymene among her tangled hair. Crag jutting forth to crag, and rocks that seem'd In midst of all lay Themis, at the feet Ever as if just rising from a sleep,
of Ops the queen all clouded round from sight; Forehead to forehead held their monstrous horns ; No shape distinguishable, more than when And thus in thousand hugest phantasies
Thick night confounds the pine-tops with the clouds : Made a fit roofing to this nest
And many else whose names may not be told. Instead of thrones, hard flint they sat upon,
For when the Muse's wings are air-ward spread, Couches of rugged stone, and slaty ridge
Who shall delay her flight? And she must chant Stubborn'd with iron. All were not assembled : Of Saturn, and his guide, who now had climbid Some chain'd in torture, and some wandering. With damp and slippery footing from a depth Cæus, and Gyges, and Briareus,
More horrid still. Above a sombre cliff Typhon, and Dolor, and Porphyrion,
Their heads appear'd, and up their stature grew With many more, the brawniest in assault, Till on the level height their steps found ease : Were pent in regions of laborious breath ; Then Thea spread abroad her trembling arms Dungeon'd in opaque element, to keep
Upon the precincts of this nest of pain,
At war with all the frailty of grief,
Of rage, of fear, anxiety, revenge, With sanguine, feverous, boiling gurge of pulse. Remorse, spleen, hope, but most of all despair. Mnemosyne was straying in the world ;
Against these plagues he strove in vain ; for Fate Far from her moon had Phæbe wander'd;
Had pour'd a mortal oil upon his head,
A disanointing poison : so that Thea,
As with us mortal men, the laden heart
So ended Saturn; and the God of the Sea, Is persecuted more, and fever'd more,
Sophist and sage, from no Athenian grove, When it is nighing to the mournful house
But cogitation in his watery shades, Where other hearts are sick of the same bruise ; Arose, with locks not oozy, and began, So Saturn, as he walk'd into the midst,
In murmurs, which his first-endeavoring tongue Felt faint, and would have sunk among the rest, Caught infant-like from the far-foamed sands. But that he met Enceladus's eye,
“Oye, whom wrath consumes! who, passion-stung, Whose mightiness, and awe of him, at once Writhe at defeat, and nurse your agonies! Came like an inspiration ; and he shouted,
Shut up your senses, stifle up your ears,
And in the proof much comfort will I give,
But for this reason, that thou art the King
Light, the first-fruits of that intestine broil, Its strain, when other harmonies, stopt short, That sullen ferment, which for wondrous ends Leave the dinn'd air vibrating silverly.
Was ripening in itself. The ripe hour came, Thus grew it up—“ Not in my own sad breast, And with it light, and light, engendering Which is its own great judge and searcher out, Upon its own producer, forth with touch'd Can I find reason why ye should be thus :
The whole enormous matter into life. Not in the legends of the first of days,
Upon that very hour, our parentage, Studied from that old spirit-leaved book
The Heavens and the Earth, were manifest : Which starry Uranus with finger bright
Then thou first-born, and we the giant-race, Saved from the shores of darkness, when the waves Found ourselves ruling new and beauteous realms Low-ebb'd still hid it up in shallow gloom;- Now comes the pain of truth, to whom 't is pain; And the which book ye know I ever kept
O folly! for to bear all naked truths, For my firm-based footstool :-Ah, infirm!
And to envisage circumstance, all calm, Not there, nor in sign, symbol, or portent
That is the top of sovereignty. Mark well! Of element, earth, water, air, and fire,
As Heaven and Earth are fairer, fairer far At war, at peace, or inter-quarrelling
Than Chaos and blank Darkness, though once chiefs; One against one, or two, or three, or all
And as we show beyond that Heaven and Earth Each several one against the other three,
In form and shape compact and beautiful,
In glory that old Darkness : nor are we
Of shapeless Chaos. Say, doth the dull soil
Quarrel with the proud forests it hath fed, The first-born of all shaped and palpable Gods, And feedeth still, more comely than itself? Should cower beneath what, in comparison, Can it deny the chiefdom of green groves? Is untremendous might. Yet ye are here,
Or shall the tree be envious of the dove O'erwhelm'd, and spurn'd, and batter'd, ye are here! Because it cooeth, and hath snowy wings 0 Titans, shall I say ‘Arise!'--Ye groan:
To wander wherewithal and find its joys! Shall I say. Crouch!'-Ye groan. What can I then? We are such forest-trees, and our fair boughs O Heaven wide! O unseen parent dear!
Have bred forth, not pale solitary doves, What can I ? Tell me, all ye brethren Gods, But eagles golden-feather’d, who do tower How we can war, how engine our great wrath! Above us in their beauty, and must reign O speak your counsel now, for Saturn's ear
In right thereof; for 't is the eternal law
That first in beauty should be first in might:
Our conquerors to moum as we do now.
My dispossessor? Have ye seen his face ?
Ye would not call this too indulged tongue Have ye beheld his chariot, foam'd along Presumptuous, in thus venturing to be heard !" By noble-winged creatures he hath made ? I saw him on the calmed waters scud, With such a glow of beauty in his eyes,
So far her voice flow'd on, like timorous brook That it enforced me to bid sad farewell
That, lingering along a pebbled coast, To all my empire : farewell sad I took,
Doth fear to meet the sea : but sea it met, And hither came, to see how dolorous fate
And shudder'd ; for the overwhelming voice Had wrought upon ye; and how I might best Of huge Enceladus swallow'd it in wrath : Give consolation in this woe extreme.
The ponderous syllables, like sullen waves Receive the truth, and let it be your balm.”
In the half-glutted hollows of reef-rocks, Came booming thus, while still upon his arm
He lean'd; not rising, from supreme contempt. Whether through pozed conviction, or disdain,
Or shall we listen to the over-wise, They guarded silence, when Oceanus
Or to the over-foolish giant, Gods ? Left murmuring, what deepest thought can tell ?
Not thunderbolt on thunderbolt, till all But so it was, none answer'd for a space,
That rebel Jove's whole armory were spent, Save one whom none regarded, Clymene: And yet she answer'd not, only complain'd,
Not world on world upon these shoulders piled,
Could agonize me more than baby-words With hectic lips, and eyes up-looking mild,
In midst of this dethronement horrible. Thus wording timidly among the fierce: “O Father! I am here the simplest voice,
Speak! roar! shout! yell! ye sleepy Titans all. And all my knowledge is that joy is gone,
Do ye forget the blows, the buffets vile? And this thing woe crept in among our hearts,
Are ye not smitten by a youngling arm? There to remain for ever, as I fear:
Dost thou forget, sham Monarch of the Waves, I would not bode of evil, if I thought
Thy scalding in the seas? What! have I roused So weak a creature could turn off the help
Your spleens with so few simple words as these ? Which by just right should come of mighty Gods ;
O joy! for now I see ye are not lost: Yet let me tell my sorrow, let me tell
O joy! for now I see a thousand eyes Of what I heard, and how it made me weep,
Wide glaring for revenge!”—As this he said, And know that we had parted from all hope.
He lifted up his stature vast, and stood, I stood upon a shore, a pleasant shore,
Still without intermission speaking thus : Where a sweet clime was breathed from a land
“Now ye are flames, I'll tell you how to burn, Of fragrance, quietness, and trees, and flowers.
And purge the ether of our enemies ; Full of calm joy it was, as I of grief;
How to feed fierce the crooked stings of fire, Too full of joy and soft delicious warmth ;
And singe away the swollen clouds of Jove, So that I felt a movement in my heart
Stilling that puny essence in its tent. To chide, and to reproach that solitude
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 : And murmur'd into it, and made melody,
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 Just opposite, an island of the sea,
That was before our brows were taught to frown,
Before our lips knew else but solemn sounds; There came enchantment with the shifting wind, That did both drown and keep alive my ears.
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,
Flew from his lips up to the vaulted rocks,
A pallid gleam across his features stern:
But splendider in Saturn's, whose hoar locks
In pale and silver silence they remain'd,
Pervaded all the beetling gloomy steeps,
All the sad spaces of oblivion,
And every height, and every sullen depth, Where was he, when the Giant of the Sun
Together had he left his mother fair
Beside the osiers of a rivulet,
Full ankle-deep in lilies of the vale.
Were lingering in the heavens, while the thrush To the most hateful seeing of itself.
Began calm-throated. Throughout all the isle Golden his hair of short Numidian curl,
There was no covert, no retired cave Regal his shape majestic, a vast shade
Unhaunted by the murmurous noise of waves, In midst of his own brightness, like the bulk Though scarcely heard in many a green recess. Of Memnon's image at the set of sun
He listen'd, and he wept, and his bright tears To one who travels from the dusking East : Went trickling down the golden bow he held. Sighs, too, as mournful as that Memnon's harp, Thus with half-shut suffused eyes he stood, He utter'd, while his hands, contemplative, While from beneath some cumbrous boughs hard by Ile press'd together, and in silence stood.
With solemn step an awful Goddess came, Despondence seized again the fallen Gods
And there was purport in her looks for him, At sight of the dejected King of Day,
Which he with eager guess began to read And many hid their faces from the light:
Perplex'd, the while melodiously he said : But fierce Enceladus sent forth his eyes
“How camest thou over the unfooted sea ? Among the brotherhood ; and, at their glare, Or hath that antique mien and robed form Uprose läpetus, and Creus too,
Moved in these vales invisible till now? And Phorcus, sea-born, and together strode Sure I have heard those vestments sweeping o'er To where he towered on his eminence.
The fallen leaves, when I have sat alone There those four shouted forth old Saturn's name; In cool mid forest. Surely I have traced Hyperion from the peak loud answered, “ Saturn!” The rustle of those ample skirts about Saturn sat near the Mother of the Gods,
These grassy solitudes, and seen the flowers
And their eternal calm, and all that face,
Whose strings touch'd by thy fingers, all the vast
Unwearied ear of the whole universe
That thou shouldst weep, so gifted ? Tell me, youth Thus in alternate uproar and sad peace,
What sorrow thou canst feel; for I am sad Amazed were those Titans utterly.
When thou dost shed a tear: explain thy griefs O leave them, Muse! O leave them to their woes! To one who in this lonely isle hath been For thou art weak to sing such tumults dire : The watcher of thy sleep and hours of life, A solitary sorrow best befits
From the young day when first thy infant hand Thy lips, and antheming a lonely grief.
Pluck'd witless the weak flowers, till thine arm Leave them, O Muse! for thou anon wilt sind Could bend that bow heroic to all times. Many a fallen old Divinity
Show thy heart's secret to an ancient Power Wandering in vain about bewilder'd shores. Who hath forsaken old and sacred thrones Meantime touch piously the Delphic harp,
For prophecies of thee, and for the sake And not a wind of heaven but will breathe or loveliness new-born."—Apollo then, In aid soft warble from the Dorian Aute;
With sudden scrutiny and gloomless eyes, For lo! 't is for the Father of all verse.
Thus answer'd, while his white melodious throat Flush every thing that hath a vermeil hue, Throbb’d with the syllables.—- Mnemosyne ! Let the rose glow intense and warm the air, Thy name is on my tongue, I know not how; And let the clouds of even and of morn
Why should I tell thee what thou so well seest! Float in voluptuous fleeces o'er the hills;
Why should I strive to show what from thy lips Let the red wine within the goblet boil,
Would come no mystery? For me, dark, dark, Cold as a bubbling well; let faint-lipp'd shells, And painful vile oblivion seals my eyes : On sands, or in great deeps, vermilion turn
I strive to search wherefore I am so sad, Through all their labyrinths; and le maid
Until a melancholy numbs my limbs; Blush keenly, as with some warm kiss surprised. And then upon the grass 1 sit, and moan, Chief isle of the embower'd Cyclades,
Like one who once had wings -- why should I Rejoice, O Delos, with thine olives green,
Feel cursed and thwarted, when the liegeless air And poplars, and lawn-shading palms, and beech, In which the Zephyr breathes the loudest song,
Yields to my step aspirant? why should I
Spurn the green turf as hateful to my feet? And hazels thick, dark-stemm'd beneath the shade : Goddess benign! point forth some unknown thing: A pollo is once more the golden theme !
Are there not other regions than this isle !
What are the stars? There is the sun, the sun! And deify me, as if some blithe wine,
While his enkindled eyes, with level glance
Beneath his white soft temples, sted fast kept And make its silvery splendor pant with bliss. Trembling with light upon Mnemosyne. I have heard the cloudy thunder: Where is power? Soon wild commotions shook him, and made flush Whose hand, whose essence, what divinity
All the immortal fairness of his limbs : Makes this alarm in the elements,
Most like the struggle at the gate of death ; While I here idle listen on the shores
Or liker still to one who should take leave In fearless yet in aching ignorance?
Of pale immortal death, and with a pang O tell me, lonely Goddess! by thy harp,
As hot as death's is chill, with fierce convulse That waileth every morn and eventide,
Die into life : so young Apollo anguish'd ;
During the pain, Mnemosyne upheld
What more felicity can fall to creature
Fate of the Butterfly.-SPENSER.
A little noiseless noise among the leaves,
For not the faintest motion could be seen
Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green.
There was wide wandering for the greediest eye, Glory and loveliness have pass'd away ;
To peer about upon variety; For if we wander out in early morn,
Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim, No wreathed incense do we see upborne
And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim; Into the east to meet the smiling day;
To picture out the quaint and curious bending No crowd of nymphs soft-voiced and young and gay, or a fresh woodland alley never-ending: In woven baskets bringing ears of corn,
Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves, Roses, and pinks, and violets, to adorn
Guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves The shrine of Flora in her early May.
1 gazed awhile, and felt as light, and free But there are lefì delights as high as these;
As though the fanning wing of Mercury And I shall ever bless my destiny,
Had play'd upon my heels: I was light-hearted, That in a time when under pleasant trees
And many pleasures to my vision started ; Pan is no longer sought, I feel a free,
So I straightway began to pluck a posy A leafy luxury, seeing I could please,
of luxuries bright, milky, soft and rosy. With these poor oflerings, a man like thee
A bush of May-flowers with the bees about them;
Ah, sure no tasteful nook could be without them; Places of nestling green for poets made. And let a lush laburnum oversweep them,
Story of Rimini. And let long grass grow round the roots, to keep them
Moist, cool and green ; and shade the violets,
That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
And clumps of woodbine taking the soft wind Their scanty-leaved, and finely-tapering stems, Upon their summer thrones; there too should be Had not yet lost their starry diadems
The frequent chequer of a youngling tree, Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. That with a score of light green brethren shoots The clouds were pure and white as flocks new-shorn, From the quaint mossiness of aged roots : And fresh from the clear brook ; sweetly they slept Round which is heard a spring-head of clear waters On the blue firlds of heaven, and then there crept Babbling so wildly of its lovely daughters,