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النشر الإلكتروني

Actions of rage and passion ; even as

Lay vast and edgeways; like a dismal cirque
I see them, on the mortal world beneath,

Of Druid stones, upon a forlorn moor,
In men who die.—This is the grief, O Son! When the chill rain begins at shut of eve,
Sad sign of ruin, sudden dismay, and fall! In dull November, and their chancel vault,
Yet do thou strive ; as thou art capable,

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,
Ere half this region-whisper had come down, As though in pain; for still upon the flint
Hyperion arose, and on the stars

He ground severe his skull, with open mouth
Lifted his curved lids, and kept them wide And eyes at horrid working. Nearest him
Until it ceased ; and still he kept them wide: Asia, born of most enormous Caf,
And still they were the same bright, patient stars. Who cost her mother Tellus. keener pangs,
Then with a slow incline of his broad breast, Though feminine, than any of her sons :
Like to a diver in the pearly seas,

More thought than woe was in her dusky face, Forward he stoop'd over the airy shore,

For she was prophesying of her glory ; .
And plunged all noiseless into the deep night. 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 raised, all prostrate else,
Shadow'd Enceladus; once tame and mild

As grazing ox unworried in the meads ;
Just at the self-same beat of Time's wide wings Now tiger-passion'd, lion-thoughted, wroth,
Hyperion slid into the rustled air,

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,
Their clenched teeth still clench’d, and all their limbs And sidelong fix'd her eye on Saturn's face:
Lock'd up like veins of metal, crampt and screw'd ; There saw she direst strife; the supreme God
Without a motion, save of their big hearts

At war with all the frailty of grief,
Heaving in pain, and horribly convulsed

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,
And many else were free to roam abroad,

A disanointing poison : so that Thea,
But for the main, here found they covert drear. Affrighted, kept her still, and let him pass
Scarce images of life, one here, one there, First onwards in, among the fallen tribe.


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,
“ Titans, behold your God!" at which some groan'd; My voice is not a bellows unto ire.
Some started on their feet; some also shouted; Yet listen, ye who will, whilst I bring proof
Some wept, some wailid-all bow'd with reverence; How ye, perforce, must be content to stoop:
And Ops, uplifting her black folded veil,

And in the proof much comfort will I give,
Show'd her pale cheeks, and all her forehead wan, If ye will take that comfort in its truth.
Her eye-brows thin and jet, and hollow eyes. We fall by course of Nature's law, not force
There is a roaring in the bleak-grown pines Of thunder, or of Jove. Great Saturn, thou
When Winter lifts his voice; there is a noise Hast sifted well the atom-universe;
Among immortals when a God gives sign,

But for this reason, that thou art the King
With hushing finger, how he means to load And only blind from sheer supremacy,
His tongue with the full weight of utterless thought, One avenue was shaded from thine eyes,
With thunder, and with music, and with pomp: Through which I wander'd to eternal truth.
Such noise is like the roar of bleak-grown pines ; And first, as thou wast not the first of powers,
Which, when it ceases in this mountain'd world, So art thou not the last; it cannot be.
No other sound succeeds; but ceasing here, Thou art not the beginning nor the end.
Among these fallen, Saturn's voice therefrom From chaos and parental darkness came
Grew up like organ, that begins anew

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,
As fire with air loud warring when rain-floods In will, in action free, companionship,
Drown both, and press them both against earth's face, And thousand other signs of purer life;
Where, finding sulphur, a quadruple wrath So on our heels a fresh perfection treads,
Unhinges the poor world ;—not in that strife, A power more strong in beauty, born of us
Wherefrom I take strange lore, and read it deep, And fated to excel us, as we pass
Can I find reason why ye should be thus:

In glory that old Darkness : nor are we
No, nowhere can unriddle, though I search, Thereby more conquer'd than by us the rule
And pore on Nature's universal scroll

Of shapeless Chaos. Say, doth the dull soil
Even to swooning, why ye, Divinities,

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
Is all a-hunger'd. Thou, Oceanus,

That first in beauty should be first in might:
Ponderest high and deep; and in thy face | Yea, by that law, another race may drive
I see, astonied, that severe content.

Our conquerors to moum as we do now.
Which comes of thought and musing: give us help!" | Have ye beheld the young God of the Seas,



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,
With songs of misery, music of our woes ;
And sat me down, and took a mouthed shell

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,
O melody no more! for while I sang,

When all the fair Existences of heaven
And with poor skill let pass into the breeze
The dull shell's echo, from a bowery strand

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,
I threw my shell away upon the sand,

Victory, might be lost, or might be won.
And a wave fill'd it, as my sense was fill’d

And be ye mindful that Hyperion,
With that new blissful golden melody.

Our brightest brother, still is undisgraced-
A living death was in each gush of sounds,

Hyperion, lo! his radiance is here!"
Each family of rapturous hurried notes,
That fell, one after one, yet all at once,

All eyes were on Enceladus's face,
Like pearl beads dropping sudden from their string : And they beheld, while still Hyperion's name
And then another, then another strain,

Flew from his lips up to the vaulted rocks,
Each like a dove leaving its olive perch,

A pallid gleam across his features stern:
With music wing'd instead of silent plumes, Not savage, for he saw full many a God
To hover round my head, and make me sick Wroth as himself. He look'd upon them all,
Of joy and grief at once. Grief overcame, And in each face he saw a gleam of light,
And I was stopping up my frantic ears,

But splendider in Saturn's, whose hoar locks
When, past all hindrance of my trembling hands, Shone like the bubbling foam about a keel
A voice came sweeter, sweeter than all tune, When the prow sweeps into a midnight cove.
And still it cried, “Apollo! young Apollo !

In pale and silver silence they remain'd,
The morning-bright Apollo ! young Apollo!' Till suddenly a splendor, like the morn,
I fled, it follow'd me, and cried, 'Apollo!'

Pervaded all the beetling gloomy steeps,
O Father, and O Brethren! had ye felt

All the sad spaces of oblivion,
Those pains of mine! O Saturn, hadst thou felt, And every gulf, and every chasm old,

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And every height, and every sullen depth, Where was he, when the Giant of the Sun
Voiceless, or hoarse with loud tormented streams : Stood bright, amid the sorrow of his peers!
And all the everlasting cataracts,

Together had he left his mother fair
And all the headlong torrents far and near, And his twin-sister sleeping in their bower,
Mantled before in darkness and huge shade, And in the morning twilight wander'd forth
Now saw the light and made it terrible.

Beside the osiers of a rivulet,
It was Hyperion :-a granite peak

Full ankle-deep in lilies of the vale.
His bright feet touch'd, and there he stay'd to view The nightingale had ceased, and a few stars
The misery his brilliance had betray'd

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
In whose face was no joy, though all the Gods Lift up their heads, as still the whisper pass'd.
Gave from their hollow throats the name of "Saturn !" | 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 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,
And the most patient brilliance of the moon! Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk,
And stars by thousands! Point me out the way And so become immortal.”—Thus the God,
To any one particular beauteous star,

While his enkindled eyes, with level glance
And I will flit into it with my lyre,

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 ;
Tell me why thus I rave, about these groves! His very hair, his golden tresses famed
Mute thou remainest--Mute? yet I can read Kept undulation round his eager neck,
A wondrous lesson in thy silent face :

During the pain, Mnemosyne upheld
Knowledge enormous makes a God of me, Her arms as one who prophesied.-At length
Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions, A pollo shriek'd ;-and lo! from all his limbs
Majesties, sovran voices, agonies,

Creations, and destroyings, all at once
Pour into the wide hollows of my brain,

Miscellaneous Poems.

What more felicity can fall to creature
Than to enjoy delight with liberty?

Fate of the Butterfly.-SPENSER.


A little noiseless noise among the leaves,
Born of the very sigh that silence heaves :

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,
I stood tiptoe upon a little hill,

That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
The air was cooling, and so very still,
That the sweet buds which with a modest pride A filbert-hedge with wild-brier overtwined,
Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside,

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,

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