And that fair kneeling Goddess at his feet.
As the moist scent of flowers, and grass, and leaves
Fills forest dells with a pervading air,
Known to the woodland nostril, so the words
Of Saturn fill’d the mossy glooms around,
Even to the hollows of time eaten oaks
And to the windings of the foxes’ hole,
With sad low tones, while thus he spake, and sent
Strange musings to the solitary Pan.
‘Moan, brethren, moan; for we are swallow’d up
‘And buried from all Godlike exercise
‘Of influence benign on planets pale,
‘And peaceful sway above man’s harvesting,
‘And all those acts which Deity supreme
‘Doth ease its heart of love in. Moan and wail,
‘Moan, brethren, moan; for lo, the rebel spheres
‘Spin round, the stars their ancient courses keep,
‘Clouds still with shadowy moisture haunt the earth,
‘Still suck their fill of light from sun and moon,
‘Still buds the tree, and still the sea shores murmur;
‘There is no death in all the Universe,
‘No smell of death there shall be death Moan, moan,
‘Moan, Cybele, moan; for thy pernicious babes
‘Have changed a God into a shaking Palsy.
‘Moan, brethren, moan, for I have no strength left,
‘Weak as the reed weak feeble as my voice
‘O, O, the pain, the pain of feebleness.
‘Moan, moan, for still I thaw or give me help;
‘Throw down those imps, and give me victory.
‘Let me hear other groans, and trumpets blown
‘Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival
‘From the gold peaks of Heaven’s high piled clouds;
‘Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir
‘Of strings in hollow shells; and let there be
‘Beautiful things made new, for the surprise
‘Of the sky children.’ So he feebly ceas’d,
With such a poor and sickly sounding pause,
Methought I heard some old man of the earth
Bewailing earthly loss; nor could my eyes
And ears act with that pleasant unison of sense
Which marries sweet sound with the grace of form,
And dolorous accent from a tragic harp
With large limb’d visions. More I scrutinized:
Still fix’d he sat beneath the sable trees,
Whose arms spread straggling in wild serpent forms,
With leaves all hush’d; his awful presence there
(Now all was silent) gave a deadly lie
To what I erewhile heard only his lips
Trembled amid the white curls of his beard.
They told the truth, though, round, the snowy locks
Hung nobly, as upon the face of heaven
A mid day fleece of clouds. Thea arose,
And stretched her white arm through the hollow dark,
Pointing some whither: whereat he too rose
Like a vast giant, seen by men at sea
To grow pale from the waves at dull midnight.
They melted from my sight into the woods;
Ere I could turn, Moneta cried, ‘These twain
‘Are speeding to the families of grief,
‘Where roof’d in by black rocks they waste, in pain
‘And darkness, for no hope.’ And she spake on,
As ye may read who can unwearied pass
Onward from the antechamber of this dream,
Where even at the open doors awhile
I must delay, and glean my memory
Of her high phrase: perhaps no further dare.
‘Mortal, that thou may’st understand aright,
‘I humanize my sayings to thine ear,
‘Making comparisons of earthly things;
‘Or thou might’st better listen to the wind,
‘Whose language is to thee a barren noise,
‘Though it blows legend laden through the trees.
‘In melancholy realms big tears are 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 for the old allegiance once more,
‘Listening in their doom for Saturn’s voice.
‘But one of our whole eagle brood still keeps
‘His sov’reignty, and rule, and majesty;
‘Blazing Hyperion on his orbed fire
‘Still sits, still snuffs the incense teeming up
‘From man to the sun’s God: yet unsecure,
‘For as upon the earth dire prodigies
‘Fright and perplex, so also shudders he:
‘Nor at dog’s howl or gloom bird’s Even screech,
‘Or the familiar visitings of one
‘Upon the first toll of his passing bell:
‘But horrors, portioned to a giant nerve,
‘Make great Hyperion ache. His palace bright,
‘Bastion’d with pyramids of glowing gold,
‘And touch’d with shade of bronzed obelisks,
‘Glares a blood red through all the thousand courts,
‘Arches, and domes, and fiery galleries:
‘And all its curtains of Aurorian clouds
‘Flush angerly; when he would taste the wreaths
‘Of incense breath’d aloft from sacred hills,
‘Instead of sweets his ample palate takes
‘Savour of poisonous brass and metals sick.
‘Wherefore 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 paces through the pleasant hours of ease
‘With strides colossal, on from hall to hall;
‘While far within each aisle and deep recess
‘His winged minions in close clusters stand
‘Amaz’d, and full of fear; like anxious men,
‘Who on a wide plain gather in sad troops,
‘When earthquakes jar their battlements and towers.
‘Even