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 itsjoys? 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

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 over

"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 armory 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,

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 undis-
graced—

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,

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 Mem

non's harp

[tive He utter'd, while his hands contemplaHe 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 läpetus, and Creûs 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!"

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

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.

should I

why

Whose hand, whose essence, what divinity

Makes this alarum in the elements,
While I here idle listen on the shore
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, steadfast 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

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms !
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow

With anguish moist and fever dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,

Full beautiful- a faery's child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

'I set her on my pacing steed,

And nothing else saw all day long. For sidelong would she bend, and sing A faery's song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,

And honey wild, and manna dew, And sure in language strange she said"I love thee true.'

She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she wept, and sigh'd full

sore,

And there I shut her wild wild eyes With kisses four.

And there she lulléd me asleep.

And there I dream'd-Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill's side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they
all;
They cried- "La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"

I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither'd from the
lake

And no birds sing.

1819. May 10, 1820.