Possessed for glory, two fair argent wings,

Ever exalted at the God’s approach:

And now, from forth the gloom their plumes immense

Rose, one by one, till all outspreaded were;

While still the dazzling globe maintained eclipse,

Awaiting for Hyperion’s command.

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Fain would he have commanded, fain took throne

And bid the day begin, if but for change.

He might not. – No, though a primeval God:

The sacred seasons might not be disturbed.

Therefore the operations of the dawn

Stayed in their birth, even as here ’tis told.

Those silver wings expanded sisterly,

Eager to sail their orb; the porches wide

Opened upon the dusk demesnes of night;

And the bright Titan, frenzied with new woes,

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Unused to bend, by hard compulsion bent

His spirit to the sorrow of the time;

And all along a dismal rack of clouds,

Upon the boundaries of day and night,

He stretched himself in grief and radiance faint.

There as he lay, the Heaven with its stars

Looked down on him with pity, and the voice

Of Coelus, from the universal space,

Thus whispered low and solemn in his ear:

‘O brightest of my children dear, earth-born

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And sky-engendered, Son of Mysteries

All unrevealèd even to the powers

Which met at thy creating; at whose joys

And palpitations sweet, and pleasures soft,

I, Coelus, wonder how they came and whence;

And at the fruits thereof what shapes they be,

Distinct, and visible – symbols divine,

Maniestations of that beauteous life

Diffused unseen throughout eternal space:

f these new-formed art thou, O brightest child!

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Of these, thy brethren and the Goddesses!

here is sad feud among ye, and rebellion

Of son against his sire. I saw him fall,

I saw my first-born tumbled from his throne!

To me his arms were spread, to me his voice

Found way from forth the thunders round his head!

Pale wox I, and in vapours hid my face.

Art thou, too, near such doom? Vague fear there is:

For I have seen my sons most unlike Gods.

Divine ye were created, and divine

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In sad demeanour, solemn, undisturbed,

Unrufflèd, like high Gods, ye lived and ruled:

Now I behold in you fear, hope, and wrath;

Actions of rage and passion – even as

I see them, on the mortal world beneath,

In men who die. This is the grief, O Son!

Sad sign of ruin, sudden dismay, and fall!

Yet do thou strive; as thou art capable,

As thou canst move about, an evident God;

And canst oppose to each malignant hour

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Ethereal presence. I am but a voice;

My life is but the life of winds and tides,

No more than winds and tides can I avail. –

But thou canst. – Be thou therefore in the van

Of circumstance; yea, seize the arrow’s barb

Before the tense string murmur. – To the earth!

For there thou wilt find Saturn, and his woes.

Meantime I will keep watch on thy bright sun,

And of thy seasons be a careful nurse.’ –

Ere half this region-whisper had come down,

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Hyperion arose, and on the stars

Lifted his curvèd lids, and kept them wide

Until it ceased; and still he kept them wide;

And still they were the same bright, patient stars.

Then with a slow incline of his broad breast,

Like to a diver in the pearly seas,

Forward he stooped over the airy shore,

And plunged all noiseless into the deep night.

BOOK II

Just at the self-same beat of Time’s wide wings,

Hyperion slid into the rustled air

And Saturn gained with Thea that sad place

Where Cybele and the bruised Titans mourned.

It was a den where no insulting light

Could glimmer on their tears; where their own groans

They felt, but heard not, for the solid roar

Of thunderous waterfalls and torrents hoarse,

Pouring a constant bulk, uncertain where.

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Crag jutting forth to crag, and rocks that seemed

Ever as if just rising from a sleep,

Forehead to forehead held their monstrous horns;

And thus in thousand hugest fantasies

Made a fit roofing to this nest of woe.

Instead of thrones, hard flint they sat upon,

Couches of rugged stone, and slaty ridge

Stubborned with iron. All were not assembled:

Some chained in torture, and some wandering.

Coeus, and Gyges, and Briareüs,

20

Typhon, and Dolor, and Porphyrion,

With many more, the brawniest in assault,

Were pent in regions of laborious breath;

Dungeoned in opaque element, to keep

Their clenched teeth still clenched, and all their limbs

Locked up like veins of metal, cramped and screwed;

Without a motion, save of their big hearts

Heaving in pain, and horribly convulsed

With sanguine fev’rous boiling gurge of pulse.

Mnemosyne was straying in the world;

30

Far from her moon had Phoebe wandered;

And many else were free to roam abroad,

But for the main, here found they covert drear.

Scarce images of life, one here, one there,

Lay vast and edgeways; like a dismal cirque

Of Druid stones, upon a forlorn moor,

When the chill rain begins at shut of eve,

In dull November, and their chancel vault,

The Heaven itself, is blinded throughout night.

Each one kept shroud, nor to his neighbour gave

40

Or word, or look, or action of despair.

Creüs was one; his ponderous iron mace

Lay by him, and a shattered rib of rock

Told of his rage, ere he thus sank and pined.

Iäpetus another; in his grasp,

A serpent’s plashy neck; its barbed tongue

Squeezed from the gorge, and all its uncurled length

Dead – and because the creature could not spit

Its poison in the eyes of conquering Jove.

Next Cottus; prone he lay, chin uppermost,

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As though in pain, for still upon the flint

He ground severe his skull, with open mouth

And eyes at horrid working. Nearest him

Asia, born of most enormous Caf,

Who cost her mother Tellus keener pangs,

Though feminine, than any of her sons:

More thought than woe was in her dusky face,

For she was prophesying of her glory;

And in her wide imagination stood

Palm-shaded temples, and high rival fanes,

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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,

Shadowed Enceladus – once tame and mild

As grazing ox unworried in the meads;

Now tiger-passioned, lion-thoughted, wroth,

He meditated, plotted, and even now

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Was hurling mountains in that second war,

Not long delayed, that scared the younger Gods

To hide themselves in forms of beast and bird.

Not far hence Atlas; and beside him prone

Phorcus, the sire of Gorgons. Neighboured close

Oceanus, and Tethys, in whose lap

Sobbed Clymene among her tangled hair.

In midst of all lay Themis, at the feet

Of Ops the queen all clouded round from sight;

No shape distinguishable, more than when

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Thick night confounds the pine-tops with the clouds –

And many else whose names may not be told.

For when the Muse’s wings are air-ward spread,

Who shall delay her flight? And she must chant

Of Saturn, and his guide, who now had climbed

With damp and slippery footing from a depth

More horrid still. Above a sombre cliff

Their heads appeared, and up their stature grew

Till on the level height their steps found ease:

Then Thea spread abroad her trembling arms

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Upon the precincts of this nest of pain,

And sidelong fixed her eye on Saturn’s face.

There saw she direst strife – the supreme God

At war with all the frailty of grief,

Of rage, of fear, anxiety, revenge,

Remorse, spleen, hope, but most of all despair.

Against these plagues he strove in vain; for Fate

Had poured a mortal oil upon his head,

A disanointing poison, so that Thea,

Affrighted, kept her still, and let him pass

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First onwards in, among the fallen tribe.

As with us mortal men, the laden heart

Is persecuted more, and fevered more,

When it is nighing to the mournful house

Where other hearts are sick of the same bruise;

So Saturn, as he walked into the midst,

Felt faint, and would have sunk among the rest,

But that he met Enceladus’s eye,

Whose mightiness, and awe of him, at once

Came like an inspiration; and he shouted,

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‘Titans, behold your God!’ At which some groaned;

Some started on their feet; some also shouted;

Some wept, some wailed, all bowed with reverence;

And Ops, uplifting her black folded veil,

Showed her pale cheeks, and all her forehead wan,

Her eye-brows thin and jet, and hollow eyes.

There is a roaring in the bleak-grown pines

When Winter lifts his voice; there is a noise

Among immortals when a God gives sign,

With hushing finger, how he means to load

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His tongue with the full weight of utterless thought,

With thunder, and with music, and with pomp:

Such noise is like the roar of bleak-grown pines,

Which, when it ceases in this mountained world,

No other sound succeeds; but ceasing here,

Among these fallen, Saturn’s voice therefrom

Grew up like organ, that begins anew

Its strain, when other harmonies, stopped short,

Leave the dinned air vibrating silverly.

Thus grew it up: ‘Not in my own sad breast,

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Which is its own great judge and searcher-out,

Can I find reason why ye should be thus:

Not in the legends of the first of days,

Studied from that old spirit-leavèd book

Which starry Uranus with finger bright

Saved from the shores of darkness, when the waves

Low-ebbed still hid it up in shallow gloom –

And the which book ye know I ever kept

For my firm-basèd footstool – Ah, infirm!

Not there, nor in sign, symbol, or portent

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Of element, earth, water, air, and fire –

At war, at peace, or inter-quarrelling

One against one, or two, or three, or all

Each several one against the other three,

As fire with air loud warring when rain-floods

Drown both, and press them both against earth’s face,

Where, finding sulphur, a quadruple wrath

Unhinges the poor world – not in that strife,

Wherefrom I take strange lore, and read it deep,

Can I find reason why ye should be thus –

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No, nowhere can unriddle, though I search,

And pore on Nature’s universal scroll

Even to swooning, why ye, Divinities,

The first-born of all shaped and palpable Gods,

Should cower beneath what, in comparison,

Is untremendous might. Yet ye are here,

O’erwhelmed, and spurned, and battered, ye are here!

O Titans, shall I say, “Arise!”? – Ye groan:

Shall I say “Crouch!”? – Ye groan. What can I then?

O Heaven wide! O unseen parent dear!

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What can I? Tell me, all ye brethren Gods,

How we can war, how engine our great wrath!

O speak your counsel now, for Saturn’s ear

Is all a-hungered. Thou, Oceanus,

Ponderest high and deep, and in thy face

I see, astonied, that severe content

Which comes of thought and musing. Give us help!’

So ended Saturn; and the God of the Sea,

Sophist and sage from no Athenian grove,

But cogitation in his watery shades,

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Arose, with locks not oozy, and began,

In murmurs which his first-endeavouring tongue

Caught infant-like from the far-foamèd sands.

‘O ye, whom wrath consumes! who, passion-stung,

Writhe at defeat, and nurse your agonies!

Shut up your senses, stifle up your ears,

My voice is not a bellows unto ire.

Yet listen, ye who will, whilst I bring proof

How ye, perforce, must be content to stoop;

And in the proof much comfort will I give,

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If ye will take that comfort in its truth.

We fall by course of Nature’s law, not force

Of thunder, or of Jove. Great Saturn, thou

Hast sifted well the atom-universe;

But for this reason, that thou art the King,

And only blind from sheer supremacy,

One avenue was shaded from thine eyes,

Through which I wandered to eternal truth.

And first, as thou wast not the first of powers,

So art thou not the last; it cannot be:

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Thou art not the beginning nor the end.

From Chaos and parental Darkness came

Light, the first fruits of that intestine broil,

That sullen ferment, which for wondrous ends

Was ripening in itself. The ripe hour came,

And with it Light, and Light, engendering

Upon its own producer, forthwith touched

The whole enormous matter into life.

Upon that very hour, our parentage,

The Heavens, and the Earth, were manifest:

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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,

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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 conquered, 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?

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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 its joys?

We are such forest-trees and our fair boughs

Have bred forth, not pale solitary doves,

But eagles golden-feathered, 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.

230

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, foamed along

By noble winged creatures he hath made?

I saw him on the calmèd waters scud,

With such a glow of beauty in his eyes,

That it enforced me to bid sad farewell

To all my empire: farewell sad I took,

240

And hither came, to see how dolorous fate

Had wrought upon ye; and how I might best

Give consolation in this woe extreme.

Receive the truth, and let it be your balm.’

Whether through posed conviction, or disdain,

They guarded silence, when Oceanus

Left murmuring, what deepest thought can tell?

But so it was; none answered for a space,

Save one whom none regarded, Clymene;

And yet she answered not, only complained,

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With hectic lips, and eyes up-looking mild,

Thus wording timidly among the fierce:

‘O Father, I am here the simplest voice,

And all my knowledge is that joy is gone,

And this thing woe crept in among our hearts,

There to remain for ever, as I fear.

I would not bode of evil, if I thought

So weak a creature could turn off the help

Which by just right should come of mighty Gods;

Yet let me tell my sorrow, let me tell

260

Of what I heard, and how it made me weep,

And know that we had parted, from all hope.

I stood upon a shore, a pleasant shore,

Where a sweet clime was breathed from a land

Of fragrance, quietness, and trees, and flowers.

Full of calm joy it was, as I of grief;

Too full of joy and soft delicious warmth;

So that I felt a movement in my heart

To chide, and to reproach that solitude

With songs of misery, music of our woes;

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And sat me down, and took a mouthèd shell

And murmured into it, and made melody –

O melody no more! for while I sang,

And with poor skill let pass into the breeze

The dull shell’s echo, from a bowery strand

Just opposite, an island of the sea,

There came enchantment with the shifting wind,

That did both drown and keep alive my ears.

I threw my shell away upon the sand,

And a wave filled it, as my sense was filled

280

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 winged instead of silent plumes,

To hover round my head, and make me sick

Of joy and grief at once. Grief overcame,

290

And I was stopping up my frantic ears,

When, past all hindrance of my trembling hands,

A voice came sweeter, sweeter than all tune,

And still it cried, “Apollo! young Apollo!

The morning-bright Apollo! young Apollo!”

I fled, it followed me, and cried “Apollo!”

O Father, and O Brethren, had ye felt

Those pains of mine – O Saturn, hadst thou felt,

Ye would not call this too indulged tongue

Presumptuous, in thus venturing to be heard.’

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So far her voice flowed on, like timorous brook

That, lingering along a pebbled coast,

Doth fear to meet the sea: but sea it met,

And shuddered; for the overwhelming voice

Of huge Enceladus swallowed it in wrath:

The ponderous syllables, like sullen waves

In the half-glutted hollows of reef-rocks,

Came boomng thus, while still upon his arm

He leaned – not rising, from supreme contempt:

‘Or shall we listen to the over-wise,

310

Or to the over-foolish, Giant-Gods?

Not thunderbolt on thunderbolt, till all

That rebel Jove’s whole armoury 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,

320

Thy scalding in the seas? What, have I roused

Your spleens with so few simple words as these

O joy! for now I see ye are not lost:

O joy! for now I see a thousand eyes

Wide-glaring for revenge!’ – As this he said,

He lifted up his stature vast, and stood,

Still without intermission speaking thus:

Now ye are flames, I’ll tell you how to burn,

nd purge the ether of our enemies;

How to feed fierce the crooked stings of fire,

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And singe away the swollen clouds of Jove,

Stifling that puny essence in its tent.

O let him feel the evil he hath done;

or though I scorn Oceanuss lore,

Much pain have I for more than loss of realms:

The days of peace and slumbrous 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,

340

Before our lips knew else but solemn sounds;

That was before we knew the wingèd 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,

And they beheld, while still Hyperion’s name

Flew from his lips up to the vaulted rocks,

A pallid gleam across his features stern –

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Not savage, for he saw full many a God

Wroth as himself. He looked upon them all,

And in each face he saw a gleam of light,

But splendider in Saturn’s, whose hoar locks

Shone like the bubbling foam about a keel

When the prow sweeps into a midnight cove.

In pale and silver silence they remained,

Till suddenly a splendour, like the morn,

Pervaded all the beetling gloomy steeps,

All the sad spaces of oblivion,

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And every gulf, and every chasm old,

And every height, and every sullen depth,

Voiceless, or hoarse with loud tormented streams;

And all the everlasting cataracts,

And all the headlong torrents far and near,

Mantled before in darkness and huge shade,

Now saw the light and made it terrible.

It was Hyperion: a granite peak

His bright feet touched, and there he stayed to view

The misery his brilliance had betrayed

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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 Memnon’s harp,

He uttered, while his hands contemplative

He pressed together, and in silence stood.

Despondence seized again the fallen Gods

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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 Iäpetus, and Creüs 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!’

Saturn sat near the Mother of the Gods,

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In whose face was no joy, though all the Gods

Gave from their hollow throats the name of ‘Saturn!’

BOOK III

Thus in alternate uproar and sad peace,

Amazèd were those Titans utterly.

O leave them, Muse! O leave them to their woes;

For thou art weak to sing such tumults dire:

A solitary sorrow best befits

Thy lips, and antheming a lonely grief.

Leave them, O Muse! for thou anon wilt find

Many a fallen old Divinity

Wandering in vain about bewildered shores.

10

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-lipped shells,

20

On sands, or in great deeps, vermilion turn

Through all their labyrinths; and let the maid

Blush keenly, as with some warm kiss surprised.

Chief isle of the embowered Cyclades,

Rejoice, O Delos, with thine olives green,

And poplars, and lawn-shading palms, and beech,

In which the Zephyr breathes the loudest song,

And hazels thick, dark-stemmed beneath the shade:

Apollo is once more the golden theme!

Where was he, when the Giant of the Sun

30

Stood bright, amid the sorrow of his peers?

Together had he left his mother fair

And his twin-sister sleeping in their bower,

And in the morning twilight wandered forth

Beside the osiers of a rivulet,

Full ankle-deep in lilies of the vale.

The nightingale had ceased, and a few stars

Were lingering in the heavens, while the thrush

Began calm-throated. Throughout all the isle

There was no covert, no retirèd cave

40

Unhaunted by the murmurous noise of waves,

Though scarcely heard in many a green recess.

He listened, and he wept, and his bright tears

Went trickling down the golden bow he held.

Thus with half-shut suffusèd eyes he stood,

While from beneath some cumbrous boughs hard by

With solemn step an awful Goddess came,

And there was purport in her looks for him,

Which he with eager guess began to read

Perplexed, the while melodiously he said:

50

‘How cam’st thou over the unfooted sea?

Or hath that antique mien and robed form

Moved in these vales invisible till now?

Sure I have heard those vestments sweeping o’er

The fallen leaves, when I have sat alone

In cool mid-forest. Surely I have traced

The rustle of those ample skirts about

These grassy solitudes, and seen the flowers

Lift up their heads, as still the whisper passed.

Goddess! I have beheld those eyes before,

60

And their eternal calm, and all that face,

Or I have dreamed.’ – ‘Yes,’ said the supreme shape,

Thou hast dreamed of me; and awaking up

Didst find a lyre all golden by thy side,

Whose strings touched by thy fingers, all the vast

Unwearied ear of the whole universe

Listened 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,

What sorrow thou canst feel; for I am sad

70

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

Plucked 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,

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With sudden scrutiny and gloomless eyes,

Thus answered, while his white melodious throat

Throbbed 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;

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And then upon the grass I sit, and moan,

Like one who once had wings. O why should I

Feel cursed and thwarted, when the liegeless air

Yields to my step aspirant? Why should I

Spurn the green turf as hateful to my feet?

Goddess benign, point forth some unknown thing:

Are there not other regions than this isle?

What are the stars? There is the sun, the sun!

And the most patient brilliance of the moon!

And stars by thousands! Point me out the way

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To any one particular beauteous star,

And I will flit into it with my lyre,

And make its silvery splendour pant with bliss.

I have heard the cloudy thunder. Where is power?

Whose hand, whose essence, what Divinity

Makes this alarum in the elements,

While I here idle listen on the shores

In fearless yet in aching ignorance?

O tell me, lonely Goddess, by thy harp,

That waileth every morn and eventide,

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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, grey 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,

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And so become immortal.’ – Thus the God,

While his enkindlèd 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 convulse

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Die into life: so young Apollo anguished.

His very hair, his golden tresses famed

Kept undulation round his eager neck.

During the pain Mnemosyne upheld

Her arms as one who prophesied. – At length

Apollo shrieked – and lo! from all his limbs

Celestial….

Ever let the Fancy roam,

Pleasure never is at home:

At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,

Like to bubbles when rain pelteth.

Then let wingèd Fancy wander

Through the thought still spread beyond her:

Open wide the mind’s cage-door,

She’ll dart forth, and cloudward soar.

O sweet Fancy! let her loose –

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Summer’s joys are spoilt by use,

And the enjoying of the Spring

Fades as does its blossoming;

Autumn’s red-lipped fruitage too,

Blushing through the mist and dew,

Cloys with tasting.