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; 410 Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir
Of strings in hollow shells; and there shall be Beautiful things made new, for the surprise Of the sky-children." So he feebly ceased, 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 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 fixt 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 stretcht 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 cry'd, "These twain
Are speeding to the families of grief,
Where, rooft in by black rocks, they waste in pain
(408-14) Compare Book I, lines 127-33.
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 thro' 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 the whole eagle-brood still keeps His sovereignty, 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 insecure. For as upon the earth dire prodigies Fright and perplex, so also shudders he;
(7) The remainder of this fragment should be compared in detail with the maturer version, Book I, lines 158-217.
Not at dog's howl or gloom-bird's hated screech, Or the familiar visiting of one
Upon the first toll of his passing bell, Or prophesyings of the midnight lamp; But horrors, portioned to a giant nerve,
Make great Hyperion ache. His palace bright, Bastion'd with pyramids of shining gold, And touch'd with shade of bronzed obelisks, Glares a blood-red thro' all the thousand courts, Arches, and domes, and fiery galleries;
And all its curtains of Aurorian clouds
Flash 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 now where Saturn, rous'd from icy trance, Goes step for step with Thea from yon woods, Hyperion, leaving twilight in the rear,
Is sloping to the threshold of the West.
Thither we tend." Now in clear light I stood, Reliev'd from the dusk vale. Mnemosyne Was sitting on a square-edg'd polish'd stone, That in its lucid depth reflected pure
Her priestess' garments. My quick eyes ran on From stately nave to nave, from vault to vault, Through bow'rs of fragrant and enwreathed light, And diamond-paved lustrous long arcades. Anon rush'd by the bright Hyperion;
His flaming robes stream'd out beyond his heels, And gave a roar as if of earthy fire,
That scar'd away the meek ethereal hours,
And made their dove-wings tremble. On he flared.
(57) Lord Houghton gives diamond-paned here; but as the line is otherwise identical with line 220 of Book I of Hyperion as printed by Keats, there can be no doubt that diamond-paved is the right expression.
(62) Lord Houghton notes that the manuscript ends here.
« PreviousContinue » |