Keats: Poems Published in 1820 Part 10

BOOK I.

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star, Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone, Still as the silence round about his lair; Forest on forest hung about his head Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the feather'd gra.s.s, But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest. 10 A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more By reason of his fallen divinity Spreading a shade: the Naiad 'mid her reeds Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips.

Along the margin-sand large foot-marks went, No further than to where his feet had stray'd, And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead, Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed; While his bow'd head seem'd list'ning to the Earth, 20 His ancient mother, for some comfort yet.

It seem'd no force could wake him from his place; But there came one, who with a kindred hand Touch'd his wide shoulders, after bending low With reverence, though to one who knew it not.

She was a G.o.ddess of the infant world; By her in stature the tall Amazon Had stood a pigmy's height: she would have ta'en Achilles by the hair and bent his neck; Or with a finger stay'd Ixion's wheel. 30 Her face was large as that of Memphian sphinx, Pedestal'd haply in a palace court, When sages look'd to Egypt for their lore.

But oh! how unlike marble was that face: How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.

There was a listening fear in her regard, As if calamity had but begun; As if the vanward clouds of evil days Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear 40 Was with its stored thunder labouring up.

One hand she press'd upon that aching spot Where beats the human heart, as if just there, Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain: The other upon Saturn's bended neck She laid, and to the level of his ear Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake In solemn tenour and deep organ tone: Some mourning words, which in our feeble tongue Would come in these like accents; O how frail 50 To that large utterance of the early G.o.ds!

"Saturn, look up!--though wherefore, poor old King?

I have no comfort for thee, no not one: I cannot say, 'O wherefore sleepest thou?'

For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth Knows thee not, thus afflicted, for a G.o.d; And ocean too, with all its solemn noise, Has from thy sceptre pa.s.s'd; and all the air Is emptied of thine h.o.a.ry majesty.

Thy thunder, conscious of the new command, 60 Rumbles reluctant o'er our fallen house; And thy sharp lightning in unpractised hands Scorches and burns our once serene domain.

O aching time! O moments big as years!

All as ye pa.s.s swell out the monstrous truth, And press it so upon our weary griefs That unbelief has not a s.p.a.ce to breathe.

Saturn, sleep on:--O thoughtless, why did I Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude?

Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes? 70 Saturn, sleep on! while at thy feet I weep."

As when, upon a tranced summer-night, Those green-rob'd senators of mighty woods, Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars, Dream, and so dream all night without a stir, Save from one gradual solitary gust Which comes upon the silence, and dies off, As if the ebbing air had but one wave; So came these words and went; the while in tears She touch'd her fair large forehead to the ground, 80 Just where her falling hair might be outspread A soft and silken mat for Saturn's feet.

One moon, with alteration slow, had shed Her silver seasons four upon the night, And still these two were postured motionless, Like natural sculpture in cathedral cavern; The frozen G.o.d still couchant on the earth, And the sad G.o.ddess weeping at his feet: Until at length old Saturn lifted up His faded eyes, and saw his kingdom gone, 90 And all the gloom and sorrow of the place, And that fair kneeling G.o.ddess; and then spake, As with a palsied tongue, and while his beard Shook horrid with such aspen-malady: "O tender spouse of gold Hyperion, Thea, I feel thee ere I see thy face; Look up, and let me see our doom in it; Look up, and tell me if this feeble shape Is Saturn's; tell me, if thou hear'st the voice Of Saturn; tell me, if this wrinkling brow, 100 Naked and bare of its great diadem, Peers like the front of Saturn. Who had power To make me desolate? whence came the strength?

How was it nurtur'd to such bursting forth, While Fate seem'd strangled in my nervous grasp?

But it is so; and I am smother'd up, And buried from all G.o.dlike exercise Of influence benign on planets pale, Of admonitions to the winds and seas, Of peaceful sway above man's harvesting, 110 And all those acts which Deity supreme Doth ease its heart of love in.--I am gone Away from my own bosom: I have left My strong ident.i.ty, my real self, Somewhere between the throne, and where I sit Here on this spot of earth. Search, Thea, search!

Open thine eyes eterne, and sphere them round Upon all s.p.a.ce: s.p.a.ce starr'd, and lorn of light; s.p.a.ce region'd with life-air; and barren void; s.p.a.ces of fire, and all the yawn of h.e.l.l.-- 120 Search, Thea, search! and tell me, if thou seest A certain shape or shadow, making way With wings or chariot fierce to repossess A heaven he lost erewhile: it must--it must Be of ripe progress--Saturn must be King.

Yes, there must be a golden victory; There must be G.o.ds thrown down, and trumpets blown Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival Upon the gold clouds metropolitan, Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir 130 Of strings in hollow sh.e.l.ls; and there shall be Beautiful things made new, for the surprise Of the sky-children; I will give command: Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn?"

This pa.s.sion lifted him upon his feet, And made his hands to struggle in the air, His Druid locks to shake and ooze with sweat, His eyes to fever out, his voice to cease.

He stood, and heard not Thea's sobbing deep; A little time, and then again he s.n.a.t.c.h'd 140 Utterance thus.--"But cannot I create?

Cannot I form? Cannot I fas.h.i.+on forth Another world, another universe, To overbear and crumble this to nought?

Where is another chaos? Where?"--That word Found way unto Olympus, and made quake The rebel three.--Thea was startled up, And in her bearing was a sort of hope, As thus she quick-voic'd spake, yet full of awe.

"This cheers our fallen house: come to our friends, 150 O Saturn! come away, and give them heart; I know the covert, for thence came I hither."

Thus brief; then with beseeching eyes she went With backward footing through the shade a s.p.a.ce: He follow'd, and she turn'd to lead the way Through aged boughs, that yielded like the mist Which eagles cleave upmounting from their nest.

Meanwhile in other realms big tears were shed, More sorrow like to this, and such like woe, Too huge for mortal tongue or pen of scribe: 160 The t.i.tans fierce, self-hid, or prison-bound, Groan'd for the old allegiance once more, And listen'd in sharp pain for Saturn's voice.

But one of the whole mammoth-brood still kept His sov'reignty, and rule, and majesty;-- Blazing Hyperion on his...o...b..d fire Still sat, still snuff'd the incense, teeming up From man to the sun's G.o.d; yet unsecure: For as among us mortals omens drear Fright and perplex, so also shuddered he-- 170 Not at dog's howl, or gloom-bird's hated screech, Or the familiar visiting of one Upon the first toll of his pa.s.sing-bell, Or prophesyings of the midnight lamp; But horrors, portion'd to a giant nerve, Oft made Hyperion ache. His palace bright Bastion'd with pyramids of glowing gold, And touch'd with shade of bronzed obelisks, Glar'd a blood-red through all its thousand courts, Arches, and domes, and fiery galleries; 180 And all its curtains of Aurorian clouds Flush'd angerly: while sometimes eagle's wings, Unseen before by G.o.ds or wondering men, Darken'd the place; and neighing steeds were heard, Not heard before by G.o.ds or wondering men.

Also, when he would taste the spicy wreaths Of incense, breath'd aloft from sacred hills, Instead of sweets, his ample palate took Savour of poisonous bra.s.s and metal sick: And so, when harbour'd in the sleepy west, 190 After the full completion of fair day,-- For rest divine upon exalted couch And slumber in the arms of melody, He pac'd away the pleasant hours of ease With stride colossal, on from hall to hall; While far within each aisle and deep recess, His winged minions in close cl.u.s.ters stood, Amaz'd and full of fear; like anxious men Who on wide plains gather in panting troops, When earthquakes jar their battlements and towers. 200 Even now, while Saturn, rous'd from icy trance, Went step for step with Thea through the woods, Hyperion, leaving twilight in the rear, Came slope upon the threshold of the west; Then, as was wont, his palace-door flew ope In smoothest silence, save what solemn tubes, Blown by the serious Zephyrs, gave of sweet And wandering sounds, slow-breathed melodies; And like a rose in vermeil tint and shape, In fragrance soft, and coolness to the eye, 210 That inlet to severe magnificence Stood full blown, for the G.o.d to enter in.

He enter'd, but he enter'd full of wrath; His flaming robes stream'd out beyond his heels, And gave a roar, as if of earthly fire, That scar'd away the meek ethereal Hours And made their dove-wings tremble. On he flared, From stately nave to nave, from vault to vault, Through bowers of fragrant and enwreathed light, And diamond-paved l.u.s.trous long arcades, 220 Until he reach'd the great main cupola; There standing fierce beneath, he stampt his foot, And from the bas.e.m.e.nts deep to the high towers Jarr'd his own golden region; and before The quavering thunder thereupon had ceas'd, His voice leapt out, despite of G.o.dlike curb, To this result: "O dreams of day and night!

O monstrous forms! O effigies of pain!

O spectres busy in a cold, cold gloom!

O lank-eared Phantoms of black-weeded pools! 230 Why do I know ye? why have I seen ye? why Is my eternal essence thus distraught To see and to behold these horrors new?

Saturn is fallen, am I too to fall?

Am I to leave this haven of my rest, This cradle of my glory, this soft clime, This calm luxuriance of blissful light, These crystalline pavilions, and pure fanes, Of all my lucent empire? It is left Deserted, void, nor any haunt of mine. 240 The blaze, the splendor, and the symmetry, I cannot see--but darkness, death and darkness.

Even here, into my centre of repose, The shady visions come to domineer, Insult, and blind, and stifle up my pomp.-- Fall!--No, by Tellus and her briny robes!

Over the fiery frontier of my realms I will advance a terrible right arm Shall scare that infant thunderer, rebel Jove, And bid old Saturn take his throne again."-- 250 He spake, and ceas'd, the while a heavier threat Held struggle with his throat but came not forth; For as in theatres of crowded men Hubbub increases more they call out "Hus.h.!.+"

So at Hyperion's words the Phantoms pale Bestirr'd themselves, thrice horrible and cold; And from the mirror'd level where he stood A mist arose, as from a sc.u.mmy marsh.

At this, through all his bulk an agony Crept gradual, from the feet unto the crown, 260 Like a lithe serpent vast and muscular Making slow way, with head and neck convuls'd From over-strained might. Releas'd, he fled To the eastern gates, and full six dewy hours Before the dawn in season due should blush, He breath'd fierce breath against the sleepy portals, Clear'd them of heavy vapours, burst them wide Suddenly on the ocean's chilly streams.

The planet orb of fire, whereon he rode Each day from east to west the heavens through, 270 Spun round in sable curtaining of clouds; Not therefore veiled quite, blindfold, and hid, But ever and anon the glancing spheres, Circles, and arcs, and broad-belting colure, Glow'd through, and wrought upon the m.u.f.fling dark Sweet-shaped lightnings from the nadir deep Up to the zenith,--hieroglyphics old, Which sages and keen-eyed astrologers Then living on the earth, with labouring thought Won from the gaze of many centuries: 280 Now lost, save what we find on remnants huge Of stone, or marble swart; their import gone, Their wisdom long since fled.--Two wings this...o...b..Possess'd for glory, two fair argent wings, Ever exalted at the G.o.d's approach: And now, from forth the gloom their plumes immense Rose, one by one, till all outspreaded were; While still the dazzling globe maintain'd eclipse, Awaiting for Hyperion's command.

Fain would he have commanded, fain took throne 290 And bid the day begin, if but for change.

He might not:--No, though a primeval G.o.d: The sacred seasons might not be disturb'd.

Therefore the operations of the dawn Stay'd in their birth, even as here 'tis told.

Those silver wings expanded sisterly, Eager to sail their orb; the porches wide Open'd upon the dusk demesnes of night And the bright t.i.tan, phrenzied with new woes, Unus'd to bend, by hard compulsion bent 300 His spirit to the sorrow of the time; And all along a dismal rack of clouds, Upon the boundaries of day and night, He stretch'd himself in grief and radiance faint.

There as he lay, the Heaven with its stars Look'd down on him with pity, and the voice Of Coelus, from the universal s.p.a.ce, Thus whisper'd low and solemn in his ear.

"O brightest of my children dear, earth-born And sky-engendered, Son of Mysteries 310 All unrevealed 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, Manifestations of that beauteous life Diffus'd unseen throughout eternal s.p.a.ce: Of these new-form'd art thou, oh brightest child!

Of these, thy brethren and the G.o.ddesses! 320 There 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 G.o.ds.

Divine ye were created, and divine In sad demeanour, solemn, undisturb'd, 330 Unruffled, like high G.o.ds, ye liv'd and ruled: Now I behold in you fear, hope, and wrath; Actions of rage and pa.s.sion; 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 G.o.d; And canst oppose to each malignant hour Ethereal presence:--I am but a voice; 340 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 circ.u.mstance; 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, Hyperion arose, and on the stars 350 Lifted his curved lids, and kept them wide Until it ceas'd; 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 stoop'd over the airy sh.o.r.e, And plung'd 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 gain'd with Thea that sad place Where Cybele and the bruised t.i.tans mourn'd.

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 hoa.r.s.e, Pouring a constant bulk, uncertain where.

Crag jutting forth to crag, and rocks that seem'd 10 Ever as if just rising from a sleep, Forehead to forehead held their monstrous horns; And thus in thousand hugest phantasies Made a fit roofing to this nest of woe.

Instead of thrones, hard flint they sat upon, Couches of rugged stone, and slaty ridge Stubborn'd with iron. All were not a.s.sembled: Some chain'd in torture, and some wandering.

Coeus, and Gyges, and Briareus, Typhon, and Dolor, and Porphyrion, 20 With many more, the brawniest in a.s.sault, Were pent in regions of laborious breath; Dungeon'd in opaque element, to keep Their clenched teeth still clench'd, and all their limbs Lock'd up like veins of metal, crampt and screw'd; Without a motion, save of their big hearts Heaving in pain, and horribly convuls'd With sanguine feverous boiling gurge of pulse.

Mnemosyne was straying in the world; Far from her moon had Phoebe wandered; 30 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 Or word, or look, or action of despair. 40 Creus was one; his ponderous iron mace Lay by him, and a shatter'd rib of rock Told of his rage, ere he thus sank and pined.

Iapetus another; in his grasp, A serpent's plashy neck; its barbed tongue Squeez'd from the gorge, and all its uncurl'd length Dead; and because the creature could not spit Its poison in the eyes of conquering Jove.

Next Cottus: p.r.o.ne he lay, chin uppermost, As though in pain; for still upon the flint 50 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, By Oxus or in Ganges' sacred isles. 60 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 rais'd, all prostrate else, Shadow'd Enceladus; once tame and mild As grazing ox unworried in the meads; Now tiger-pa.s.sion'd, lion-thoughted, wroth, He meditated, plotted, and even now Was hurling mountains in that second war, 70 Not long delay'd, that scar'd the younger G.o.ds To hide themselves in forms of beast and bird.

Not far hence Atlas; and beside him p.r.o.ne Phorcus, the sire of Gorgons. Neighbour'd close Ocea.n.u.s, and Tethys, in whose lap Sobb'd 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 Thick night confounds the pine-tops with the clouds: 80 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 chaunt Of Saturn, and his guide, who now had climb'd With damp and slippery footing from a depth More horrid still. Above a sombre cliff Their heads appear'd, and up their stature grew Till on the level height their steps found ease: Then Thea spread abroad her trembling arms Upon the precincts of this nest of pain, 90 And sidelong fix'd her eye on Saturn's face: There saw she direst strife; the supreme G.o.d 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 pour'd a mortal oil upon his head, A disanointing poison: so that Thea, Affrighted, kept her still, and let him pa.s.s First onwards in, among the fallen tribe. 100

As with us mortal men, the laden heart Is persecuted more, and fever'd more, When it is nighing to the mournful house Where other hearts are sick of the same bruise; So Saturn, as he walk'd 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, "t.i.tans, behold your G.o.d!" at which some groan'd; 110 Some started on their feet; some also shouted; Some wept, some wail'd, all bow'd with reverence; And Ops, uplifting her black folded veil, Show'd 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 G.o.d gives sign, With hus.h.i.+ng finger, how he means to load His tongue with the full weight of utterless thought, 120 With thunder, and with music, and with pomp: Such noise is like the roar of bleak-grown pines; Which, when it ceases in this mountain'd 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, stopt short, Leave the dinn'd air vibrating silverly.

Thus grew it up--"Not in my own sad breast, Which is its own great judge and searcher out, 130 Can I find reason why ye should be thus: Not in the legends of the first of days, Studied from that old spirit-leaved book Which starry Ura.n.u.s with finger bright Sav'd from the sh.o.r.es of darkness, when the waves Low-ebb'd still hid it up in shallow gloom;-- And the which book ye know I ever kept For my firm-based footstool:--Ah, infirm!

Not there, nor in sign, symbol, or portent Of element, earth, water, air, and fire,-- 140 At war, at peace, or inter-quarreling 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: No, no-where can unriddle, though I search, 150 And pore on Nature's universal scroll Even to swooning, why ye, Divinities, The first-born of all shap'd and palpable G.o.ds, Should cower beneath what, in comparison, Is untremendous might. Yet ye are here, O'erwhelm'd, and spurn'd, and batter'd, ye are here!

O t.i.tans, shall I say 'Arise!'--Ye groan: Shall I say 'Crouch!'--Ye groan. What can I then?

O Heaven wide! O unseen parent dear!

What can I? Tell me, all ye brethren G.o.ds, 160 How we can war, how engine our great wrath!

O speak your counsel now, for Saturn's ear Is all a-hunger'd. Thou, Ocea.n.u.s, 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 G.o.d of the Sea, Sophist and sage, from no Athenian grove, But cogitation in his watery shades, Arose, with locks not oozy, and began, 170 In murmurs, which his first-endeavouring tongue Caught infant-like from the far-foamed sands.

"O ye, whom wrath consumes! who, pa.s.sion-stung, Writhe at defeat, and nurse your agonies!

Shut up your senses, stifle up your ears, My voice is not a bellows unto ire.