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– 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.” —

      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 “Hush!”

      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 scummy marsh.

      At this, through all his bulk an agony

      Crept gradual, from the feet unto the crown,

      Like a lithe serpent vast and muscular

      Making slow way, with head and neck convuls’d

      From overstrained 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,

      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 muffling 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:

      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 orb

      Possess’d 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 maintain’d eclipse,

      Awaiting for Hyperion’s command.

      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 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 Titan, phrenzied with new woes,

      Unus’d 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 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 space,

      Thus whisper’d low and solemn in his ear.

      “O brightest of my children dear, earth-born

      And sky-engendered, Son of Mysteries

      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 space:

      Of these new-form’d art thou, oh brightest child!

      Of these, thy brethren and the Goddesses!

      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 Gods.

      Divine ye were created, and divine

      In sad demeanour, solemn, undisturb’d,

      Unruffled, like high Gods, ye liv’d 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

      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,

      Hyperion arose, and on the stars

      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 shore,

      And plung’d all noiseless into the deep night.

      Hyperion Book II

      Just at the selfsame beat of Time’s wide wings

      Hyperion slid into the rustled air,

      And

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