<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420973" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Hyperion. Book II</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Just at the self-same beat of Time's wide wings<br>Hyperion slid into the rustled air,<br>And Saturn gain'd with Thea that sad place<br>Where Cybele and the bruised Titans mourn'd.<br>It was a den where no insulting light<br>Could glimmer on their tears; where their own groans<br>They felt, but heard not, for the solid roar<br>Of thunderous waterfalls and torrents hoarse,<br>Pouring a constant bulk, uncertain where.<br>Crag jutting forth to crag, and rocks that seem'd<br>Ever as if just rising from a sleep,<br>Forehead to forehead held their monstrous horns;<br>And thus in thousand hugest phantasies<br>Made a fit roofing to this nest of woe.<br>Instead of thrones, hard flint they sat upon,<br>Couches of rugged stone, and slaty ridge<br>Stubborn'd with iron. All were not assembled:<br>Some chain'd in torture, and some wandering.<br>Caus, and Gyges, and Briareus,<br>Typhon, and Dolor, and Porphyrion,<br>With many more, the brawniest in assault,<br>Were pent in regions of laborious breath;<br>Dungeon'd in opaque element, to keep<br>Their clenched teeth still clench'd, and all their limbs<br>Lock'd up like veins of metal, crampt and screw'd;<br>Without a motion, save of their big hearts<br>Heaving in pain, and horribly convuls'd<br>With sanguine feverous boiling gurge of pulse.<br>Mnemosyne was straying in the world;<br>Far from her moon had Phoebe wandered;<br>And many else were free to roam abroad,<br>But for the main, here found they covert drear.<br>Scarce images of life, one here, one there,<br>Lay vast and edgeways; like a dismal cirque<br>Of Druid stones, upon a forlorn moor,<br>When the chill rain begins at shut of eve,<br>In dull November, and their chancel vault,<br>The Heaven itself, is blinded throughout night.<br>Each one kept shroud, nor to his neighbour gave<br>Or word, or look, or action of despair.<br>Creus was one; his ponderous iron mace<br>Lay by him, and a shatter'd rib of rock<br>Told of his rage, ere he thus sank and pined.<br>Iapetus another; in his grasp,<br>A serpent's plashy neck; its barbed tongue<br>Squeez'd from the gorge, and all its uncurl'd length<br>Dead: and because the creature could not spit<br>Its poison in the eyes of conquering Jove.<br>Next Cottus: prone he lay, chin uppermost,<br>As though in pain; for still upon the flint<br>He ground severe his skull, with open mouth<br>And eyes at horrid working. Nearest him<br>Asia, born of most enormous Caf,<br>Who cost her mother Tellus keener pangs,<br>Though feminine, than any of her sons:<br>More thought than woe was in her dusky face,<br>For she was prophesying of her glory;<br>And in her wide imagination stood<br>Palm-shaded temples, and high rival fanes<br>By Oxus or in Ganges' sacred isles.<br>Even as Hope upon her anchor leans,<br>So leant she, not so fair, upon a tusk<br>Shed from the broadest of her elephants.<br>Above her, on a crag's uneasy shelve,<br>Upon his elbow rais'd, all prostrate else,<br>Shadow'd Enceladus; once tame and mild<br>As grazing ox unworried in the meads;<br>Now tiger-passion'd, lion-thoughted, wroth,<br>He meditated, plotted, and even now<br>Was hurling mountains in that second war,<br>Not long delay'd, that scar'd the younger Gods<br>To hide themselves in forms of beast and bird.<br>Not far hence Atlas; and beside him prone<br>Phorcus, the sire of Gorgons. Neighbour'd close<br>Oceanus, and Tethys, in whose lap<br>Sobb'd Clymene among her tangled hair.<br>In midst of all lay Themis, at the feet<br>Of Ops the queen; all clouded round from sight,<br>No shape distinguishable, more than when<br>Thick night confounds the pine-tops with the clouds:<br>And many else whose names may not be told.<br>For when the Muse's wings are air-ward spread,<br>Who shall delay her flight? And she must chaunt<br>Of Saturn, and his guide, who now had climb'd<br>With damp and slippery footing from a depth<br>More horrid still. Above a sombre cliff<br>Their heads appear'd, and up their stature grew<br>Till on the level height their steps found ease:<br>Then Thea spread abroad her trembling arms<br>Upon the precincts of this nest of pain,<br>And sidelong fix'd her eye on Saturn's face:<br>There saw she direst strife; the supreme God<br>At war with all the frailty of grief,<br>Of rage, of fear, anxiety, revenge,<br>Remorse, spleen, hope, but most of all despair.<br>Against these plagues he strove in vain; for Fate<br>Had pour'd a mortal oil upon his head,<br>A disanointing poison: so that Thea,<br>Affrighted, kept her still, and let him pass<br>First onwards in, among the fallen tribe. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">As with us mortal men, the laden heart<br>Is persecuted more, and fever'd more,<br>When it is nighing to the mournful house<br>Where other hearts are sick of the same bruise;<br>So Saturn, as he walk'd into the midst,<br>Felt faint, and would have sunk among the rest,<br>But that he met Enceladus's eye,<br>Whose mightiness, and awe of him, at once<br>Came like an inspiration; and he shouted,<br>'Titans, behold your God!' at which some groan'd;<br>Some started on their feet; some also shouted;<br>Some wept, some wail'd, all bow'd with reverence;<br>And Ops, uplifting her black folded veil,<br>Show'd her pale cheeks, and all her forehead wan,<br>Her eye-brows thin and jet, and hollow eyes.<br>There is a roaring in the bleak-grown pines<br>When Winter lifts his voice; there is a noise<br>Among immortals when a God gives sign,<br>With hushing finger, how he means to load<br>His tongue with the filll weight of utterless thought,<br>With thunder, and with music, and with pomp:<br>Such noise is like the roar of bleak-grown pines;<br>Which, when it ceases in this mountain'd world,<br>No other sound succeeds; but ceasing here,<br>Among these fallen, Saturn's voice therefrom<br>Grew up like organ, that begins anew<br>Its strain, when other harmonies, stopt short,<br>Leave the dinn'd air vibrating silverly.<br>Thus grew it up—-'Not in my own sad breast,<br>Which is its own great judge and searcher out,<br>Can I find reason why ye should be thus:<br>Not in the legends of the first of days,<br>Studied from that old spirit-leaved book<br>Which starry Uranus with finger bright<br>Sav'd from the shores of darkness, when the waves<br>Low-ebb'd still hid it up in shallow gloom;—-<br>And the which book ye know I ever kept<br>For my firm-based footstool:—-Ah, infirm!<br>Not there, nor in sign, symbol, or portent<br>Of element, earth, water, air, and fire,—-<br>At war, at peace, or inter-quarreling<br>One against one, or two, or three, or all<br>Each several one against the other three,<br>As fire with air loud warring when rain-floods<br>Drown both, and press them both against earth's face,<br>Where, finding sulphur, a quadruple wrath<br>Unhinges the poor world;—-not in that strife,<br>Wherefrom I take strange lore, and read it deep,<br>Can I find reason why ye should be thus:<br>No, nowhere can unriddle, though I search,<br>And pore on Nature's universal scroll<br>Even to swooning, why ye, Divinities,<br>The first-born of all shap'd and palpable Gods,<br>Should cower beneath what, in comparison,<br>Is untremendous might. Yet ye are here,<br>O'erwhelm'd, and spurn'd, and batter'd, ye are here!<br>O Titans, shall I say 'Arise!'—-Ye groan:<br>Shall I say 'Crouch!'—-Ye groan. What can I then?<br>O Heaven wide! O unseen parent dear!<br>What can I? Tell me, all ye brethren Gods,<br>How we can war, how engine our great wrath!<br>O speak your counsel now, for Saturn's ear<br>Is all a-hunger'd. Thou, Oceanus,<br>Ponderest high and deep; and in thy face<br>I see, astonied, that severe content<br>Which comes of thought and musing: give us help!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So ended Saturn; and the God of the sea,<br>Sophist and sage, from no Athenian grove,<br>But cogitation in his watery shades,<br>Arose, with locks not oozy, and began,<br>In murmurs, which his first-endeavouring tongue<br>Caught infant-like from the far-foamed sands.<br>'O ye, whom wrath consumes! who, passion-stung,<br>Writhe at defeat, and nurse your agonies!<br>Shut up your senses, stifle up your ears,<br>My voice is not a bellows unto ire.<br>Yet listen, ye who will, whilst I bring proof<br>How ye, perforce, must be content to stoop:<br>And in the proof much comfort will I give,<br>If ye will take that comfort in its truth.<br>We fall by course of Nature's law, not force<br>Of thunder, or of Jove. Great Saturn, thou<br>Hast sifted well the atom-universe;<br>But for this reason, that thou art the King,<br>And only blind from sheer supremacy,<br>One avenue was shaded from thine eyes,<br>Through which I wandered to eternal truth.<br>And first, as thou wast not the first of powers,<br>So art thou not the last; it cannot be:<br>Thou art not the beginning nor the end.<br>From Chaos and parental Darkness came<br>Light, the first fruits of that intestine broil,<br>That sullen ferment, which for wondrous ends<br>Was ripening in itself. The ripe hour came,<br>And with it Light, and Light, engendering<br>Upon its own producer, forthwith touch'd<br>The whole enormous matter into life.<br>Upon that very hour, our parentage,<br>The Heavens and the Earth, were manifest:<br>Then thou first born, and we the giant race,<br>Found ourselves ruling new and beauteous realms.<br>Now comes the pain of truth, to whom 'tis pain;<br>O folly! for to bear all naked truths,<br>And to envisage circumstance, all calm,<br>That is the top of sovereignty. Mark well!<br>As Heaven and Earth are fairer, fairer far<br>Than Chaos and blank Darkness, though once chiefs;<br>And as we show beyond that Heaven and Earth<br>In form and shape compact and beautiful,<br>In will, in action free, companionship,<br>And thousand other signs of purer life;<br>So on our heels a fresh perfection treads,<br>A power more strong in beauty, born of us<br>And fated to excel us, as we pass<br>In glory that old Darkness: nor are we<br>Thereby more conquer'd, than by us the rule<br>Of shapeless Chaos. Say, doth the dull soil<br>Quarrel with the proud forests it hath fed,<br>And feedeth still, more comely than itself?<br>Can it deny the chiefdom of green groves?<br>Or shall the tree be envious of the dove<br>Because it cooeth, and hath snowy wings<br>To wander wherewithal and find its joys?<br>We are such forest-trees, and our fair boughs<br>Have bred forth, not pale solitary doves,<br>But eagles golden-feather'd, who do tower<br>Above us in their beauty, and must reign<br>In right thereof; for 'tis the eternal law<br>That first in beauty should be first in might:<br>Yea, by that law, another race may drive<br>Our conquerors to mourn as we do now.<br>Have ye beheld the young God of the seas,<br>My dispossessor? Have ye seen his face?<br>Have ye beheld his chariot, foam'd along<br>By noble winged creatures he hath made?<br>I saw him on the calmed waters scud,<br>With such a glow of beauty in his eyes,<br>That it enforc'd me to bid sad farewell<br>To all my empire: farewell sad I took,<br>And hither came, to see how dolorous fate<br>Had wrought upon ye; and how I might best<br>Give consolation in this woe extreme.<br>Receive the truth, and let it be your balm.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whether through pos'd conviction, or disdain,<br>They guarded silence, when Oceanus<br>Left murmuring, what deepest thought can tell?<br>But so it was, none answer'd for a space,<br>Save one whom none regarded, Clymene;<br>And yet she answer'd not, only complain'd,<br>With hectic lips, and eyes up-looking mild,<br>Thus wording timidly among the fierce:<br>'O Father! I am here the simplest voice,<br>And all my knowledge is that joy is gone,<br>And this thing woe crept in among our hearts,<br>There to remain for ever, as I fear:<br>I would not bode of evil, if I thought<br>So weak a creature could turn off the help<br>Which by just right should come of mighty Gods;<br>Yet let me tell my sorrow, let me tell<br>Of what I heard, and how it made me weep,<br>And know that we had parted from all hope.<br>I stood upon a shore, a pleasant shore,<br>Where a sweet clime was breathed from a land<br>Of fragrance, quietness, and trees, and flowers.<br>Full of calm joy it was, as I of grief;<br>Too full of joy and soft delicious warmth;<br>So that I felt a movement in my heart<br>To chide, and to reproach that solitude<br>With songs of misery, music of our woes;<br>And sat me down, and took a mouthed shell<br>And murmur'd into it, and made melody—-<br>O melody no more! for while I sang,<br>And with poor skill let pass into the breeze<br>The dull shell's echo, from a bowery strand<br>Just opposite, an island of the sea,<br>There came enchantment with the shifting wind,<br>That did both drown and keep alive my ears.<br>I threw my shell away upon the sand,<br>And a wave fill'd it, as my sense was fill'd<br>With that new blissful golden melody.<br>A living death was in each gush of sounds,<br>Each family of rapturous hurried notes,<br>That fell, one after one, yet all at once,<br>Like pearl beads dropping sudden from their string:<br>And then another, then another strain,<br>Each like a dove leaving its olive perch,<br>With music wing'd instead of silent plumes,<br>To hover round my head, and make me sick<br>Of joy and grief at once. Grief overcame,<br>And I was stopping up my frantic ears,<br>When, past all hindrance of my trembling hands,<br>A voice came sweeter, sweeter than all tune,<br>And still it cried, 'Apollo! young Apollo!<br>The morning-bright Apollo! young Apollo!'<br>I fled, it follow'd me, and cried 'Apollo!'<br>O Father, and O Brethren, had ye felt<br>Those pains of mine; O Saturn, hadst thou felt,<br>Ye would not call this too indulged tongue<br>Presumptuous, in thus venturing to be heard.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So far her voice flow'd on, like timorous brook<br>That, lingering along a pebbled coast,<br>Doth fear to meet the sea: but sea it met,<br>And shudder'd; for the overwhelming voice<br>Of huge Enceladus swallow'd it in wrath:<br>The ponderous syllables, like sullen waves<br>In the half-glutted hollows of reef-rocks,<br>Came booming thus, while still upon his arm<br>He lean'd; not rising, from supreme contempt.<br>'Or shall we listen to the over-wise,<br>Or to the over-foolish, Giant-Gods?<br>Not thunderbolt on thunderbolt, till all<br>That rebel Jove's whole armoury were spent,<br>Not world on world upon these shoulders piled,<br>Could agonize me more than baby-words<br>In midst of this dethronement horrible.<br>Speak! roar! shout! yell! ye sleepy Titans all.<br>Do ye forget the blows, the buffets vile?<br>Are ye not smitten by a youngling arm?<br>Dost thou forget, sham Monarch of the waves,<br>Thy scalding in the seas? What! have I rous'd<br>Your spleens with so few simple words as these?<br>O joy! for now I see ye are not lost:<br>O joy! for now I see a thousand eyes<br>Wide-glaring for revenge!'—-As this he said,<br>He lifted up his stature vast, and stood,<br>Still without intermission speaking thus:<br>'Now ye are flames, I'll tell you how to burn,<br>And purge the ether of our enemies;<br>How to feed fierce the crooked stings of fire,<br>And singe away the swollen clouds of Jove,<br>Stifling that puny essence in its tent.<br>O let him feel the evil he hath done;<br>For though I scorn Oceanus's lore,<br>Much pain have I for more than loss of realms:<br>The days of peace and slumbrous calm are fled;<br>Those days, all innocent of scathing war,<br>When all the fair Existences of heaven<br>Carne open-eyed to guess what we would speak:—-<br>That was before our brows were taught to frown,<br>Before our lips knew else but solemn sounds;<br>That was before we knew the winged thing,<br>Victory, might be lost, or might be won.<br>And be ye mindful that Hyperion,<br>Our brightest brother, still is undisgraced—-<br>Hyperion, lo! his radiance is here!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">All eyes were on Enceladus's face,<br>And they beheld, while still Hyperion's name<br>Flew from his lips up to the vaulted rocks,<br>A pallid gleam across his features stern:<br>Not savage, for he saw full many a God<br>Wroth as himself. He look'd upon them all,<br>And in each face he saw a gleam of light,<br>But splendider in Saturn's, whose hoar locks<br>Shone like the bubbling foam about a keel<br>When the prow sweeps into a midnight cove.<br>In pale and silver silence they remain'd,<br>Till suddenly a splendor, like the morn,<br>Pervaded all the beetling gloomy steeps,<br>All the sad spaces of oblivion,<br>And every gulf, and every chasm old,<br>And every height, and every sullen depth,<br>Voiceless, or hoarse with loud tormented streams:<br>And all the everlasting cataracts,<br>And all the headlong torrents far and near,<br>Mantled before in darkness and huge shade,<br>Now saw the light and made it terrible.<br>It was Hyperion:—-a granite peak<br>His bright feet touch'd, and there he stay'd to view<br>The misery his brilliance had betray'd<br>To the most hateful seeing of itself.<br>Golden his hair of short Numidian curl,<br>Regal his shape majestic, a vast shade<br>In midst of his own brightness, like the bulk<br>Of Memnon's image at the set of sun<br>To one who travels from the dusking East:<br>Sighs, too, as mournful as that Memnon's harp<br>He utter'd, while his hands contemplative<br>He press'd together, and in silence stood.<br>Despondence seiz'd again the fallen Gods<br>At sight of the dejected King of day,<br>And many hid their faces from the light:<br>But fierce Enceladus sent forth his eyes<br>Among the brotherhood; and, at their glare,<br>Uprose Iapetus, and Creus too,<br>And Phorcus, sea-born, and together strode<br>To where he towered on his eminence.<br>There those four shouted forth old Saturn's name;<br>Hyperion from the peak loud answered, 'Saturn!'<br>Saturn sat near the Mother of the Gods,<br>In whose face was no joy, though all the Gods<br>Gave from their hollow throats the name of 'Saturn!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Keats">John Keats</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420973" data-title="Hyperion. Book II de John Keats" data-description="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 Titans mourn'd. It was a den where no insulting light Could glimmer on their tears; where t..."></div> </div> </div>

solid border dashed border dotted border double border groove border ridge border inset border outset border no border blue green red purple cyan gold silver black