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, If ye will take that comfort in its truth. 180 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: Thou art not the beginning nor the end. 190 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 touch'd The whole enormous matter into life.

Upon that very hour, our parentage, The Heavens and the Earth, were manifest: Then thou first-born, and we the giant-race, 200 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 circ.u.mstance, 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, In will, in action free, companionship, 210 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 pa.s.s In glory that old Darkness: nor are we Thereby more conquer'd, 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?

Can it deny the chiefdom of green groves? 220 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-feather'd, 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: Yea, by that law, another race may drive 230 Our conquerors to mourn as we do now.

Have ye beheld the young G.o.d of the Seas, My dispossessor? Have ye seen his face?

Have ye beheld his chariot, foam'd along By n.o.ble winged creatures he hath made?

I saw him on the calmed waters scud, With such a glow of beauty in his eyes, That it enforc'd me to bid sad farewell To all my empire: farewell sad I took, And hither came, to see how dolorous fate 240 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 poz'd conviction, or disdain, They guarded silence, when Ocea.n.u.s Left murmuring, what deepest thought can tell?

But so it was, none answer'd for a s.p.a.ce, Save one whom none regarded, Clymene; And yet she answer'd not, only complain'd, With hectic lips, and eyes up-looking mild, 250 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 G.o.ds; Yet let me tell my sorrow, let me tell Of what I heard, and how it made me weep, 260 And know that we had parted from all hope.

I stood upon a sh.o.r.e, a pleasant sh.o.r.e, 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; And sat me down, and took a mouthed sh.e.l.l 270 And murmur'd into it, and made melody-- O melody no more! for while I sang, And with poor skill let pa.s.s into the breeze The dull sh.e.l.l'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 sh.e.l.l away upon the sand, And a wave fill'd it, as my sense was fill'd With that new blissful golden melody. 280 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 wing'd instead of silent plumes, To hover round my head, and make me sick Of joy and grief at once. Grief overcame, And I was stopping up my frantic ears, 290 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 follow'd 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."

So far her voice flow'd on, like timorous brook 300 That, lingering along a pebbled coast, Doth fear to meet the sea: but sea it met, And shudder'd; for the overwhelming voice Of huge Enceladus swallow'd it in wrath: The ponderous syllables, like sullen waves In the half-glutted hollows of reef-rocks, Came booming thus, while still upon his arm He lean'd; not rising, from supreme contempt.

"Or shall we listen to the over-wise, Or to the over-foolish, Giant-G.o.ds? 310 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 t.i.tans 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, Thy scalding in the seas? What, have I rous'd 320 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, And purge the ether of our enemies; How to feed fierce the crooked stings of fire, And singe away the swollen clouds of Jove, 330 Stifling that puny essence in its tent.

O let him feel the evil he hath done; For though I scorn Ocea.n.u.s's lore, Much pain have I for more than loss of realms: The days of peace and slumberous 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, Before our lips knew else but solemn sounds; 340 That was before we knew the winged 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: Not savage, for he saw full many a G.o.d 350 Wroth as himself. He look'd upon them all, And in each face he saw a gleam of light, But splendider in Saturn's, whose h.o.a.r locks Shone like the bubbling foam about a keel When the prow sweeps into a midnight cove.

In pale and silver silence they remain'd, Till suddenly a splendour, like the morn, Pervaded all the beetling gloomy steeps, All the sad s.p.a.ces of oblivion, And every gulf, and every chasm old, 360 And every height, and every sullen depth, Voiceless, or hoa.r.s.e 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 touch'd, and there he stay'd to view The misery his brilliance had betray'd To the most hateful seeing of itself. 370 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 utter'd, while his hands contemplative He press'd together, and in silence stood.

Despondence seiz'd again the fallen G.o.ds At sight of the dejected King of Day, 380 And many hid their faces from the light: But fierce Enceladus sent forth his eyes Among the brotherhood; and, at their glare, Uprose Iapetus, and Creus 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 G.o.ds, In whose face was no joy, though all the G.o.ds 390 Gave from their hollow throats the name of "Saturn!"

BOOK III.

Thus in alternate uproar and sad peace, Amazed were those t.i.tans 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 sh.o.r.es.

Meantime touch piously the Delphic harp, 10 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-lipp'd sh.e.l.ls, On sands, or in great deeps, vermilion turn 20 Through all their labyrinths; and let the maid Blush keenly, as with some warm kiss surpris'd.

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-stemm'd beneath the shade: Apollo is once more the golden theme!

Where was he, when the Giant of the Sun Stood bright, amid the sorrow of his peers? 30 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 ceas'd, and a few stars Were lingering in the heavens, while the thrush Began calm-throated. Throughout all the isle There was no covert, no retired cave Unhaunted by the murmurous noise of waves, 40 Though scarcely heard in many a green recess.

He listen'd, and he wept, and his bright tears Went trickling down the golden bow he held.

Thus with half-shut suffused eyes he stood, While from beneath some c.u.mbrous boughs hard by With solemn step an awful G.o.ddess came, And there was purport in her looks for him, Which he with eager guess began to read Perplex'd, the while melodiously he said: "How cam'st thou over the unfooted sea? 50 Or hath that antique mien and robed form Mov'd 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 gra.s.sy solitudes, and seen the flowers Lift up their heads, as still the whisper pa.s.s'd.

G.o.ddess! I have beheld those eyes before, And their eternal calm, and all that face, 60 Or I have dream'd."--"Yes," said the supreme shape, "Thou hast dream'd of me; and awaking up Didst find a lyre all golden by thy side, Whose strings touch'd by thy fingers, all the vast Unwearied ear of the whole universe Listen'd 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 When thou dost shed a tear: explain thy griefs 70 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 Pluck'd 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, With sudden scrutiny and gloomless eyes, 80 Thus answer'd, while his white melodious throat Throbb'd 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; And then upon the gra.s.s I sit, and moan, 90 Like one who once had wings.--O why should I Feel curs'd and thwarted, when the liegeless air Yields to my step aspirant? why should I Spurn the green turf as hateful to my feet?

G.o.ddess 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 To any one particular beauteous star, 100 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 sh.o.r.es In fearless yet in aching ignorance?

O tell me, lonely G.o.ddess, by thy harp, That waileth every morn and eventide, Tell me why thus I rave, about these groves! 110 Mute thou remainest--Mute! yet I can read A wondrous lesson in thy silent face: Knowledge enormous makes a G.o.d of me.

Names, deeds, gray 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, And so become immortal."--Thus the G.o.d, 120 While his enkindled eyes, with level glance Beneath his white soft temples, stedfast 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 Die into life: so young Apollo anguish'd: 130 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 shriek'd;--and lo! from all his limbs Celestial * * * * *

THE END.

NOTE.

PAGE 184, l. 310. over-foolish, Giant-G.o.ds? _MS._: over-foolish giant, G.o.ds? _1820._

NOTES.

ADVERTIs.e.m.e.nT.

PAGE 2. See Introduction to _Hyperion_, p. 245.

INTRODUCTION TO LAMIA.

_Lamia_, like _Endymion_, is written in the heroic couplet, but the difference in style is very marked. The influence of Dryden's narrative-poems (his translations from Boccaccio and Chaucer) is clearly traceable in the metre, style, and construction of the later poem. Like Dryden, Keats now makes frequent use of the Alexandrine, or 6-foot line, and of the triplet. He has also restrained the exuberance of his language and gained force, whilst in imaginative power and felicity of diction he surpa.s.ses anything of which Dryden was capable. The flaws in his style are mainly due to carelessness in the rimes and some questionable coining of words. He also occasionally lapses into the vulgarity and triviality which marred certain of his early poems.

The best he gained from his study of Dryden's _Fables_, a debt perhaps to Chaucer rather than to Dryden, was a notable advance in constructive power. In _Lamia_ he shows a very much greater sense of proportion and power of selection than in his earlier work. There is, as it were, more light and shade.

Thus we find that whenever the occasion demands it his style rises to supreme force and beauty. The metamorphosis of the serpent, the entry of Lamia and Lycius into Corinth, the building by Lamia of the Fairy Hall, and her final withering under the eye of Apollonius--these are the most important points in the story, and the pa.s.sages in which they are described are also the most striking in the poem.

The allegorical meaning of the story seems to be, that it is fatal to attempt to separate the sensuous and emotional life from the life of reason. Philosophy alone is cold and destructive, but the pleasures of the senses alone are unreal and unsatisfying. The man who attempts such a divorce between the two parts of his nature will fail miserably as did Lycius, who, unable permanently to exclude reason, was compelled to face the death of his illusions, and could not, himself, survive them.

Of the poem Keats himself says, writing to his brother in September, 1819: 'I have been reading over a part of a short poem I have composed lately, called _Lamia_, and I am certain there is that sort of fire in it that must take hold of people some way; give them either pleasant or unpleasant sensation--what they want is a sensation of some sort.' But to the greatest of Keats's critics, Charles Lamb, the poem appealed somewhat differently, for he writes, 'More exuberantly rich in imagery and painting [than _Isabella_] is the story of _Lamia_. It is of as gorgeous stuff as ever romance was composed of,' and, after enumerating the most striking pictures in the poem, he adds, '[these] are all that fairy-land can do for us.' _Lamia_ struck his imagination, but his heart was given to _Isabella_.

NOTES ON LAMIA.