Handwritten manuscript page of JOHN KEATS Hyperion: (excerpt) BOOK I Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon, and eves one star, Sat gray-haird 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 summers day Robs not one light seed from the featherd grass, But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest. A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more By reason of his fallen divinity Spreading a shade: the Naiad mid her reeds Pressd her cold finger closer to her lips. Along the margin-sand large foot-marks went, No further than to where his feet had strayd, 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 bowd head seemd listning to the Earth, His ancient mother, for some comfort yet. It seemd no force could wake him from his place; But there came one, who with a kindred hand Touchd his wide shoulders, after bending low With reverence, though to one who knew it not. She was a Goddess of the infant world; By her in stature the tall Amazon Had stood a pigmys height; she would have taen Achilles by the hair and bent his neck; Or with a finger stayd Ixions wheel. Her face was large as that of Memphian sphinx, Pedestald haply in a palace court, When sages lookd to Egypt for their lore. But oh! how unlike marble was that face: How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beautys 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 Was with its stored thunder labouring up. One hand she pressd upon that aching spot Where beats the human heart, as if just there, Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain: The other upon Saturns 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 To that large utterance of the early Gods! 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 God; And ocean too, with all its solemn noise, Has from thy sceptre passd; and all the air Is emptied of thine hoary majesty. Thy thunder, conscious of the new command, Rumbles reluctant oer our fallen house; And thy sharp lightning in unpractisd hands Scorches and burns our once serene domain. O aching time! O moments big as years! All as ye pass swell out the monstrous truth, And press it so upon our weary griefs That unbelief has not a space to breathe. Saturn, sleep on:—O thoughtless, why did I Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude? Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes? Saturn, sleep on! while at thy feet I weep. As when, upon a tranced summer-night, Those green-robd 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 touchd her fair large forehead to the ground, Just where her falling hair might be outspread A soft and silken mat for Saturns 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 God still couchant on the earth, And the sad Goddess weeping at his feet: Until at length old Saturn lifted up His faded eyes, and saw his kingdom gone, And all the gloom and sorrow of the place, And that fair kneeling Goddess; 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 Saturns; tell me, if thou hearst the voice Of Saturn; tell me, if this wrinkling brow, 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 nurturd to such bursting forth, While Fate seemd strangled in my nervous grasp? But it is so, and I am smotherd up, And buried from all godlike exercise Of influence benign on planets pale, Of admonitions to the winds and seas, Of peaceful sway above mans harvesting, 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 identity, 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 space: space starrd, and lorn of light; Space regiond with life-air; and barren void; Spaces of fire, and all the yawn of hell.— 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 Gods thrown down, and trumpets blown Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival Upon the gold clouds metropolitan, 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; I will give command: Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn? This passion 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 Theas sobbing deep; A little time, and then again he snatchd Utterance thus.—But cannot I create? Cannot I form? Cannot I fashion 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-voicd spake, yet full of awe. This cheers our fallen house: come to our friends, O Saturn! come away, and give them heart; I know the covert, from thence came I hither. Thus brief; then with beseeching eyes she went With backward footing through the shade a space: He followd, and she turnd 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: The Titans fierce, self-hid, or prison-bound, Groand for the old allegiance once more, And listend in sharp pain for Saturns voice. But one of the whole mammoth-brood still kept His sovreignty, and rule, and majesty;— Blazing Hyperion on his orbed fire Still sat, still snuffd the incense, teeming up From man to the suns God; yet unsecure: For as among us mortals omens drear Fright and perplex, so also shuddered he— Not at dogs howl, or gloom-birds hated screech, Or the familiar visiting of one Upon the first toll of his passing bell, Or prophesyings of the midnight lamp; But horrors, portiond to a giant nerve, Oft made Hyperion ache. His palace bright Bastiond with pyramids of glowing gold, And touchd with shade of bronzed obelisks, Glard a blood-red through all its thousand courts, Arches, and domes, and fiery galleries; And all its curtains of Aurorian clouds Flushd angerly: while sometimes eagles wings, Unseen before by Gods or wondering men, Darkend the place; and neighing steeds were heard, Not heard before by Gods or wondering men. Also, when he would taste the spicy wreaths Of incense, breathd aloft from sacred hills, Instead of sweets, his ample palate took Savour of poisonous brass and metal sick: And so, when harbourd 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 pacd 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 clusters stood, Amazd and full of fear; like anxious men Who on wide plains gather in panting troops, When earthquakes jar their battlements and towers. Even now, while Saturn, rousd 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, That inlet to severe magnificence Stood full blown, for the God to enter in. He enterd, but he enterd full of wrath; His flaming robes streamd out beyond his heels, And gave a roar, as if of earthly fire, That scard 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 lustrous long arcades, Until he reachd the great main cupola; There standing fierce beneath, he stampt his foot, And from the basements deep to the high towers Jarrd his own golden region; and before The quavering thunder thereupon had ceasd, His voice leapt out, despite of godlike 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-eard Phantoms of black-weeded pools! 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. The blaze, the splendour, 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.— He spake, and ceasd, the while a heavier threat Held struggle with his throat but came not forth; For as in the theatres of crowded men Hubbub increases more they call out Hush! So at Hyperions words the Phantoms pale Bestirrd themselves, thrice horrible and cold; And from the mirrord 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 convulsd From over-strained might. Releasd, he fled To the eastern gates, and full six dewy hours Before the dawn in season due should blush, He breathd fierce breath against the sleepy portals, Cleard them of heavy vapours, burst them wide Suddenly on the oceans 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; Nor therefore veiled quite, blindfold, and hid, But ever and anon the glancing spheres, Circles, and arcs, and broad-belting colure, Glowd through, and wrought upon the muffling dark Sweet-shaped lightnings from the nadir deep Up to the zenith,—hieroglyphics old Which sages and keen-eyd 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 Possessd for glory, two fair argent wings, Ever exalted at the Gods approach: And now, from forth the gloom their plumes immense Rose, one by one, till all outspreaded were; While still the dazzling globe maintaind eclipse, Awaiting for Hyperions 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 disturbd. Therefore the operations of the dawn Stayd in their birth, even as here tis told. Those silver wings expanded sisterly, Eager to sail their orb; the porches wide Opend upon the dusk demesnes of night; And the bright Titan, phrenzied with new woes, Unusd 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 stretchd himself in grief and radiance faint. There as he lay, the Heaven with its stars Lookd down on him with pity, and the voice Of Coelus, from the universal space, Thus whisperd 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, C{oe}lus, 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 Diffusd unseen throughout eternal space: Of these new-formd 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, undisturbd, Unruffled, like high Gods, ye livd 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 arrows barb Before the tense string murmur.—To the earth! For there thou wilt find Saturn and his woes. Meanwhile 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 ceasd; 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 stoopd over the airy shore, And plungd all noiseless into the deep night. ...
Posted on: Fri, 19 Sep 2014 15:26:06 +0000
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