Hyperion BOOK I EEP in the shady sadness of a vale ar sunken from the healthy breath of morn, ar from the fiery noon, and eve’s one star, at grey-hair’d Saturn, quiet as a stone, till as the silence round about his lair; orest on forest hung about his head ke cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there, ot so much life as on a summer’s day obs not one light seed from the feather’d grass, ut where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest. stream went voiceless by, still deadened more y reason of his fallen divinity, preading a shade: the Naiad ’mid her reeds ress’d her cold finger closer to her lips. Along the margin-sand large foot-marks went, o further than to where his feet had stray’d, nd slept there since. Upon the sodden ground is old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead, nsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed; While his bow’d head seem’d list’ning to the Earth, is ancient mother, for some comfort yet. It seem’d no force could wake him from his place; ut there came one, who with a kindred hand ouch’d his wide shoulders, after bending low With reverence, though to one who knew it not. he was a Goddess of the infant world; y her in stature the tall Amazon ad stood a pigmy’s height: she would have ta’en chilles by the hair and bent his neck; Or with a finger stay’d Ixion’s wheel. er face was large as that of Memphian sphinx, edestal’d haply in a palace-court, When sages look’d to Egypt for their lore. ut oh! how unlike marble was that face: ow beautiful, if sorrow had not made orrow more beautiful than Beauty’s self. here was a listening fear in her regard, s if calamity had but begun; s if the vanward clouds of evil days ad spent their malice, and the sullen rear 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, hough an immortal, she felt cruel pain: he other upon Saturn’s bended neck he laid, and to the level of his ear eaning with parted lips, some words she spake n solemn tenour and deep organ tone: ome mourning words, which in our feeble tongue Would come in these like accents; O how frail o that large utterance of the early Gods! Saturn, look up! – though wherefore, poor old King? have no comfort for thee, no not one: cannot say, “O wherefore sleepest thou?” or heaven is parted from thee, and the earth nows thee not, thus afflicted, for a God; nd ocean too, with all its solemn noise, as from thy sceptre pass’d; and all the air s emptied of thine hoary majesty. hy thunder, conscious of the new command, umbles reluctant o’er our fallen house; nd thy sharp lightning in unpractised hands corches and burns our once serene domain. O aching time! O moments big as years! ll as ye pass swell out the monstrous truth, nd press it so upon our weary griefs hat unbelief has not a space to breathe. aturn, sleep on: – O thoughtless, why did I hus violate thy slumbrous solitude? Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes? aturn, sleep on! while at thy feet I weep.’ As when, upon a trancèd summer-night, hose green-robed senators of mighty woods, all oaks, branch-charmèd by the earnest stars, ream, and so dream all night without a stir, ave from one gradual solitary gust Which comes upon the silence, and dies off, s if the ebbing air had but one wave: o came these words and went; the while in tears he touch’d her fair large forehead to the ground, ust where her falling hair might be outspread soft and silken mat for Saturn’s feet. One moon, with alteration slow, had shed er silver seasons four upon the night, nd still these two were postured motionless, ke natural sculpture in cathedral cavern; he frozen God still couchant on the earth, nd the sad Goddess weeping at his feet: ntil at length old Saturn lifted up is faded eyes, and saw his kingdom gone, nd all the gloom and sorrow of the place, nd that fair kneeling Goddess; and then spake, s with a palsied tongue, and while his beard hook horrid with such aspen-malady: O tender spouse of gold Hyperion, hea, I feel thee ere I see thy face; ook up, and let me see our doom in it; ook up, and tell me, if this feeble shape s Saturn’s; tell me, if thou hear’st the voice Of Saturn; tell me, if this wrinkling brow, aked and bare of its great diadem, eers like the front of Saturn? Who had power o make me desolate? whence came the strength? ow was it nurtured to such bursting forth, While Fate seem’d strangled in my nervous grasp? ut it is so; and I am smother’d up, nd buried from all godlike exercise Of influence benign on planets pale, Of admonitions to the winds and seas, Of peaceful sway above man’s harvesting, nd all those acts which Deity supreme oth ease its heart of love in. I am gone way from my own bosom: I have left My strong identity, my real self, omewhere between the throne, and where I sit ere on this spot of earth. Search, Thea, search, Open thine eyes eterne, and sphere them round pon all space: space starr’d, and lorn of light, pace region’d with life-air; and barren void; paces of fire, and all the yawn of hell. earch, Thea, search! and tell me if thou seest certain shape or shadow, making way With wings or chariot fierce to repossess heaven he lost erewhile: it must – it must e of ripe progress – Saturn must be King! es, there must be a golden victory; here must be Gods thrown down, and trumpets blown Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival pon the gold clouds metropolitan, oices of soft proclaim, and silver stir Of strings in hollow shells; and there shall be eautiful things made new, for the surprise Of the sky-children; I will give command: hea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn?’ This passion lifted him upon his feet, nd made his hands to struggle in the air, is Druid locks to shake and ooze with sweat, is eyes to fever out, his voice to cease. e stood, and heard not Thea’s sobbing deep; little time, and then again he snatch’d tterance thus: ‘But cannot I create? annot I form? Cannot I fashion forth nother world, another universe, o overbear and crumble this to nought? Where is another chaos? Where?’ That word ound way unto Olympus, and made quake he rebel three. Thea was startled up, nd in her bearing was a sort of hope, s thus she quick-voiced spake, yet full of awe. ‘This cheers our fallen house: come to our friends, O Saturn! come away, and give them heart; know the covert, for thence came I hither.’ hus brief, then with beseeching eyes she went With backward footing through the shade a space: e follow’d, and she turn’d to lead the way hrough 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, oo huge for mortal tongue or pen of scribe: he Titans fierce, self-hid or prison-bound, roan’d for the old allegiance once more, nd listen’d in sharp pain for Saturn’s voice. ut one of the whole mammoth-brood still kept is sovereignty, and rule, and majesty; lazing Hyperion on his orbèd fire till sat, still snuff’d the incense, teeming up rom man to the sun’s God, yet unsecure: or as among us mortals omens drear right and perplex, so also shudder’d he, ot at dog’s howl, or gloom-bird’s hated screech, Or the familiar visiting of one pon the first toll of his passing-bell, Or prophesyings of the midnight lamp; ut horrors, portion’d to a giant nerve, Oft made Hyperion ache. His palace bright, astion’d with pyramids of glowing gold, nd touched with shade of bronzèd obelisks, lared a blood-red through all its thousand courts, rches, and domes, and fiery galleries; nd all its curtains of Aurorian clouds lush’d angerly: while sometimes eagle’s wings, nseen before by Gods or wondering men, arken’d the place; and neighing steeds were heard, ot heard before by Gods or wondering men. lso, when he would taste the spicy wreaths Of incense, breathed aloft from sacred hills, nstead of sweets, his ample palate took avour of poisonous brass and metal sick: nd so, when harbour’d in the sleepy west, fter the full completion of fair day, or rest divine upon exalted couch, nd slumber in the arms of melody, e paced away the pleasant hours of ease With stride colossal, on from hall to hall; While far within each aisle and deep recess, is wingèd minions in close clusters stood, mazed and full of fear; like anxious men Who on wide plains gather in panting troops, When earthquakes jar their battlements and towers. ven now, while Saturn, roused from icy trance, Went step for step with Thea through the woods, yperion, leaving twilight in the rear, ame slope upon the threshold of the west; hen, as was wont, his palace-door flew ope n smoothest silence, save what solemn tubes, lown by the serious Zephyrs, gave of sweet nd wandering sounds, slow-breathèd melodies; nd like a rose in vermeil tint and shape, n fragrance soft, and coolness to the eye, hat inlet to severe magnificence tood full blown, for the God to enter in. He enter’d, but he enter’d full of wrath; is flaming robes streamed out beyond his heels, nd gave a roar, as if of earthly fire, hat scared away the meek ethereal Hours nd made their dove-wings tremble. On he flared rom stately nave to nave, from vault to vault, hrough bowers of fragrant and enwreathèd light, nd diamond-pavèd lustrous long arcades, ntil he reached the great main cupola; here standing fierce beneath, he stampt his foot, nd from the basements deep to the high towers arr’d his own golden region; and before he quavering thunder thereupon had ceased, is voice leapt out, despite of godlike curb, o 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-ear’d Phantoms of black-weeded pools! Why do I know ye? why have I seen ye? why s my eternal essence thus distraught o see and to behold these horrors new? aturn is fallen, am I too to fall? m I to leave this haven of my rest, his cradle of my glory, this soft clime, his calm luxuriance of blissful light, hese crystalline pavilions, and pure fanes, Of all my lucent empire? It is left eserted, void, nor any haunt of mine. he blaze, the splendour, and the symmetry, cannot see – but darkness, death and darkness. ven here, into my centre of repose, he shady visions come to domineer, nsult, and blind, and stifle up my pomp – all! – No, by Tellus and her briny robes! Over the fiery frontier of my realms will advance a terrible right arm hall scare that infant thunderer, rebel Jove, nd bid old Saturn take his throne again.’ e spake, and ceased, the while a heavier threat eld struggle with his throat, but came not forth; or as in theatres of crowded men ubbub increases more they call out ‘Hush!’ o at Hyperion’s words the Phantoms pale estirr’d themselves, thrice horrible and cold; nd from the mirror’d level where he stood mist arose, as from a scummy marsh. t this, through all his bulk an agony rept gradual, from the feet unto the crown, ke a lithe serpent vast and muscular Making slow way, with head and neck convulsed rom over-strainèd might. Released, he fled o the eastern gates, and full six dewy hours efore the dawn in season due should blush, e breathed fierce breath against the sleepy portals, lear’d them of heavy vapours, burst them wide uddenly on the ocean’s chilly streams. he planet orb of fire, whereon he rode ach day from east to west the heavens through, pun round in sable curtaining of clouds; ot therefore veilèd quite, blindfold and hid, ut ever and anon the glancing spheres, ircles, and arcs, and broad-belting colure, low’d through, and wrought upon the muffling dark weet-shapèd lightnings from the nadir deep p to the zenith – hieroglyphics old, Which sages and keen-eyed astrologers hen living on the earth, with labouring thought Won from the gaze of many centuries: ow lost, save what we find on remnants huge Of stone, or marble swart; their import gone, heir wisdom long since fled. Two wings this orb ossess’d for glory, two fair argent wings, ver exalted at the God’s approach: nd now, from forth the gloom their plumes immense ose, one by one, till all outspreaded were; While still the dazzling globe maintain’d eclipse, waiting for Hyperion’s command. ain would he have commanded, fain took throne nd bid the day begin, if but for change. e might not: – No, though a primeval God he sacred seasons might not be disturb’d, herefore the operations of the dawn tay’d in their birth, even as here ’tis told. hose silver wings expanded sisterly, ager to sail their orb; the porches wide Open’d upon the dusk demesnes of night; nd the bright Titan, phrenzied with new woes, nused to bend, by hard compulsion bent is spirit to the sorrow of the time; nd all along a dismal rack of clouds, pon the boundaries of day and night, e stretch’d himself in grief and radiance faint. here as he lay, the Heaven with its stars ook’d down on him with pity, and the voice Of Cœlus, from the universal space, hus whisper’d low and solemn in his ear: O brightest of my children dear, earth-born nd sky-engender’d, Son of Mysteries ll unrevealèd even to the powers Which met at thy creating! at whose joys nd palpitations sweet, and pleasures soft, Cœlus, wonder how they came and whence; nd at the fruits thereof what shapes they be, istinct, and visible; symbols divine, Manifestations of that beauteous life iffused unseen throughout eternal space; Of these new-form’d art thou, oh brightest child! Of these, thy brethren and the Goddesses! here is sad feud among ye, and rebellion Of son against his sire. I saw him fall, saw my first-born tumbled from his throne! o me his arms were spread, to me his voice ound way from forth the thunders round his head! ale wox I, and in vapours hid my face. rt thou, too, near such doom? vague fear there is: or I have seen my sons most unlike Gods. ivine ye were created, and divine n sad demeanour, solemn, undisturb’d, nruffled, like high Gods, ye lived and ruled: ow I behold in you fear, hope, and wrath; ctions of rage and passions; even as see them, on the mortal world beneath, n men who die. – This is the grief, O Son! ad sign of ruin, sudden dismay, and fall! et do thou strive; as thou art capable, s thou canst move about, an evident God, nd canst oppose to each malignant hour thereal presence: – I am but a voice; My life is but the life of winds and tides, o more than winds and tides can I avail: – ut thou canst. – Be thou therefore in the van Of circumstance; yea, seize the arrow’s barb efore the tense string murmur. – To the earth! or there thou wilt find Saturn, and his woes. Meantime I will keep watch on thy bright sun, nd of thy seasons be a careful nurse.’ – re half this region-whisper had come down