And poplars, and lawn-shading palms, and beech, In which the Zephyr breathes the loudest song. Where was he, when the Giant of the Sun And his twin-sister sleeping in their bower, Full ankle-deep in lilies of the vale. The nightingale had ceased, and a few stars There was no covert, no retired cave Lift up their heads, as still the whisper pass'd. And their eternal calm, and all that face, 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 Listen'd in pain and pleasure at the birth Of such new tuneful wonder. Is 't not strange That thou should'st weep, so gifted? Tell me, youth, To one who in this lonely isle hath been The watcher of thy sleep and hours of life, Show thy heart's secret to an ancient Power Like one who once had wings.-O why should I And make its silvery splendor pant with bliss. Makes this alarm in the elements, While I here idle listen on the shores In fearless yet in aching ignorance? Creations and destroyings, all at once Soon wild commotions shook him, and made flush Most like the struggle at the gate of death; Of pale immortal death, and with a pang Her arms as one who prophesied.—At length * * * * * |