Where they may thoughtless sleep away their days, If by a chance into this fane they come,
Rot on the pavement where thou rottedst half." "Are there not thousands in the world," said I, Encouraged by the sooth voice of the shade, "Who love their fellows even to the death, Who feel the giant agony of the world, And more, like slaves to poor humanity, Labour for mortal good? I sure should see Other men here, but I am here alone." "Those whom thou spakest of are no visionaries," Rejoin'd that voice; "they are no dreamers weak; They seek no wonder but the human face, No music but a happy-noted voice:
They come not here, they have no thought to come; And thou art here, for thou art less than they. What benefit canst thou do, or all thy tribe, To the great world? Thou art a dreaming thing, A fever of thyself: think of the earth; What bliss, even in hope, is there for thee? What haven? every creature hath its home, Every sole man hath days of joy and pain, Whether his labours be sublime or low- The pain alone, the joy alone, distinct: Only the dreamer venoms all his days, Bearing more woe than all his sins deserve. Therefore, that happiness be somewhat shared, Such things as thou art are admitted oft
In sickness not ignoble, I rejoice,
Aye, and could weep for love of such award." So answer'd I, continuing, "If it please, Majestic shadow, tell me where I am,
Whose altar this, for whom this incense curls; What image this whose face I cannot see For the broad marble knees; and who thou art, 190 Of accent feminine, so courteous ?"
Then the tall shade, in drooping linen veil'd, Spoke out, so much more earnest, that her breath Stirr'd the thin folds of gauze that drooping hung About a golden censer from her hand
Pendent; and by her voice I knew she shed Long-treasured tears. "This temple, sad and lone, Is all spared from the thunder of a war Foughten long since by giant hierarchy Against rebellion: this old image here, Whose carved features wrinkled as he fell, Is Saturn's; I, Moneta, left supreme, Sole goddess of this desolation."
I had no words to answer, for my tongue, Useless, could find about its roofed home No syllable of a fit majesty
To make rejoinder to Moneta's mourn: There was a silence, while the altar's blaze Was fainting for sweet food. I look'd thereon, And on the paved floor, where nigh were piled 210 Faggots of cinnamon, and many heaps
Of other crisped spicewood: then again I look'd upon the altar, and its horns Whiten'd with ashes, and its languorous flame, And then upon the offerings again; And so, by turns, till sad Moneta cried :
"The sacrifice is done, but not the less Will I be kind to thee for thy good will. My power, which to me is still a curse, Shall be to thee a wonder, for the scenes Still swooning vivid through my globed brain, With an electral changing misery,
Thou shalt with these dull mortal eyes behold Free from all pain, if wonder pain thee not." As near as an immortal's sphered words Could to a mother's soften were these last: And yet I had a terror of her robes,
And chiefly of the veils that from her brow Hung pale, and curtain'd her in mysteries, That made my heart too small to hold its blood. 230 This saw that Goddess, and with sacred hand Parted the veils. Then saw I a wan face, Not pined by human sorrows, but bright-blanch'd By an immortal sickness which kills not; It works a constant change, which happy death Can put no end to; deathwards progressing To no death was that visage; it had past The lily and the snow; and beyond these
I must not think now, though I saw that face. But for her eyes I should have fled away; 240 They held me back with a benignant light, Soft, mitigated by divinest lids
Half-closed, and visionless entire they seem'd Of all external things; they saw me not, But in blank splendour beam'd, like the mild moon, Who comforts those she sees not, who knows not What eyes are upward cast. As I had found A grain of gold upon a mountain's side, And, twinged with avarice, strain'd out my eyes
To search its sullen entrails rich with ore, So, at the view of sad Moneta's brow, I ask'd to see what things the hollow brow Behind environ'd: what high tragedy In the dark secret chambers of her skull Was acting, that could give so dread a stress To her cold lips, and fill with such a light Her planetary eyes, and touch her voice With such a sorrow? "Shade of Memory!" Cried I, with act adorant at her feet,
"By all the gloom hung round thy fallen house, 260 By this last temple, by the golden age,
By great Apollo, thy dear foster-child,
And by thyself, 'forlorn divinity,
The pale Omega of a wither'd race,
Let me behold, according as thou saidst,
What in thy brain so ferments to and fro!" No sooner had this conjuration past
My devout lips, than side by side we stood (Like a stunt bramble by a solemn pine) [Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon and eve's one star].1 Onward I look'd beneath the gloomy boughs, And saw what first I thought an image huge, Like to the image pedestal'd so high In Saturn's temple; then Moneta's voice Came brief upon mine ear. "So Saturn sat When he had lost his realms;" whereon there grew A power within me of enormous ken
To see as a god sees, and take the depth 280 Of things as nimbly as the outward eye
Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, &c.
Can size and shape pervade. The lofty theme Of those few words hung vast before my mind With half-unravell'd web. I sat myself
Upon an eagle's watch, that I might see, And seeing ne'er forget. No stir of life Was in this shrouded vale,-not so much air As in the zoning of a summer's day
[Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass; But where the dead leaf fell there did it rest. 290 A stream went noiseless by, still deaden'd more By reason of the fallen divinity
Spreading more shade; the Naiad 'mid her reeds Prest her, cold finger closer to her lips.
Along the margin-sand large foot-marks went] No further than to where old Saturn's feet Had rested, and there slept how long a sleep!3 Degraded, cold, [upon the sodden ground
His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead, Unsceptred, and his realmless eyes were closed; While his bow'd head seem'd listening to the
His ancient mother, for some comfort yet. It seem'd no force could wake him from his place; But there came one who, with a kindred hand, Touch'd his wide shoulders, after bending low With reverence, though to one who knew it not]. Then came the grieved voice of Mnemosyne, And grieved I hearken'd. "That divinity Whom thou saw'st step from yon forlornest wood, And with slow pace approach our fallen king, 310
3 No further than to where his feet had stray'd,
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