Canto II.]
Orion.
65
Œnopion said—"Three of his giant band
Are dead; the others spell-bound sleep." The voice
Of wronged Orion rose within the hall,
Demanding Merope; but image-like,
Hard as if hewn out from a flinty cliff,
And stately stood the king, as he replied,
"She waits the voice of our mute oracles."
Are dead; the others spell-bound sleep." The voice
Of wronged Orion rose within the hall,
Demanding Merope; but image-like,
Hard as if hewn out from a flinty cliff,
And stately stood the king, as he replied,
"She waits the voice of our mute oracles."
In a deep forest where the night-black spires
Of pines begin to swing, and breathe a dirge
Whose pauses are filled up with yearning tones
Of oaks that few external throes display
Midst their robust unyielding boughs—the winds
Are flying now in gusts, and soon a storm
Bursts howling through them, like a Fury sent
In quest of one who hath outstripped his fate
And been caught up to heaven. But no escape
Or premature release his course attends
Whose passions boil above mortality;
Nor till those mortal struggles have transpired
Can satisfaction or repose be found.
Vainly shall he with self-deluding pride
Of weakness, masked with power, seek solitude
And high remoteness from his fellow men,
Of pines begin to swing, and breathe a dirge
Whose pauses are filled up with yearning tones
Of oaks that few external throes display
Midst their robust unyielding boughs—the winds
Are flying now in gusts, and soon a storm
Bursts howling through them, like a Fury sent
In quest of one who hath outstripped his fate
And been caught up to heaven. But no escape
Or premature release his course attends
Whose passions boil above mortality;
Nor till those mortal struggles have transpired
Can satisfaction or repose be found.
Vainly shall he with self-deluding pride
Of weakness, masked with power, seek solitude
And high remoteness from his fellow men,
