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Deserted, void, nor any haunt of mine. The blaze, the splendor, 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 ceased, the while a heavier threat Held struggle with his throat, but came not forth; For as in theatres of crowded men Hubbub increases more they call out "Hush!" So at Hyperion's words the Phantoms pale Bestirr'd themselves, thrice horrible and cold; And from the mirror'd 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 convulsed From over-strained might. Released, he fled To the eastern gates, and full six dewy hours Before the dawn in season due should blush, He breathed fierce breath against the sleepy portals, Clear'd them of heavy vapors, burst them wide Suddenly on the ocean's 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;