Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/237

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When, past all hindrance of my trembling hands, A voice came sweeter, sweeter than all tune, And still it cried, 'Apollo! young Apollo! The morning-bright Apollo! young Apollo! I fled, it follow'd me, and cried 'Apollo!' O Father, and O Brethren! had ye felt Those pains of mine! O Saturn, hadst thou felt, Ye would not call this too indulged tongue Presumptuous, in thus venturing to be heard!"


 * So far her voice flow'd on, like timorous brook

That, lingering along a pebbled coast, Doth fear to meet the sea: but see it met, And shudder'd; for the overwhelming voice Of huge Enceladus swallow'd it in wrath: The ponderous syllables, like sullen waves In the half-glutted hollows of reef-rocks, Came booming thus, while still upon his arm He lean'd; not rising, from supreme contempt. "Or shall we listen to the over-wise Or to the over-foolish giant, Gods? Not thunderbolt on thunderbolt, till all That rebel Jove's whole armory were spent, Not world on world upon these shoulders piled, Could agonize me more than baby-words In midst of this dethronement horrible. Speak! roar! shout! yell! ye sleepy Titans all Do ye forget the blows, the buffets vile? Are ye not smitten by a youngling arm? Dost thou forget, sham Monarch of the Waves, Thy scalding in the seas? What! have I roused Your spleens with so few simple words as these?