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[Fright and perplex, so also shudders he; Not at dog's howl or gloom-bird's hated screech, Or the familiar visiting of one Upon the first toll of his passing bell, Or prophesyings of the midnight lamp; But horrors, portioned to a giant Merve, Make great Hyperion ache, His palace bright, Bastioned with pyramids of shining gold, And touched with a shade of bronzed obelisks, Glares a blood-red thro' all the thousand courts, Arches, and domes, and fiery galleries; And all its curtains of Aurorian clouds Flash angerly;] when he would taste the wreaths [Of incense breathed aloft from sacred hills Instead of sweets, his ample palate takes Savor of poisonous brass and metals sick;] Wherefore [when harbor'd in the sleepy West, After the full completion of fair day, For rest divine upon exalted couch, And slumber in the arms of melody, He paces through the pleasant hours of ease, With strides colossal, on from hall to hall, While far within each deep aisle and deep recess His winged minions in close clusters stand Amazed and full of fear; like anxious men, Who on a wide plain gather in sad troops, When earthquakes jar their battlements and towers. Even now when Saturn, roused from icy trance, Goes step for step, with Thea from yon woods,