Page:Prometheus Bound, and other poems.djvu/32

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All the mortal nations,

Having habitations

Near the holy Asia,

Are a dirge entoning

For thine honor and thy brother's,

Once majestic beyond others

In the old belief,—

Now are groaning in the groaning

Of thy deep-voiced grief.

Mourn the virgins, 'habitant

Of the Colchian land,

Who with white, calm bosoms, stand

In the battle's roar—

Mourn the Scythian tribes that haunt

The verge of earth, Mæotis' shore—

And Arabia's battle crown,

And dwellers in the lofty town

Mount Caucasus sublimely nears,—

An iron squadron, thundering down

With the sharp-prowed spears.

But one other before, have I seen to remain,

By invincible pain

Bound and vanquished,—one Titan!—'twas Atlas who bears,

In a curse from the gods, by that strength of his own

Which he evermore wears,

The weight of the heaven on his shoulder alone,

While he sighs up the stars!

And the ocean-tides bellow, in bursting their bars,—