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And those with sharp spears clanging

Who dwell, a hostile power,

Fortress'd on rocks o'erhanging,

Near Caucasos,—Arabia's martial flower.

One only of the gods before thus bent

Have I beheld, 'neath adamantine pains,

Atlas, the Titan, who with many a groan

Still on his back sustains,

Vast burthen, the revolving firmament.

Chiming in cadence ocean-waves resound;

Moans the abyss, and Hades' murky gloom

Bellows responsive in the depth profound;

While fountains of clear-flowing rivers moan

His piteous doom.

Think not that I through pride or stubbornness

Keep silence; nay, my brooding heart is gnawed

Seeing myself thus marred with contumely;

And yet what other but myself marked out

To these new gods their full prerogatives?