And mourns for ever her work undone;

And there for ever, like Titans blind,

Their countenance lifting to Heaven’s glow,

The sightless Mountains yearn for the Sun.

There nightly the numbèd eagle quells

(Full-feather’d to his feet of horn)

His swooning eye, his eyrie won,

And slumbers, frozen by frosty spells

Fast to the pinnacle; but at Morn

Unfetter’d leaps toward the Sun.

. . . . .

He heard, he saw. Not to the air

Dared breathe a breath; but with his sight

Wreak’d on Immortals mortal wrong,

And dared to see them as they were—

The black Peaks blacken’d in their light,

The white Stars flashing with their song.

So fled. But when revealing Morn

Show’d him, descended, giant-grown,

Men ant-like, petty, mean and weak,

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