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'I have oft be-dimm'd The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt: the strong-bas'd promontory Have I made shake; and by the spurs pluck'd up The pine and cedar: graves, at my command, Have wak'd their sleepers; op'd, and let them forth By my so potent art.
I have Called forth the mutinous winds And 'twixt the green sea, and the azured vault Set roaring war; to the dread ratling thunder, Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak, With his own bolt; the strong bas'd promontory, Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluckt up The pine and cedar; graves at my command Have waked their sleepers, op'd and let them forth By my so potent art.
"Tell Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death, Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws To cast thee up again."
Why the sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws To cast thee up again? What may this mean? That thou dead corse again in complete steel Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous?"
Straight at him rushed each nimble hound; Yet thence they turned, dismayed and fast, When he his gaping jaws op'd wide, Vomited forth his poisonous blast, And like the howling jackal cried."
Who was it op'd to me the store Of dark unearthly Runic lore, And taught me to beguile my time With Denmark's aged and witching rhyme; To rest in thought in Elvir shades, And hear the song of fairy maids; Or climb the top of Dovrefeld, Where magic knights their muster held: Who was it did all this for me? O, who, but honest six-foot three!
Why the Sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, Hath op'd his ponderous and marble Jaws To cast thee up again? What may this mean? That thou dead Coarse again in compleat Steel Revisit'st thus the Glimpses of the Moon, Making Night hideous?
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