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But the Storm-King came out from his caverns, With whirlwind, and lightning, and rain; And my eyes, that grew dim for a moment, Saw but the rent canvas again. Then sorely I wept the ill-fated! Yea, bitterly wept, for I knew They had learned but the fair-weather wisdom, That a moment of trial o'erthrew.
He laid about him like one inspired; nothing could withstand his envenomed tooth. Like some savage beast got into the garden of the fabled Hesperides, he made clear work of it, root and branch, with white, foaming tusks "Laid waste the borders, and o'erthrew the bowers." The havoc was amazing, the desolation was complete.
On his statue there, according to Poseidonius, these verses are written: "This monument, O stranger, doth enshrine Marcellus, of the famous Claudian line, Who seven times was consul, and in fight His country's foes o'erthrew and put to flight." For the writer of this epitaph counted his two proconsulates as well as his five consulates.
My talisman all tyrants hates, And strikes them to the ground; Or guides us gladly through life's gates To where the dead are found. E'en Pompey, at Pharsalia's fight, My talisman o'erthrew; On German sand it hurled with might Rome's sensual children, too. Didst see the Roman, proud and stern, Sitting on Afric's shore? His eyes like Hecla seem to burn, And fiery flames outpour.
Milton's description of the rebel legions adrift on the flaming sea is a fine instance of the difficulty felt and conquered: Angel forms, who lay entranced Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades High over-arched embower; or scattered sedge Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed Hath vexed the Red-Sea coast, whose waves o'erthrew Busiris and his Memphian chivalry, While with perfidious hatred they pursued The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld From the safe shore their floating carcases And broken chariot-wheels.
We, in the ages lying In the buried past of the earth, Built Nineveh with our sighing, And Babel itself with our mirth; And o'erthrew them with prophesying To the old of the new world's worth; For each age is a dream that is dying, Or one that is coming to birth. For this passion for some simple old-world innocence and beauty lay in his soul like a lust self-feeding and voracious. "Lonely!
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