Had rested, and there slept how long a sleep![1]
Degraded, cold, [upon the sodden ground
His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead,
Unsceptred, and his realmless eyes were closed;
While his bow'd head seem'd listening to the Earth,
His ancient mother, for some comfort yet.
It seem'd no force could wake him from his place;
But there came one who, with a kindred hand,
Touch'd his wide shoulders, after bending low
With reverence, though to one who knew it not]
Then came the grieved voice of Mnemosyne,
And grieved I hearken'd. "That divinity
Whom thou saw'st step from yon forlornest wood,
And with slow pace approach our fallen king,
Is Thea, softest-natured of our brood."
I mark'd the Goddess, in fair statuary
Surpassing wan Moneta by the head,
And in her sorrow nearer woman's tears,[2]
[There was a list'ning fear in her regard,
As if calamity had but begun;
As if the venomed clouds of evil days
Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear
- ↑ No further than to where his feet had stray'd,
And slept there since. - ↑ She was a goddess of the infant world;
By her, in stature, the tall Amazon
Had stood a pigmy's height; she would have ta'en
Achilles by the hair and bent his neck,
Or with a finger stay'd Ixion's wheel.
Her face was large as that of Mcmphian sphinx
Pedestall'd, haply, in a palace court,
When sages look'd to Egypt for their lore.
But oh! how unlike beauty was that face;
How beautiful, if sorrow had not made
Sorrow more beautiful than beauty's self!
