Who had power
To make me desolate? whence came the strength?
How was it nurtur'd to such bursting forth,
While Fate seem'd strangled in my nervous grasp?
But it is so.'"
Saturn is king no more. Fate willed it so. But suddenly he
rises and in helpless passion cries out against Fate--
"Saturn must be King.
Yes, there must be a golden victory;
There must be gods thrown down and trumpets blown
Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival
Upon the gold clouds metropolitan,
Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir
Of strings in hollow shells; and there shall be
Beautiful things made new, for the surprise
Of the sky-children; I will give command:
Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn?"
The volume containing these and other poems was published in
1820, little more than three years after Keats's first volume,
and never, perhaps, has poet made such strides in so short a
time. And this last book was kindly received. Success had come
to Keats, but young though he still was, the success was too
late.
Pages:
939
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