His evening song beneath his feet, conversed,
Suns, moons, and stars, and clouds, his sisters were,
Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and storms,
His brothers; younger brothers, whom he scarce
As equals deemed. All passions of all men,
The wild, the same, the gentle, the severe;
All thoughts, all maxims, sacred and profane,
All creeds, all seasons, time, eternity:
All that was hated, and all that was dear,
All that was hoped, all that was feared by man,
He tossed about as tempest withered leaves.
Then smiling looked upon the wreck he made.
With terror now he froze the cowering blood,
And now dissolved the heart in tenderness,
Yet would not tremble, would not weep himself,
But back into his soul retired, alone.
Dark sullen, proud, gazing contemptuously
On hearts and passions prostrate at his feet,
So ocean from the plains, his waves had late
To desolation swept, retired in pride,
Exulting in the glory of his might,
And seemed to mock the ruin he had wrought,
As some fierce comet of tremendous size,
To which the stars did reverence as it passed,
So he, through learning and through fancy took
His flight sublime, and on the loftiest top
Of fame's dread mountain sat. Not soiled and worn
As if he from the earth had labored up,
But as some bird of heavenly plumage fair
He looked, which down from higher regions came,