The House Of The Titans

 The day was dead, and in the titans' hall

 The darkness gathered like some monstrous beast

 Prowling from pillar unto pillar: yet

 The brazen dais and the golden throne

 Made a fierce twilight flickering with stars

 Far in the depths. And there the sky-born king,

 Nuada, now king of earth, sat motionless,

 A fading radiance round his regal brows,

 The sceptre of his waning rule unused,

 His heart darkened, because the god within,

 Slumbering or unremembering, was mute,

 And no more holy fires were litten there.

 Still as the king, and pale and beautiful,

 A slender shape of ivory and gold,

 One white hand on the throne, beside him stood

 Armid, the wise child of the healing god.

 The king sat bowed: but she with solemn eyes

 Questioned the gloom where vast and lumbering shades,

 A titan brood, the first born of the earth,

 Cried with harsh voices and made an uproar there

 In the king's dun oblivious of the king.

 While Armid gazed upon them came a pain

 That stirred the spirit stillness of her eyes,

 And darkened them with grief. Then came her words

 "Tell me our story, god-descended king,

 For we have dwindled down, and from ourselves

 Have passed away, and have forgotten all."

 And at her calling"God-descended king"

 His head sank lower as if the glorious words

 Had crowned his brow with a too burning flame

 Or mocked him with vain praise. He answered not,

 For memory to the sky-born king was but

 The mocking shadow of past magnificence,

 Of starry dynasties slow-fading out,

 The sorrow that bound him to the lord of light

 He was, ere he had sunken in red clay

 His deity. The immortal phantom had not yet

 Revealed to him the gentler face it wears,

 The tender shadow of long vanquished pain

 And brightening wisdom, unto him who nears

 The Land of Promise, who, in the eve of time,

 Can look upon his image at the dawn

 And falter not. And as King Nuada sat

 With closed eyes he saw the ancient heavens,

 The thrones of awe, the rainbow shining round

 The ever-living in their ageless youth,

 And myriads of calm immortal eyes

 That vexed him when he met the wild beast glare

 And sullen gloom of the dark nation he ruled,

 For whom self-exiled, irrevocably

 He was outcast among the gods. And then

 The words of Armid came more thronged with grief

 "O, you, our star of knowledge, unto you

 We look for light, to you alone.

 All these Fall in that ancient anarchy again

 When sorrowing you put the sceptre by.

 Would not your sorrow shared melt in our love?

 Or our confederate grief might grow to power,

 And shake the gods or demons who decreed

 This darkness for us? Or if the tale forbade

 All hope, there is a sorrowful delight

 In coming to the very end of all,

 The pain which is the utmost life can bear,

 Where dread is done, and only what we know

 Must be endured, and there is peace in pain.

 I would know all, O god-descended king!"

 That tribe of monstrous and misshapen folk

 Whose clamor overlaid her speech, and made

 Its music a low murmur, had grown still