31. 
’In the world’s youth his empire was as firm
As its foundations...Soon the Spirit of Good,
Though in the likeness of a loathsome worm,
Sprang from the billows of the formless flood, 400
Which shrank and fled; and with that Fiend of blood
Renewed the doubtful war...Thrones then first shook,
And earth’s immense and trampled multitude
In hope on their own powers began to look,
And Fear, the demon pale, his sanguine shrine forsook. 405

32. 
’Then Greece arose, and to its bards and sages,
In dream, the golden-pinioned Genii came,
Even where they slept amid the night of ages,
Steeping their hearts in the divinest flame
Which thy breath kindled, Power of holiest name! 410
And oft in cycles since, when darkness gave
New weapons to thy foe, their sunlike fame
Upon the combat shone—­a light to save,
Like Paradise spread forth beyond the shadowy grave.

33. 
’Such is this conflict—­when mankind doth strive 415
With its oppressors in a strife of blood,
Or when free thoughts, like lightnings, are alive,
And in each bosom of the multitude
Justice and truth with Custom’s hydra brood
Wage silent war; when Priests and Kings dissemble 420
In smiles or frowns their fierce disquietude,
When round pure hearts a host of hopes assemble,
The Snake and Eagle meet—­the world’s foundations tremble!

34. 
’Thou hast beheld that fight—­when to thy home
Thou dost return, steep not its hearth in tears; 425
Though thou may’st hear that earth is now become
The tyrant’s garbage, which to his compeers,
The vile reward of their dishonoured years,
He will dividing give.—­The victor Fiend,
Omnipotent of yore, now quails, and fears 430
His triumph dearly won, which soon will lend
An impulse swift and sure to his approaching end.

35. 
’List, stranger, list, mine is an human form,
Like that thou wearest—­touch me—­shrink not now! 
My hand thou feel’st is not a ghost’s, but warm 435
With human blood.—­’Twas many years ago,
Since first my thirsting soul aspired to know
The secrets of this wondrous world, when deep
My heart was pierced with sympathy, for woe
Which could not be mine own, and thought did keep, 440
In dream, unnatural watch beside an infant’s sleep.

36. 
’Woe could not be mine own, since far from men
I dwelt, a free and happy orphan child,
By the sea-shore, in a deep mountain glen;
And near the waves, and through the forests wild, 445
I roamed, to storm and darkness reconciled: 
For I was calm while tempest shook the sky: 
But when the breathless heavens in beauty smiled,
I wept, sweet tears, yet too tumultuously
For peace, and clasped my hands aloft in ecstasy. 450