The Prophet's dauntless childhood stray'd and found 94 The weird bird muttering by the waves of dread; Three days and nights upon the haunted ground The raven's beak the solemn infant fed: And ever after (so the legend ran) The lone bird tended on the lonely man. O'er the Man's temples fell the snows of age, 95 As fresh the lustrous ebon of the Bird,-- Less awe had credulous terror of the sage Than that familiar by the Fiend conferr'd-- So thought the crowd; nor knew what holy lore Lives in all things whose instinct is to soar. Hoarse croaks the bird, and, with its round bright eye, 96 Fixes the gaze of the recoiling King; Slowly the hand, that trembles, cuts the tie Which binds the white scroll gleaming from the wing, And these the words, "Weak Loiterer from thy toil, The Saxon's march is on thy father's soil." Bounded the Prince!--As when the sudden sun 97 Looses the ice-chains on the halted rill, Smites the dumb snow-mass, and the cataracts run In molten thunder down the clanging hill, So from his heart the fetters burst; and strong In its rough course the great soul rush'd along. As looks a warrior on the fort he scales, 98 His glance darts round the everlasting steeps-- Not there escape!--the wildest fancy quails Before those heights on which the whitening deeps Of measureless heaven repose:--below their frown, Planed as a wall, shears the smooth granite down. Marvel, indeed, how ev'n the enchanted wing 99 Had o'er such rampires won to the abode: But not for marvel paused the kindled King, Swift, as Pelides stung to war, he strode; While the dark herald, with its sullen scream, Rose, and fled, dismal as an evil dream. Carved as for Love, a slender boat rock'd o'er 100 The ripple with the murmuring marge at play, He loosed its chain, he gain'd the adverse shore, Startled the groups that flutter'd round his way, Awed by the knitted brow and flashing eyes Of him they deem'd the native of the skies. As towards the fane, which closed on hardy life 101 The granite path to Labour's world behind, O'er trampled flowers, strode the stern Child of Strife, He saw the melancholy priest reclined Under the shade of hush'd Dodonian boughs, Bending, o'er mystic scrolls, calm, mournful brows.-- Loud on that musing leisure broke the cry 102 Of the imperious Northman, "Rise, unbar Your granite gates--the eagle seeks the sky, The captive freedom, and the warrior war!" Slow rose the Augur, and this answer gave, "Man, see thy world--its outlet is the grave!