BOOK III.
Above the head of great Methuselah There lay two demons in the opened roof Invisible, and gathered up his words; For when the Elder prophesied, it came About, that hidden things were shown to them, And burdens that he spake against his time.
(But never heard them, such as dwelt with him; Their ears they stopped, and willed to live at ease In all delight; and perfect in their youth, And strong, disport them in the perfect world.) Now these were fettered that they could not fly, For a certain disobedience they had wrought Against the ruler of their host; but not The less they loved their cause; and when the feet O' the Master-builder were no longer heard, They, slipping to the sward, right painfully Did follow, for the one to the other said, "Behoves our master know of this; and us, Should he be favorable, he may loose From these our bonds." And thus it came to pass, That while at dead of night the old dragon lay Coiled in the cavern where he dwelt, the watch Pacing before it saw in middle air A boat, that gleamed like fire, and on it came, And rocked as it drew near, and then it burst And went to pieces, and there fell therefrom, Close at the cavern's mouth, two glowing balls.
Now there was drawn a curtain nigh the mouth Of that deep cave, to testify of wrath.
The dragon had been wroth with some that served, And chased them from him; and his oracles, That wont to drop from him, were stopped, and men Might only pray to him through that fell web That hung before him.

Then did whisper low Some of the little spirits that bat-like clung And clustered round the opening.

"Lo," they said, While gazed the watch upon those glowing balls, "These are like moons eclipsed; but let them lie Red on the moss, and sear its dewy spires, Until our lord give leave to draw the web, And quicken reverence by his presence dread, For he will know and call to them by name, And they will change.

At present he is sick, And wills that none disturb him." So they lay, And there was silence, for the forest tribes Came never near that cave.

Wiser than men, They fled the serpent hiss that oft by night Came forth of it, and feared the wan dusk forms That stalked among the trees, and in the dark Those whiffs of flame that wandered up the sky And made the moonlight sickly.
Now, the cave Was marvellous for beauty, wrought with tools Into the living rock, for there had worked All cunning men, to cut on it with signs And shows, yea, all the manner of mankind.
The fateful apple-tree was there, a bough Bent with the weight of him that us beguiled; And lilies of the field did seem to blow And bud in the storied stone.