Whether, companion of the stars, With their tenfold round he errs; Or inhabits with his lone Nature in the neighboring moon; Or sits with body-waiting souls, Dozing by the Lethaean pools:⁠— Or whether, haply, placed afar In some blank region of our star, He stalks, an unsubstantial heap, Humanity’s giant archetype; Where a loftier bulk he rears Than Atlas, grappler of the stars, And through their shadow-touched abodes Brings a terror to the gods. Not the seer of him had sight, Who found in darkness depths of light; 2107 His travelled eyeballs saw him not In all his mighty gulfs of thought:⁠— Him the farthest-footed good, Pleiad Mercury, never showed To any poet’s wisest sight In the silence of the night:⁠— News of him the Assyrian priest