Seen from below at superstitions night;

Of ghastly castle, that eternally

Holds its blind visage out to the lone sea;

And of all sunless subterranean deeps

The creature makes, who listens while he sleeps;

Avarice; and then of those old earthly cones,

That stride, they say, over heroic bones;

And those stone heaps Egyptian, whose small doors

Look like low dens, under precipitous shores;

And him, great Memnon, that long sitting by,