E; But From These Create He Can Forms More Real Than Living Man, Nurslings Of Immortality! One Of These Awakened Me, And I Sped To Succour Thee. Ione: Behold'St Thou Not Two Shapes From The East And West Come, As Two Doves To One Beloved Nest, Twin Nurslings Of The All-Sustaining Air On Swift Still Wings Glide Down The Atmosphere? And, Hark! Their Sweet Sad Voices! 'Tis Despair Mingled With Love And Then Dissolved In Sound. Panthea: Canst Thou Speak, Sister? All My Words Are Drowned. Ione: Their Beauty Gives Me Voice. See How They Float On Their Sustaining Wings Of Skiey Grain, Orange And Azure Deepening Into Gold: Their Soft Smiles Light The Air Like A Star'S Fire. Chorus Of Spirits: Hast Thou Beheld The Form Of Love? Fifth Spirit: As Over Wide Dominions I Sped, Like Some Swift Cloud That Wings The Wide Air'S Wildernesses, That Planet-Crested Shape Swept By On Lightning-Braided Pinions, Scattering The Liquid Joy Of Life From His Ambrosial Tresses: His Footsteps Paved The World With Light; But As I Passed 'Twas Fading, And Hollow Ruin Yawned Behind: Great Sages Bound In Madness, And Headless Patriots, And Pale Youths Who Perished, Unupbraiding, Gleamed In The Night. I Wandered O'Er, Till Thou, O King Of Sadness, _770 Turned By Thy Smile The Worst I Saw To Recollected Gladness. Sixth Spirit: Ah, Sister! Desolation Is A Delicate Thing: It Walks Not On The Earth, It Floats Not On The Air, But Treads With Lulling Footstep, And Fans With Silent Wing The Tender Hopes Which In Their Hearts The Best And Gentlest Bear; Who, Soothed To False Repose By The Fanning Plumes Above And The Music-Stirring Motion Of Its Soft And Busy Feet, Dream Visions Of Aereal Joy, And Call The Monster, Love, And Wake, And Find The Shadow Pain, As He Whom Now We Greet. Note: _774 Lulling B; Silent 1820. Chorus: Though Ruin Now Love'S Shadow Be, Following Him, Destroyingly, On Death'S White And Winged Steed, Which The Fleetest Cannot Flee, Trampling Down Both Flower And Weed, Man And Beast, And Foul And Fair, Like A Tempest Through The Air; Thou Shalt Quell This Horseman Grim, Woundless Though In Heart Or Limb. Prometheus: Spirits! How Know Ye This Shall Be? Chorus: In The Atmosphere We Breathe, As Buds Grow Red When The Snow-Storms Flee, From Spring Gathering Up Beneath, Whose Mild Winds Shake The Elder-Brake, And The Wandering Herdsmen Know That The White-Thorn Soon Will Blow: Wisdom, Justice, Love, And Peace, When They Struggle To Increase, Are To Us As Soft Winds Be To Shepherd Boys, The Prophecy Which Begins And Ends In Thee. Ione: Where Are The Spirits Fled? Panthea: Only A Sense Remains Of Them, Like The Omnipotence Of Music, When The Inspired Voice And Lute Languish, Ere Yet The Responses Are Mute, Which Through The Deep And Labyrinthine Soul, Like Echoes Through Long Caverns, Wind And Roll. Prometheus: How Fair These Airborn Shapes! And Yet I Feel Most Vain All Hope But Love; And Thou Art Far, Asia! Who, When My Being Overflowed, Wert Like A Golden Chalice To Bright Wine Which Else Had Sunk Into The Thirsty Dust. All Things Are Still: Alas! How Heavily This Quiet Morning Weighs Upon My Heart; Though I Should Dream I Could Even Sleep With Grief If Slumber Were Denied Not. I Would Fain Be What It Is My Destiny To Be, The Saviour And The Strength Of Suffering Man, Or Sink Into The Original Gulf Of Things: There Is No Agony, And No Solace Left; Earth Can Console, Heaven Can Torment No More. Panthea: Hast Thou Forgotten One Who Watches Thee The Cold Dark Night, And Never Sleeps But When The Shadow Of Thy Spirit Falls On Her? Prometheus: I Said All Hope Was Vain But Love: Thou Lovest. Panthea: Deeply In Truth; But The Eastern Star Looks White, And Asia Waits In That Far Indian Vale, The Scene Of Her Sad Exile; Rugged Once And Desolate And Frozen, Like This Ravine; But Now Invested With Fair Flowers And Herbs, And Haunted By Sweet Airs And Sounds, Which Flow Among The Woods And Waters, From The Aether Of Her Transforming Presence, Which Would Fade If It Were Mingled Not With Thine. Farewell! End Of Act 1. Act 2. Scene 2.1: Morning. A Lovely Vale In The Indian Caucasus. Asia, Alone. Asia: From All The Blasts Of Heaven Thou Hast Descended: Yes, Like A Spirit, Like A Thought, Which Makes Unwonted Tears Throng To The Horny Eyes, And Beatings Haunt The Desolated Heart, Which Should Have Learnt Repose: Thou Hast Descended Cradled In Tempests; Thou Dost Wake, O Spring! O Child Of Many Winds! As Suddenly Thou Comest As The Memory Of A Dream, Which Now Is Sad Because It Hath Been Sweet; Like Genius, Or Like Joy Which Riseth Up As From The Earth, Clothing With Golden Clouds The Desert Of Our Life. This Is The Season, This The Day, The Hour; At Sunrise Thou Shouldst Come, Sweet Sister Mine, Too Long Desired, Too Long Delaying, Come! How Like Death-Worms The Wingless Moments Crawl! The Point Of One White Star Is Quivering Still Deep In The Orange Light Of Widening Morn Beyond The Purple Mountains: Through A Chasm Of Wind-Divided Mist The Darker Lake Reflects It: Now It Wanes: It Gleams Again As The Waves Fade, And As The Burning Threads Of Woven Cloud Unravel In Pale Air: 'Tis Lost! And Through Yon Peaks Of Cloud-Like Snow The Roseate Sunlight Quivers: Hear I Not The Aeolian Music Of Her Sea-Green Plumes Winnowing The Crimson Dawn? Panthea [Enters]: I Feel, I See Those Eyes Which Burn Through Smiles That Fade In Tears, Like Stars Half Quenched In Mists Of Silver Dew. Beloved And Most Beautiful, Who Wearest The Shadow Of That Soul By Which I Live, How Late Thou Art! The Sphered Sun Had Climbed The Sea; My Heart Was Sick With Hope, Before The Printless Air Felt Thy Belated Plumes. Panthea: Pardon, Great Sister! But My Wings Were Faint With The Delight Of A Remembered Dream, As Are The Noontide Plumes Of Summer Winds Satiate With Sweet Flowers. I Was Wont To Sleep Peacefully, And Awake Refreshed And Calm Before The Sacred Titan'S Fall, And Thy Unhappy Love, Had Made, Through Use And Pity, Both Love And Woe Familiar To My Heart As They Had Grown To Thine: Erewhile I Slept Under The Glaucous Caverns Of Old Ocean Within Dim Bowers Of Green And Purple Moss, Our Young Ione'S Soft And Milky Arms Locked Then, As Now, Behind My Dark, Moist Hair, While My Shut Eyes And Cheek Were Pressed Within The Folded Depth Of Her Life-Breathing Bosom: But Not As Now, Since I Am Made The Wind Which Fails Beneath The Music That I Bear Of Thy Most Wordless Converse; Since Dissolved Into The Sense With Which Love Talks, My Rest Was Troubled And Yet Sweet; My Waking Hours Too Full Of Care And Pain. Asia: Lift Up Thine Eyes, And Let Me Read Thy Dream. Panthea: As I Have Said With Our Sea-Sister At His Feet I Slept. The Mountain Mists, Condensing At Our Voice Under The Moon, Had Spread Their Snowy Flakes, From The Keen Ice Shielding Our Linked Sleep. Then Two Dreams Came. One, I Remember Not. But In The Other His Pale Wound-Worn Limbs Fell From Prometheus, And The Azure Night Grew Radiant With The Glory Of That Form Which Lives Unchanged Within, And His Voice Fell Like Music Which Makes Giddy The Dim Brain, Faint With Intoxication Of Keen Joy: 'Sister Of Her Whose Footsteps Pave The World With Loveliness - More Fair Than Aught But Her, Whose Shadow Thou Art - Lift Thine Eyes On Me.' I Lifted Them: The Overpowering Light Of That Immortal Shape Was Shadowed O'Er By Love; Which, From His Soft And Flowing Limbs, And Passion-Parted Lips, And Keen, Faint Eyes, Steamed Forth Like Vaporous Fire; An Atmosphere Which Wrapped Me In Its All-Dissolving Power, As The Warm Ether Of The Morning Sun Wraps Ere It Drinks Some Cloud Of Wandering Dew. I Saw Not, Heard Not, Moved Not, Only Felt His Presence Flow And Mingle Through My Blood Till It Became His Life, And His Grew Mine, And I Was Thus Absorbed, Until It Passed, And Like The Vapours When The Sun Sinks Down, Gathering Again In Drops Upon The Pines, And Tremulous As They, In The Deep Night My Being Was Condensed; And As The Rays Of Thought Were Slowly Gathered, I Could Hear His Voice, Whose Accents Lingered Ere They Died Like Footsteps Of Weak Melody: Thy Name Among The Many Sounds Alone I Heard Of What Might Be Articulate; Though Still I Listened Through The Night When Sound Was None. Ione Wakened Then, And Said To Me: 'Canst Thou Divine What Troubles Me To-Night? I Always Knew, What I Desired Before, Nor Ever Found Delight To Wish In Vain. But Now I Cannot Tell Thee What I Seek; I Know Not; Something Sweet, Since It Is Sweet Even To Desire; It Is Thy Sport, False Sister; Thou Hast Discovered Some Enchantment Old, Whose Spells Have Stolen My Spirit As I Slept And Mingled It With Thine: For When Just Now We Kissed, I Felt Within Thy Parted Lips The Sweet Air That Sustained Me, And The Warmth Of The Life-Blood, For Loss Of Which I Faint, Quivered Between Our Intertwining Arms.' I Answered Not, For The Eastern Star Grew Pale, But Fled To Thee. Asia: Thou Speakest, But Thy Words Are As The Air: I Feel Them Not: Oh, Lift Thine Eyes, That I May Read His Written Soul! Panthea: I Lift Them Though They Droop Beneath The Load Of That They Would Express: What Canst Thou See But Thine Own Fairest Shadow Imaged There? Asia: Thine Eyes Are Like The Deep, Blue, Boundless Heaven Contracted To Two Circles Underneath Their Long, Fine Lashes; Dark, Far, Measureless, Orb Within Orb, And Line Through Line Inwoven. Panthea: Why Lookest Thou As If A Spirit Passed? Asia: There Is A Change: Beyond Their Inmost Depth I See A Shade, A Shape: 'Tis He, Arrayed In The Soft Light Of His Own Smiles, Which Spread Like Radiance From The Cloud-Surrounded Moon. Prometheus, It Is Thine! Depart Not Yet! Say Not Those Smiles That We Shall Meet Again Within That Bright Pavilion Which Their Beams Shall Build O'Er The Waste World? The Dream Is Told. What Shape Is That Between Us? Its Rude Hair Roughens The Wind That Lifts It, Its Regard Is Wild And Quick, Yet 'Tis A Thing Of Air, For Through Its Gray Robe Gleams The Golden Dew Whose Stars The Noon Has Quenched Not. Note: _122 Moon B; Morn 1820. _126 O'Er B; On 1820. Dream Follow! Follow! Panthea: It Is Mine Other Dream. Asia: It Disappears. Panthea: It Passes Now Into My Mind. Methought As We Sate Here, The Flower-Infolding Buds Burst On Yon Lightning-Blasted Almond Tree, When Swift From The White Scythian Wilderness A Wind Swept Forth Wrinkling The Earth With Frost: I Looked, And All The Blossoms Were Blown Down; But On Each Leaf Was Stamped, As The Blue Bells Of Hyacinth Tell Apollo'S Written Grief, O, Follow, Follow! Asia: As You Speak, Your Words Fill, Pause By Pause, My Own Forgotten Sleep With Shapes. Methought Among These Lawns Together We Wandered, Underneath The Young Gray Dawn, And Multitudes Of Dense White Fleecy Clouds Were Wandering In Thick Flocks Along The Mountains Shepherded By The Slow, Unwilling Wind; And The White Dew On The New-Bladed Grass, Just Piercing The Dark Earth, Hung Silently; And There Was More Which I Remember Not: But On The Shadows Of The Morning Clouds, Athwart The Purple Mountain Slope, Was Written Follow, O, Follow! As They Vanished By; And On Each Herb, From Which Heaven'S Dew Had Fallen, The Like Was Stamped, As With A Withering Fire; A Wind Arose Among The Pines; It Shook The Clinging Music From Their Boughs, And Then Low, Sweet, Faint Sounds, Like The Farewell Of Ghosts, Were Heard: O, Follow, Follow, Follow Me! And Then I Said, 'Panthea, Look On Me.' But In The Depth Of Those Beloved Eyes Still I Saw, Follow, Follow! Note: _143 These B; The 1820. Echo: Follow, Follow! Panthea: The Crags, This Clear Spring Morning, Mock Our Voices As They Were Spirit-Tongued. Asia: It Is Some Being Around The Crags. What Fine Clear Sounds! O, List! Echoes, Unseen: Echoes We: Listen! We Cannot Stay: As Dew-Stars Glisten Then Fade Away - Child Of Ocean! Asia: Hark! Spirits Speak. The Liquid Responses Of Their Aereal Tongues Yet Sound. Panthea: I Hear. Echoes: Oh, Follow, Follow, As Our Voice Recedeth Through The Caverns Hollow, Where The Forest Spreadeth; [More Distant.] Oh, Follow, Follow! Through The Caverns Hollow, As The Song Floats Thou Pursue, Where The Wild Bee Never Flew, Through The Noontide Darkness Deep, By The Odour-Breathing Sleep Of Faint Night-Flowers, And The Waves At The Fountain-Lighted Caves, While Our Music, Wild And Sweet, Mocks Thy Gently Falling Feet, Child Of Ocean! Asia: Shall We Pursue The Sound? It Grows More Faint And Distant. Panthea: List! The Strain Floats Nearer Now. Echoes: In The World Unknown Sleeps A Voice Unspoken; By Thy Step Alone Can Its Rest Be Broken; Child Of Ocean! Asia: How The Notes Sink Upon The Ebbing Wind! Echoes: Oh, Follow, Follow! Through The Caverns Hollow, As The Song Floats Thou Pursue, By The Woodland Noontide Dew; By The Forests, Lakes, And Fountains, Through The Many-Folded Mountains; To The Rents, And Gulfs, And Chasms, Where The Earth Reposed From Spasms, On The Day When He And Thou Parted, To Commingle Now; Child Of Ocean! Asia: Come, Sweet Panthea, Link Thy Hand In Mine, And Follow, Ere The Voices Fade Away. Scene 2.2: A Forest, Intermingled With Rocks And Caverns. Asia And Panthea Pass Into It. Two Young Fauns Are Sitting On A Rock Listening. Semichorus 1 Of Spirits: The Path Through Which That Lovely Twain Have Passed, By Cedar, Pine, And Yew, And Each Dark Tree That Ever Grew, Is Curtained Out From Heaven'S Wide Blue; Nor Sun, Nor Moon, Nor Wind, Nor Rain, Can Pierce Its Interwoven Bowers, Nor Aught, Save Where Some Cloud Of Dew, Drifted Along The Earth-Creeping Breeze, Between The Trunks Of The Hoar Trees, Hangs Each A Pearl In The Pale Flowers Of The Green Laurel, Blown Anew, And Bends, And Then Fades Silently, One Frail And Fair Anemone: Or When Some Star Of Many A One That Climbs And Wanders Through Steep Night, Has Found The Cleft Through Which Alone Beams Fall From High Those Depths Upon Ere It Is Borne Away, Away, By The Swift Heavens That Cannot Stay, It Scatters Drops Of Golden Light, Like Lines Of Rain That Ne'Er Unite: And The Gloom Divine Is All Around, And Underneath Is The Mossy Ground. Semichorus 2: There The Voluptuous Nightingales, Are Awake Through All The Broad Noonday. When One With Bliss Or Sadness Fails, And Through The Windless Ivy-Boughs, Sick With Sweet Love, Droops Dying Away On Its Mate'S Music-Panting Bosom; Another From The Swinging Blossom, Watching To Catch The Languid Close Of The Last Strain, Then Lifts On High The Wings Of The Weak Melody, Till Some New Strain Of Feeling Bear The Song, And All The Woods Are Mute; When There Is Heard Through The Dim Air The Rush Of Wings, And Rising There Like Many A Lake-Surrounded Flute, Sounds Overflow The Listener'S Brain So Sweet, That Joy Is Almost Pain. Note: _38 Surrounded B, Edition 1839; Surrounding 1820. Semichorus 1: There Those Enchanted Eddies Play Of Echoes, Music-Tongued, Which Draw, By Demogorgon'S Mighty Law, With Melting Rapture, Or Sweet Awe, All Spirits On That Secret Way; As Inland Boats Are Driven To Ocean Down Streams Made Strong With Mountain-Thaw: And First There Comes A Gentle Sound To Those In Talk Or Slumber Bound, And Wakes The Destined Soft Emotion, - Attracts, Impels Them; Those Who Saw Say From The Breathing Earth Behind There Steams A Plume-Uplifting Wind Which Drives Them On Their Path, While They Believe Their Own Swift Wings And Feet The Sweet Desires Within Obey: And So They Float Upon Their Way, Until, Still Sweet, But Loud And Strong, The Storm Of Sound Is Driven Along, Sucked Up And Hurrying: As They Fleet Behind, Its Gathering Billows Meet And To The Fatal Mountain Bear Like Clouds Amid The Yielding Air. Note: _50 Destined]Destinied 1820. First Faun: Canst Thou Imagine Where Those Spirits Live Which Make Such Delicate Music In The Woods? We Haunt Within The Least Frequented Caves And Closest Coverts, And We Know These Wilds, Yet Never Meet Them, Though We Hear Them Oft: Where May They Hide Themselves? Second Faun: 'Tis Hard To Tell; I Have Heard Those More Skilled In Spirits Say, The Bubbles, Which The Enchantment Of The Sun Sucks From The Pale Faint Water-Flowers That Pave The Oozy Bottom Of Clear Lakes And Pools, Are The Pavilions Where Such Dwell And Float Under The Green And Golden Atmosphere Which Noontide Kindles Through The Woven Leaves; And When These Burst, And The Thin Fiery Air, The Which They Breathed Within Those Lucent Domes, Ascends To Flow Like Meteors Through The Night, They Ride On Them, And Rein Their Headlong Speed, And Bow Their Burning Crests, And Glide In Fire Under The Waters Of The Earth Again. First Faun: If Such Live Thus, Have Others Other Lives, Under Pink Blossoms Or Within The Bells Of Meadow Flowers, Or Folded Violets Deep, Or On Their Dying Odours, When They Die, Or In The Sunlight Of The Sphered Dew? Note: _86 On 1820; In B. Second Faun: Ay, Many More Which We May Well Divine. But Should We Stay To Speak, Noontide Would Come, And Thwart Silenus Find His Goats Undrawn, And Grudge To Sing Those Wise And Lovely Songs Of Fate, And Chance, And God, And Chaos Old, And Love, And The Chained Titan'S Woful Doom, And How He Shall Be Loosed, And Make The Earth One Brotherhood: Delightful Strains Which Cheer Our Solitary Twilights, And Which Charm To Silence The Unenvying Nightingales. Note: _93 Doom B, Edition 1839; Dooms 1820. Scene 2.3: A Pinnacle Of Rock Among Mountains. Asia And Panthea. Panthea: Hither The Sound Has Borne Us - To The Realm Of Demogorgon, And The Mighty Portal, Like A Volcano'S Meteor-Breathing Chasm, Whence The Oracular Vapour Is Hurled Up Which Lonely Men Drink Wandering In Their Youth, And Call Truth, Virtue, Love, Genius, Or Joy, That Maddening Wine Of Life, Whose Dregs They Drain To Deep Intoxication; And Uplift, Like Maenads Who Cry Loud, Evoe! Evoe! The Voice Which Is Contagion To The World. Asia: Fit Throne For Such A Power! Magnificent! How Glorious Art Thou, Earth! And If Thou Be The Shadow Of Some Spirit Lovelier Still, Though Evil Stain Its Work, And It Should Be Like Its Creation, Weak Yet Beautiful, I Could Fall Down And Worship That And Thee. Even Now My Heart Adoreth: Wonderful! Look, Sister, Ere The Vapour Dim Thy Brain: Beneath Is A Wide Plain Of Billowy Mist, As A Lake, Paving In The Morning Sky, With Azure Waves Which Burst In Silver Light, Some Indian Vale. Behold It, Rolling On Under The Curdling Winds, And Islanding The Peak Whereon We Stand, Midway, Around, Encinctured By The Dark And Blooming Forests, Dim Twilight-Lawns, And Stream-Illumined Caves, And Wind-Enchanted Shapes Of Wandering Mist; And Far On High The Keen Sky-Cleaving Mountains From Icy Spires Of Sun-Like Radiance Fling The Dawn, As Lifted Ocean'S Dazzling Spray, From Some Atlantic Islet Scattered Up, Spangles The Wind With Lamp-Like Water-Drops. The Vale Is Girdled With Their Walls, A Howl Of Cataracts From Their Thaw-Cloven Ravines, Satiates The Listening Wind, Continuous, Vast, Awful As Silence. Hark! The Rushing Snow! The Sun-Awakened Avalanche! Whose Mass, Thrice Sifted By The Storm, Had Gathered There Flake After Flake, In Heaven-Defying Minds As Thought By Thought Is Piled, Till Some Great Truth Is Loosened, And The Nations Echo Round, Shaken To Their Roots, As Do The Mountains Now. Note: _26 Illumed B; Illumined 1820. Panthea: Look How The Gusty Sea Of Mist Is Breaking In Crimson Foam, Even At Our Feet! It Rises As Ocean At The Enchantment Of The Moon Round Foodless Men Wrecked On Some Oozy Isle. Asia: The Fragments Of The Cloud Are Scattered Up; The Wind That Lifts Them Disentwines My Hair; Its Billows Now Sweep O'Er Mine Eyes; My Brain Grows Dizzy; See'St Thou Shapes Within The Mist? Note: See'St Thou B; I See Thin 1820; I See 1839. Panthea: A Countenance With Beckoning Smiles: There Burns An Azure Fire Within Its Golden Locks! Another And Another: Hark! They Speak! Song Of Spirits: To The Deep, To The Deep, Down, Down! Through The Shade Of Sleep, Through The Cloudy Strife Of Death And Of Life; Through The Veil And The Bar Of Things Which Seem And Are Even To The Steps Of The Remotest Throne, Down, Down! While The Sound Whirls Around, Down, Down! As The Fawn Draws The Hound, As The Lightning The Vapour, As A Weak Moth The Taper; Death, Despair; Love, Sorrow; Time Both; To-Day, To-Morrow; As Steel Obeys The Spirit Of The Stone, Down, Down! Through The Gray, Void Abysm, Down, Down! Where The Air Is No Prism, And The Moon And Stars Are Not, And The Cavern-Crags Wear Not The Radiance Of Heaven, Nor The Gloom To Earth Given, Where There Is One Pervading, One Alone, Down, Down! In The Depth Of The Deep, Down, Down! Like Veiled Lightning Asleep, Like The Spark Nursed In Embers, The Last Look Love Remembers, Like A Diamond, Which Shines On The Dark Wealth Of Mines, A Spell Is Treasured But For Thee Alone. Down, Down! We Have Bound Thee, We Guide Thee; Down, Down! With The Bright Form Beside Thee; Resist Not The Weakness, Such Strength Is In Meekness That The Eternal, The Immortal, Must Unloose Through Life'S Portal The Snake-Like Doom Coiled Underneath His Throne By That Alone. Scene 2.4: The Cave Of Demogorgon. Asia And Panthea. Panthea: What Veiled Form Sits On That Ebon Throne? Asia: The Veil Has Fallen. Panthea: I See A Mighty Darkness Filling The Seat Of Power, And Rays Of Gloom Dart Round, As Light From The Meridian Sun. - Ungazed Upon And Shapeless; Neither Limb, Nor Form, Nor Outline; Yet We Feel It Is A Living Spirit. Demogorgon: Ask What Thou Wouldst Know. Asia: What Canst Thou Tell? Demogorgon: All Things Thou Dar'St Demand. Asia: Who Made The Living World? Demogorgon: God. Asia: Who Made All That It Contains? Thought, Passion, Reason, Will, Imagination? Demogorgon: God: Almighty God. Asia: Who Made That Sense Which, When The Winds Of Spring In Rarest Visitation, Or The Voice Of One Beloved Heard In Youth Alone, Fills The Faint Eyes With Falling Tears Which Dim The Radiant Looks Of Unbewailing Flowers, And Leaves This Peopled Earth A Solitude When It Returns No More? Demogorgon: Merciful God. Asia: And Who Made Terror, Madness, Crime, Remorse, Which From The Links Of The Great Chain Of Things, To Every Thought Within The Mind Of Man Sway And Drag Heavily, And Each One Reels Under The Load Towards The Pit Of Death; Abandoned Hope, And Love That Turns To Hate; And Self-Contempt, Bitterer To Drink Than Blood; Pain, Whose Unheeded And Familiar Speech Is Howling, And Keen Shrieks, Day After Day; And Hell, Or The Sharp Fear Of Hell? Demogorgon: He Reigns. Asia: Utter His Name: A World Pining In Pain Asks But His Name: Curses Shall Drag Him Down. Demogorgon: He Reigns. Asia: I Feel, I Know It: Who? Demogorgon: He Reigns. Asia: Who Reigns? There Was The Heaven And Earth At First, And Light And Love; Then Saturn, From Whose Throne Time Fell, An Envious Shadow: Such The State Of The Earth'S Primal Spirits Beneath His Sway, As The Calm Joy Of Flowers And Living Leaves Before The Wind Or Sun Has Withered Them And Semivital Worms; But He Refused The Birthright Of Their Being, Knowledge, Power, The Skill Which Wields The Elements, The Thought Which Pierces This Dim Universe Like Light, Self-Empire, And The Majesty Of Love; For Thirst Of Which They Fainted. Then Prometheus Gave Wisdom, Which Is Strength, To Jupiter, And With This Law Alone, 'Let Man Be Free,' Clothed Him With The Dominion Of Wide Heaven. To Know Nor Faith, Nor Love, Nor Law; To Be Omnipotent But Friendless Is To Reign; And Jove Now Reigned; For On The Race Of Man First Famine, And Then Toil, And Then Disease, Strife, Wounds, And Ghastly Death Unseen Before, Fell; And The Unseasonable Seasons Drove With Alternating Shafts Of Frost And Fire, Their Shelterless, Pale Tribes To Mountain Caves: And In Their Desert Hearts Fierce Wants He Sent, And Mad Disquietudes, And Shadows Idle Of Unreal Good, Which Levied Mutual War, So Ruining The Lair Wherein They Raged. Prometheus Saw, And Waked The Legioned Hopes Which Sleep Within Folded Elysian Flowers, Nepenthe, Moly, Amaranth, Fadeless Blooms, That They Might Hide With Thin And Rainbow Wings The Shape Of Death; And Love He Sent To Bind The Disunited Tendrils Of That Vine Which Bears The Wine Of Life, The Human Heart; And He Tamed Fire Which, Like Some Beast Of Prey, Most Terrible, But Lovely, Played Beneath The Frown Of Man; And Tortured To His Will Iron And Gold, The Slaves And Signs Of Power, And Gems And Poisons, And All Subtlest Forms Hidden Beneath The Mountains And The Waves. He Gave Man Speech, And Speech Created Thought, Which Is The Measure Of The Universe; And Science Struck The Thrones Of Earth And Heaven, Which Shook, But Fell Not; And The Harmonious Mind Poured Itself Forth In All-Prophetic Song; And Music Lifted Up The Listening Spirit Until It Walked, Exempt From Mortal Care, Godlike, O'Er The Clear Billows Of Sweet Sound; And Human Hands First Mimicked And Then Mocked, With Moulded Limbs More Lovely Than Its Own, The Human Form, Till Marble Grew Divine; And Mothers, Gazing, Drank The Love Men See Reflected In Their Race, Behold, And Perish. He Told The Hidden Power Of Herbs And Springs, And Disease Drank And Slept. Death Grew Like Sleep. He Taught The Implicated Orbits Woven Of The Wide-Wandering Stars; And How The Sun Changes His Lair, And By What Secret Spell The Pale Moon Is Transformed, When Her Broad Eye Gazes Not On The Interlunar Sea: He Taught To Rule, As Life Directs The Limbs, The Tempest-Winged Chariots Of The Ocean, And The Celt Knew The Indian. Cities Then Were Built, And Through Their Snow-Like Columns Flowed The Warm Winds, And The Azure Ether Shone, And The Blue Sea And Shadowy Hills Were Seen. Such, The Alleviations Of His State, Prometheus Gave To Man, For Which He Hangs Withering In Destined Pain: But Who Rains Down Evil, The Immedicable Plague, Which, While Man Looks On His Creation Like A God And Sees That It Is Glorious, Drives Him On, The Wreck Of His Own Will, The Scorn Of Earth, The Outcast, The Abandoned, The Alone? Not Jove: While Yet His Frown Shook Heaven Ay, When His Adversary From Adamantine Chains Cursed Him, He Trembled Like A Slave. Declare Who Is His Master? Is He Too A Slave? Note: _100 Rains B, Edition 1839; Reigns 1820. Demogorgon: All Spirits Are Enslaved Which Serve Things Evil: Thou Knowest If Jupiter Be Such Or No. Asia: Whom Calledst Thou God? Demogorgon: I Spoke But As Ye Speak, For Jove Is The Supreme Of Living Things. Asia: Who Is The Master Of The Slave? Demogorgon: If The Abysm Could Vomit Forth Its Secrets...But A Voice Is Wanting, The Deep Truth Is Imageless; For What Would It Avail To Bid Thee Gaze On The Revolving World? What To Bid Speak Fate, Time, Occasion, Chance And Change? To These All Things Are Subject But Eternal Love. Asia: So Much I Asked Before, And My Heart Gave The Response Thou Hast Given; And Of Such Truths Each To Itself Must Be The Oracle. One More Demand; And Do Thou Answer Me As My Own Soul Would Answer, Did It Know That Which I Ask. Prometheus Shall Arise Henceforth The Sun Of This Rejoicing World: When Shall The Destined Hour Arrive? Demogorgon: Behold! Asia: The Rocks Are Cloven, And Through The Purple Night I See Cars Drawn By Rainbow-Winged Steeds Which Trample The Dim Winds: In Each There Stands A Wild-Eyed Charioteer Urging Their Flight. Some Look Behind, As Fiends Pursued Them There, And Yet I See No Shapes But The Keen Stars: Others, With Burning Eyes, Lean Forth, And Drink With Eager Lips The Wind Of Their Own Speed, As If The Thing They Loved Fled On Before, And Now, Even Now, They Clasped It. Their Bright Locks Stream Like A Comet'S Flashing Hair; They All Sweep Onward. Demogorgon: These Are The Immortal Hours, Of Whom Thou Didst Demand. One Waits For Thee. Asia: A Spirit With A Dreadful Countenance Checks Its Dark Chariot By The Craggy Gulf. Unlike Thy Brethren, Ghastly Charioteer, Who Art Thou? Whither Wouldst Thou Bear Me? Speak! Spirit: I Am The Shadow Of A Destiny More Dread Than Is My Aspect: Ere Yon Planet Has Set, The Darkness Which Ascends With Me Shall Wrap In Lasting Night Heaven'S Kingless Throne. Asia: What Meanest Thou? Panthea: That Terrible Shadow Floats Up From Its Throne, As May The Lurid Smoke Of Earthquake-Ruined Cities O'Er The Sea. Lo! It Ascends The Car; The Coursers Fly Terrified: Watch Its Path Among The Stars Blackening The Night! Asia: Thus I Am Answered: Strange! Panthea: See, Near The Verge, Another Chariot Stays; An Ivory Shell Inlaid With Crimson Fire, Which Comes And Goes Within Its Sculptured Rim Of Delicate Strange Tracery; The Young Spirit That Guides It Has The Dove-Like Eyes Of Hope; How Its Soft Smiles Attract The Soul! As Light Lures Winged Insects Through The Lampless Air. Spirit: My Coursers Are Fed With The Lightning, They Drink Of The Whirlwind'S Stream, And When The Red Morning Is Bright'Ning They Bathe In The Fresh Sunbeam; They Have Strength For Their Swiftness I Deem; Then Ascend With Me, Daughter Of Ocean. I Desire: And Their Speed Makes Night Kindle; I Fear: They Outstrip The Typhoon; Ere The Cloud Piled On Atlas Can Dwindle We Encircle The Earth And The Moon: We Shall Rest From Long Labours At Noon: Then Ascend With Me, Daughter Of Ocean. Scene 2.5: The Car Pauses Within A Cloud On The Top Of A Snowy Mountain. Asia, Panthea, And The Spirit Of The Hour. Spirit: On The Brink Of The Night And The Morning My Coursers Are Wont To Respire; But The Earth Has Just Whispered A Warning That Their Flight Must Be Swifter Than Fire: They Shall Drink The Hot Speed Of Desire! Asia: Thou Breathest On Their Nostrils, But My Breath Would Give Them Swifter Speed. Spirit: Alas! It Could Not. Panthea: Oh Spirit! Pause, And Tell Whence Is The Light Which Fills This Cloud? The Sun Is Yet Unrisen. Note: _9 This B; The 1820. Spirit: The Sun Will Rise Not Until Noon. Apollo Is Held In Heaven By Wonder; And The Light Which Fills This Vapour, As The Aereal Hue Of Fountain-Gazing Roses Fills The Water, Flows From Thy Mighty Sister. Panthea: Yes, I Feel - Asia: What Is It With Thee, Sister? Thou Art Pale. Panthea: How Thou Art Changed! I Dare Not Look On Thee; I Feel But See Thee Not. I Scarce Endure The Radiance Of Thy Beauty. Some Good Change Is Working In The Elements, Which Suffer Thy Presence Thus Unveiled. The Nereids Tell That On The Day When The Clear Hyaline Was Cloven At Thine Uprise, And Thou Didst Stand Within A Veined Shell, Which Floated On Over The Calm Floor Of The Crystal Sea, Among The Aegean Isles, And By The Shores Which Bear Thy Name; Love, Like The Atmosphere Of The Sun'S Fire Filling The Living World, Burst From Thee, And Illumined Earth And Heaven And The Deep Ocean And The Sunless Caves And All That Dwells Within Them; Till Grief Cast Eclipse Upon The Soul From Which It Came: Such Art Thou Now; Nor Is It I Alone, Thy Sister, Thy Companion, Thine Own Chosen One, But The Whole World Which Seeks Thy Sympathy. Hearest Thou Not Sounds I' The Air Which Speak The Love Of All Articulate Beings? Feelest Thou Not The Inanimate Winds Enamoured Of Thee? List! Note: _22 Thine B; Thy 1820. [Music.] Asia: Thy Words Are Sweeter Than Aught Else But His Whose Echoes They Are; Yet All Love Is Sweet, Given Or Returned. Common As Light Is Love, And Its Familiar Voice Wearies Not Ever. Like The Wide Heaven, The All-Sustaining Air, It Makes The Reptile Equal To The God: They Who Inspire It Most Are Fortunate, As I Am Now; But Those Who Feel It Most Are Happier Still, After Long Sufferings, As I Shall Soon Become. Panthea: List! Spirits Speak. Voice In The Air, Singing: Life Of Life! Thy Lips Enkindle With Their Love The Breath Between Them; And Thy Smiles Before They Dwindle Make The Cold Air Fire; Then Screen Them In Those Looks, Where Whoso Gazes Faints, Entangled In Their Mazes. Child Of Light! Thy Limbs Are Burning Through The Vest Which Seems To Hide Them; As The Radiant Lines Of Morning Through The Clouds Ere They Divide Them; And This Atmosphere Divinest Shrouds Thee Wheresoe'Er Thou Shinest. Fair Are Others; None Beholds Thee, But Thy Voice Sounds Low And Tender Like The Fairest, For It Folds Thee From The Sight, That Liquid Splendour, And All Feel, Yet See Thee Never, As I Feel Now, Lost For Ever! Lamp Of Earth! Where'Er Thou Movest Its Dim Shapes Are Clad With Brightness, And The Souls Of Whom Thou Lovest Walk Upon The Winds With Lightness, Till They Fail, As I Am Failing, Dizzy, Lost, Yet Unbewailing! Note: _54 Limbs B, Edition 1839; Lips 1820. Asia: My Soul Is An Enchanted Boat, Which, Like A Sleeping Swan, Doth Float Upon The Silver Waves Of Thy Sweet Singing; And Thine Doth Like An Angel Sit Beside A Helm Conducting It, Whilst All The Winds With Melody Are Ringing. It Seems To Float Ever, For Ever, Upon That Many-Winding River, Between Mountains, Woods, Abysses, A Paradise Of Wildernesses! Till, Like One In Slumber Bound, Borne To The Ocean, I Float Down, Around, Into A Sea Profound, Of