SCENE I.
PROMETHEUS UNBOUND.
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Trampling the slant winds on high
With golden-sandalled feet, that glow
Under plumes of purple dye,
Like rose-ensanguined ivory,
A Shape comes now,
Stretching on high from his right hand
A serpent-cinctured wand.
Pan. 'Tis Jove's world-wandering herald, Mercury.
Ione.
And iron wings, that climb the wind,
Whom the frowning God represses
Like vapours steaming up behind,
Clanging loud, an endless crowd—
Panthea.
Whom he gluts with groans and blood,
When charioted on sulphurous cloud
He bursts Heaven's bounds.
C 2