Page:Prometheus Unbound - Shelley.djvu/39

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 who are those with hydra tresses

And iron wings, that climb the wind,
Whom the frowning God represses
Like vapours steaming up behind,
Clanging loud, an endless crowd—

Panthea.

These are Jove's tempest-walking hounds,

Whom he gluts with groans and blood,
When charioted on sulphurous cloud
He bursts Heaven's bounds.

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