Page:Prometheus Unbound - Shelley.djvu/50

A Fury.

Speak not; whisper not;

I know all that ye would tell,
But to speak might break the spell
Which must bend the Invincible,
The stern of thought;
He yet defies the deepest power of Hell.

Fury

Tear the veil!

Another Fury

It is torn.

Chorus.

The pale stars of the morn

Shine on a misery, dire to be borne.
Dost thou faint, mighty Titan? We laugh thee to scorn.
Dost thou boast the clear knowledge thou waken'dst for man?
Then was kindled within him a thirst which outran
Those perishing waters; a thirst of fierce fever,