Grant a little respite now:
See a disenchanted nation
Springs like day from desolation;
To Truth its state is dedicate,
And Freedom leads it forth, her mate;
A legioned band of linked brothers,
Whom Love calls children—
Semichorus II.
See how kindred murder kin:
'Tis the vintage-time for Death and Sin:
Blood, like new wine, bubbles within:
'Till Despair smothers
The struggling world, which slaves and tyrants win.
[All the Furies vanish, except one.
Ione. Hark, sister! what a low yet dreadful groan
Quite unsuppressed is tearing up the heart
Of the good Titan, as storms tear the deep,
And beasts hear the sea moan in inland caves.
Darest thou observe how the fiends torture him?
Pan. Alas! I looked forth twice, but will no more.
Ione. What didst thou see?
