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Then from his neck he shakes one golden hair,
And smites his suppliant with its vital glare;
Who, willing, longing, feels the flame extend,
And hastes to rise, rejoicing in his end.
Lit by that heavenly dart, the fragrant pyre
Involves the ancient in devouring fire.
The Moon, astonished, hath her steers represt;
Awhile unmoved the polar axles rest:
The labouring pile great Nature's heart hath stirr'd
With fear to lose the everlasting bird:
She bids the flames keep faith, and, as of yore,
Th' immortal glory of the world restore.
And now with strength renew'd each member glows,
Full through each vein the blood returning flows;
Along the cindery shape strange movements pass,
Life thrills within, and plumage clothes the mass.
But now a father—he springs forth a son—
Next, yet not other; second, yet but one:
So hath the potent fire its work of wonder done!
Whose thin partition of disjoining flame
Two lives holds separate in a single frame.
Soon now to Nile he speeds, the sacred freight
Of ashes, whence he sprang, to dedicate.
