Page:Prometheus Unbound - Shelley.djvu/26

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      Not exultation, for I hate no more,
      As then ere misery made me wise. The curse
      Once breathed on thee I would recall. Ye Mountains,
      Whose many-voicèd Echoes, through the mist
      Of cataracts, flung the thunder of that spell!
      Ye icy Springs, stagnant with wrinkling frost,
      Which vibrated to hear me, and then crept
      Shuddering through India! Thou serenest Air
      Through which the Sun walks burning without beams!
      And ye swift Whirlwinds, who on poisèd wings
      Hung mute and moveless o'er yon hushed abyss,
      As thunder, louder than your own, made rock
      The orbèd world! If then my words had power,
      Though I am changed so that aught evil wish
      Is dead within; although no memory be
      Of what is hate, let them not lose it now!
      What was that curse? for ye all heard me speak.

FIRST VOICE: from the Mountains
      Thrice three hundred thousand years
        O'er the earthquake's couch we stood;
      Oft, as men convulsed with fears,
        We trembled in our multitude.