PR. Speak not of love. See, I am moved with hate, And fiercest anger, which will sometimes spur The heart to extremity, till it forget That there is any joy save furious war. Nay, were there now another deed to do, Which more could hurt our enemy than this, Which here I stand to venture, here would I leave thee Conspiring at his altar, and fly off 1250 To plunge the branding terror in his soul. But now the rising passion of my will Already jars his reaching sense, already From heaven he bids his minion Hermes forth To bring his only rebel to his feet. Therefore no more delay, the time is short. IN. I take, I take. 'Tis but for thee to give. PR. O heavenly fire, life's life, the eye of day, Whose nimble waves upon the starry night Of boundless ether love to play, 1260 Carrying commands to every gliding sprite To feed all things with colour, from the ray Of thy bright-glancing, white And silver-spinning light: Unweaving its thin tissue for the bow Of Iris, separating countless hues Of various splendour for the grateful flowers To crown the hasting hours, Changing their special garlands as they choose. O spirit of rage and might, 1270 Who canst unchain the links of winter stark, And bid earth's stubborn metals flow like oil, Her porphyrous heart-veins boil; Whose arrows pierce the cloudy shields of dark; Let now this flame, which did to life awaken Beyond the cold dew-gathering veils of morn, And thence by me was taken, And in this reed was borne, A smothered theft and gift to man below, Here with my breath revive, 1280 Restore thy lapsèd realm, and be the sire Of many an earthly fire. O flame, flame bright and live, Appear upon the altar as I blow. CHOR. 'Twas in the marish reed. See to his mouth he sets its hollow flute And breathes therein with heed, As one who from a pipe with breathings mute Will music's voice evoke.-- See, the curl of a cloud. 1290 IN. The smoke, the smoke! SEMICHORUS. Thin clouds mounting higher. IN. 'Tis smoke, the smoke of fire. SEMICHORUS. Thick they come and thicker, Quick arise and quicker, Higher still and higher. Their wreaths the wood enfold. --I see a spot of gold. They spring from a spot of gold, Red gold, deep among 1300 The leaves: a golden tongue. O behold, behold, Dancing tongues of gold, That leaping aloft flicker, Higher still and higher. IN. 'Tis fire, the flame of fire!