Page:Prometheus Unbound - Shelley.djvu/40

36 Are they now led from the thin dead On new pangs to be fed?

The Titan looks as ever, firm, not proud.

Ha! I scent life!

Let me but look into his eyes!

The hope of torturing him smells like a heap Of corpses to a death-bird after battle.

Darest thou delay, O Herald! take cheer, Hounds Of Hell: what if the Son of Maia soon Should make us food and sport—who can please long The Omnipotent?

Back to your towers of iron, And gnash, beside the streams of fire and wail Your foodless teeth. Geryon, arise! and Gorgon, Chimæra, and thou Sphinx, subtlest of fiends, Who ministered to Thebes Heaven's poisoned wine, Unnatural love, and more unnatural hate: These shall perform your task.