Page:Prometheus Unbound - Shelley.djvu/78

74 Of the last strain, then lifts on high The wings of the weak melody, 'Till some new strain of feeling bear The song, and all the woods are mute; When there is heard thro' the dim air The rush of wings, and rising there Like many a lake-surrounding flute, Sounds overflow the listener's brain So sweet, that joy is almost pain.

There those enchanted eddies play Of echoes, music-tongued, which draw, By Demogorgon's mighty law, With melting rapture, or sweet awe, All spirits on that secret way; As inland boats are driven to Ocean Down streams made strong with mountain-thaw: And first there comes a gentle sound To those in talk or slumber bound, And wakes the destined soft emotion, Attracts, impels them: those who saw Say from the breathing earth behind There steams a plume-uplifting wind