Misery!' And the Ocean's purple waves,
  Climbing the land, howled to the lashing winds,
  And the pale nations heard it, 'Misery!'

PROMETHEUS
  I hear a sound of voices; not the voice
  Which I gave forth. Mother, thy sons and thou
  Scorn him, without whose all-enduring will
  Beneath the fierce omnipotence of Jove,
  Both they and thou had vanished, like thin mist
  Unrolled on the morning wind. Know ye not me,
  The Titan? He who made his agony
  The barrier to your else all-conquering foe?
  O rock-embosomed lawns and snow-fed streams,
  Now seen athwart frore vapors, deep below,
  Through whose o'ershadowing woods I wandered once
  With Asia, drinking life from her loved eyes;
  Why scorns the spirit, which informs ye, now
  To commune with me? me alone who checked,
  As one who checks a fiend-drawn charioteer,
  The falsehood and the force of him who reigns
  Supreme, and with the groans of pining slaves
  Fills your dim glens and liquid wildernesses:
  Why answer ye not, still? Brethren!

THE EARTH
  They dare not.
 
PROMETHEUS
  Who dares? for I would hear that curse again.
  Ha, what an awful whisper rises up!