PHANTASM OF JUPITER
  Why have the secret powers of this strange world
  Driven me, a frail and empty phantom, hither
  On direst storms? What unaccustomed sounds
  Are hovering on my lips, unlike the voice
  With which our pallid race hold ghastly talk
  In darkness? And, proud sufferer, who art thou?

PROMETHEUS
  Tremendous Image! as thou art must be
  He whom thou shadowest forth. I am his foe,
  The Titan. Speak the words which I would hear,
  Although no thought inform thine empty voice.

THE EARTH
  Listen! And though your echoes must be mute,
  Gray mountains, and old woods, and haunted springs,
  Prophetic caves, and isle-surrounding streams,
  Rejoice to hear what yet ye cannot speak.

PHANTASM
  A spirit seizes me and speaks within;
  It tears me as fire tears a thunder-cloud.

PANTHEA
  See how he lifts his mighty looks! the Heaven
  Darkens above.

IONE
  He speaks! Oh, shelter me!

PROMETHEUS
  I see the curse on gestures proud and cold,
  And looks of firm defiance, and calm hate,
  And such despair as mocks itself with smiles,
  Written as on a scroll: yet speak! Oh, speak!