IONE.
  Sister, I hear the thunder of new wings.

PANTHEA
  These solid mountains quiver with the sound
  Even as the tremulous air; their shadows make
  The space within my plumes more black than night.

FIRST FURY
  Your call was as a wingèd car,
  Driven on whirlwinds fast and far;
  It rapt us from red gulfs of war.

SECOND FURY
  From wide cities, famine-wasted;

THIRD FURY
  Groans half heard, and blood untasted;

FOURTH FURY
  Kingly conclaves stern and cold,
  Where blood with gold is bought and sold;

FIFTH FURY
  From the furnace, white and hot,
  In which--