Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarr’d
With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs
Are strong and struggling. Power at thee has launch’d
His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee;
They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven.
Merciless Power has dug thy dungeon deep,
And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires,
Have forged thy chain; yet while he deems thee bound,
The links are shiver’d, and the prison walls
Fall outward; terribly thou springest forth,