When, filled with pride and scorn,
Thou mak’st relentless anger seem divine,
And all Jove’s terror clothes a mortal brow.
Thine is the subtle element that turns
To fearless act the impulse of the hour —
The secret fire, whose flash electric burns
To every source of passion and of power.
Therefore I hail thee, on thy glittering track:
Therefore I watch thee, when the night grows dark,
Slow rising, front Orion’s sword along