STROPHE I.Chorus.Fear nothing; for a friendly band approaches;Fleet rivalry of wingsOar’d us to this far height, with hard consentWrung from our careful sireThe winds swift-sweeping bore me: for I heardThe harsh hammer’s note deep deep in ocean caves,And, throwing virgin shame aside, unshodThe winged car I mounted.Prometheus.Ah! ah!Daughters of prolific Tethys,n13And of ancient father Ocean,With his sleepless current whirlingRound the firm ball of the globe.Look! with rueful eyes behold meNailed by adamantine rivets,Keeping weary watch unenviedOn this tempest-rifted rock!ANTISTROPHE I.Chorus.I look, Prometheus; and a tearful cloudMy woeful sight bedims,To see thy goodliest form with insult chained,In adamantine bonds,To this bare crag, where pinching airs shall blast theeNew gods now hold the helm of Heaven; new lawsMark Jove’s unrighteous rule; the giant traceOf Titan times hath vanished.n14Prometheus.Deep in death-receiving HadesHad he bound me, had he whelmed meIn Tartarean pit, unfathomed,Fettered with unyielding bonds!Then nor god nor man had feastedEyes of triumph on my wrongs,Nor I, thus swung in middle ether,f8Moved the laughter of my foes.STROPHE II.Chorus.Which of the gods hath heart so hardTo mock thy woes? Who will withholdThe fellow-feeling and the tear,Save only Jove. But he doth nurseStrong wrath within his stubborn breast,And holds all Heaven in awe.Nor will he cease till his hot rage is glutted,Or some new venture shakes his stable throne.Prometheus.By my Titan soul, I swear it!Though with harsh chains now he mocks me,Even now the hour is ripening,When this haughty lord of HeavenShall embrace my knees, beseechingMe to unveil the new-forged counselsThat shall hurl him from his throne.n15But no honey-tongued persuasion,No smooth words of artful charming,No stout threats shall loose my tongue,Till he loose these bonds of insult,And himself make just atonementFor injustice done to me.ANTISTROPHE II.Chorus.Thou art a bold man, and defiestThe keenest pangs to force thy will.With a most unreined tongue thou speakest;But me—sharp fear hath pierced my heart.I fear for thee: and of thy woesThe distant, doubtful endI see not. O, ’tis hard, most hard to reachThe heart of Jove!n16prayer beats his ear in vain.Prometheus.Harsh is Jove, I know—he framethJustice for himself; but soon,When the destined arm o’ertakes him,He shall tremble as a child.He shall smooth his bristling anger,Courting friendship shunned before,More importunate to unbind meThan impatient I of bonds.Chorus.Speak now, and let us know the whole offenceJove charges thee withal; for which he seized,And with dishonor and dire insult loads thee.Unfold the tale; unless, perhaps, such sorrowIrks thee to tell.Prometheus.To tell or not to tellIrks me the same; which way I turn is pain.When first the gods their fatal strife began,And insurrection raged in Heaven—some strivingTo cast old Kronos from his hoary throne,That Jove might reign, and others to crush i’ the budHis swelling mastery—I wise counsel gaveTo the Titans, sons of primal Heaven and Earth;But gave in vain. Their dauntless stubborn soulsSpurned gentle ways, and patient-working wiles,Weening swift triumph with a blow. But me,My mother Themis, not once but oft, and Earth(One shape of various names),n17prophetic toldThat violence and rude strength in such a strifeWere vain—craft haply might prevail. This lessonI taught the haughty Titans, but they deignedScarce with contempt to hear my prudent words.Thus baffled in my plans, I deemed it best,As things then were, leagued with my mother Themis,To accept Jove’s proffered friendship. By my counselsFrom his primeval throne was Kronosf9hurledInto the pit Tartarean, dark, profound,With all his troop of friends. Such was the kindnessFrom me received by him who now doth holdThe masterdom of Heaven; these the rewardsOf my great zeal: for so it hath been ever.Suspicion’s a disease that cleaves to tyrants,And they who love most are the first suspected.n18As for your question, for what present faultI bear the wrong that now afflicts me, hear.Soon as he sat on his ancestral throneHe called the gods together, and assignedTo each his fair allotment, and his sphereOf sway supreme; but, ah! for wretched man!To him nor part nor portion fell: Jove vowedTo blot his memory from the Earth, and mouldThe race anew,f10I only of the godsThwarted his will;n19and, but for my strong aid,Hades had whelmed, and hopeless ruin swampedAll men that breathe. Such were my crimes: these painsGrievous to suffer, pitiful to behold,Were purchased thus; and mercy’s now deniedTo him whose crime was mercy to mankind:And here I lie, in cunning torment stretched,n20A spectacle inglorious to Jove.Chorus.An iron-heart were his, and flinty hard,Who on thy woes could look without a tear,Prometheus; I had liefer not so seen thee,And seeing thee fain would call mine eyesight liar.Prometheus.Certes no sight am I for friends to look on.Chorus.Was this thy sole offence?Prometheus.I taught weak mortalsNot to foresee harm, and forestall the Fates.Chorus.A sore disease to anticipate mischance:How didst thou cure it?Prometheus.Blind hopes of good I plantedIn their dark breasts.n21Chorus.That was a boon indeed,To ephemeral man.Prometheus.Nay more, I gave them fire.Chorus.And flame-faced fire is now enjoyed by mortals?n22Prometheus.Enjoyed, and of all arts the destined mother.Chorus.And is this all the roll of thy offendingsThat he should rage so fierce? Hath he not setBounds to his vengeance?Prometheus.None, but his own pleasure.Chorus.And when shall he please? Vain the hope; thou see’stThat thou hast erred; and that thou hast to usNo pleasure brings, to thee excess of pain.Of this enough. Seek now to cure the evil.Prometheus.’Tis a light thing for him whose foot’s unwarpedBy misadventure’s meshes to adviseAnd counsel the unfortunate. But IForeknew my fate, and if I erred, I erredWith conscious purpose, purchasing man’s wealWith mine own grief. I knew I should offendThe Thunderer, though deeming not that heWould perch me thus to pine ’twixt Earth and Sky,Of this wild wintry waste sole habitant.But cease to weep for ills that weeping mends not;Descend, and I’ll discourse to thee at lengthOf chances yet to come. Nay, do not doubt;But leave thy car, nor be ashamed to shareThe afflictions of the afflicted; for Mishap,Of things that lawless wander, wanders most;With me to-day it is with you to-morrow.Chorus.Not to sluggish ears, Prometheus,Hast thou spoken thy desire;From our breeze-borne car descending,With light foot we greet the ground.Leaving ether chaste, smooth pathwayOf the gently-winnowing wing,On this craggy rock I stand,To hear the tale, while thou mayst tell it,Of thy sorrows to the end.EnterOcean.n23Ocean.From my distant caves ceruleann24This fleet-pinioned bird hath borne me;Needed neither bit nor bridle,Thought instinctive reined the creature;Thus, to know thy griefs, Prometheus,And to grieve with thee I come.Soothly strong the tie of kindredBinds the heart of man and god;But, though no such tie had bound me,I had wept for thee the same.Well thou know’st not mine the cunningTo discourse with glozing phrase:Tell me how I may relieve thee,I am ready to relieve;Friend thou boastest none than OceanSurer, in the hour of need.Prometheus.How now, old Ocean? thou too come to viewMy dire disasters?—how shouldst thou have dared,Leaving the billowy stream whose name thou bearest,Thy rock-roofed halls, and self-built palaces,To visit this Scythian land, stern mother of iron,To know my sorrows, and to grieve with me?Look on this sight—thy friend, the friend of Jove,Who helped him to the sway which now he bears,Crushed by the self-same god himself exalted.Ocean.I see, Prometheus; and I come to speakA wise word to the wise; receive it wisely.Know what thou art, and make thy manners new;For a new king doth rule the subject gods.Compose thy speech, nor cast such whetted words’Gainst Jove, who, though he sits apart sublime,Hath ears, and with new pains may smite his victim,To which his present wrath shall seem a toy.Listen to me; slack thy fierce ire, and seekSpeedy deliverance from these woes. Trite wisdomBelike I speak, Prometheus; but thou knowestA lofty-sounding tongue with passionate phraseBuys its own ruin. Proud art thou, unyielding,And heap’st new woes tenfold on thine own head.Why should’st thou kick against the pricks? Jove reignsA lord severe, and of his acts need giveAccount to none, I go to plead for thee,And, what I can, will try to save my kinsman;But be thou calm the while; curb thy rash speech,And let not fame report, that one so wiseFell by the forfeit of a foolish tongue.Prometheus.Count thyself happy, Ocean, being freeFrom blame, who shared and dared with me. Be wise,And what thy meddling aids not, let alone.In vain thou plead’st with him; his ears are deaf.Look to thyself: thy errand is not safe.Ocean.Wise art thou, passing wise, for others’ weal,For thine own good most foolish. Prithee do notSo stretch thy stubborn whim to pull againstThe friends that pull for thee. ’Tis no vain boast;I know that Jove will hear me.Prometheus.Thou art kind;And for thy kind intent and friendly feelingHave my best thanks. But do not, I beseech thee,Waste labour upon me. If thou wilt labour,Seek a more hopeful subject. Thou wert wiser,Being safe, to keep thee safe. I, when I suffer,Wish not that all my friends should suffer with me.Enough my brother Atlas’ miseries grieve me.n25Who in the extreme West stands, stoutly bearingThe pillars of Heaven and Earth upon his shoulders,n26No lightsome burden. Him too, I bewail,That made his home in dark Cilician caverns.The hostile portent, Earth-born, hundred-headedImpetuous Typhon,n27quelled by force, who stoodAlone, against the embattled host of gods,Hissing out murder from his monstrous jaws;And from his eyes there flashed a Gorgon glare,As he would smite the tyranny of great JoveClean down; but he, with sleepless thunder watching,Hurl’d headlong a flame-breathing bolt, and laidThe big-mouthed vaunter low. Struck to the heartWith blasted strength, and shrunk to ashes, thereA huge and helpless hulk, outstretched he lies,Beside the salt sea’s strait, pressed down beneathThe roots of Ætna, on whose peaks HephaestusSits hammering the hot metal. Thence, one day,Shall streams of liquid fire, swift passage forcing,With savage jaws the wide-spread plains devourOf the fair-fruited Sicily. Such hot shafts,From the flame-breathing ferment of the deep,Shall Typhon cast with sateless wrath, though nowAll scorched and cindered by the Thunderer’s stroke,Moveless he lies. But why should I teach thee?Thou art a wise man, thine own wisdom useTo save thyself. For me, I’ll even endureThese pains, till Jove shall please to slack his ire.Ocean.Know’st thou not this, Prometheus, that mild wordsAre medicines of fierce wrath?n28Prometheus.They are, when spokenIn a mild hour; but the high-swelling heartThey do but fret the more.Ocean.But, in the attemptTo ward the threatened harm, what evil see’st thou?Prometheus.Most bootless toil, and folly most inane.Ocean.Be it so; but yet ’tis sometimes well, believe me,That a wise man should seem to be a fool.Prometheus.Seem fool, seem wise, I, in the end, am blamed.Ocean.Thy reckless words reluctant send me home.Prometheus.Beware, lest love for me make thyself hated.Ocean.Of whom? Of him, who, on the all-powerful throneSits, a new lord?Prometheus.Even him. Beware thou vex notJove’s jealous heart.Ocean.In this, thy fate shall warn me.Prometheus.Away! farewell; and may the prudent thoughts,That sway thy bosom now, direct thee ever.Ocean.I go, and quickly. My four-footed birdBrushes the broad path of the limpid airWith forward wing: right gladly will he bendThe wearied knee on his familiar stall.CHORAL HYMN.STROPHE I.Thy dire disasters, unexampled wrongs,I weep, Prometheus.From its soft founts distilled the flowing tearMy cheek bedashes.’Tis hard, most hard! By self-made laws Jove rules,And ’gainst the host of primal gods he pointsThe lordly spear.ANTISTROPHE I.With echoing groans the ambient waste bewailsThy fate, Prometheus;The neighbouring tribes of holy Asia weepFor thee, Prometheus;n29For thee and thine! names mighty and reveredOf yore, now shamed, dishonoured, and cast down,And chained with thee.STROPHE II.And Colchis, with her belted daughters, weepsFor thee, Prometheus;And Scythian tribes, on Earth’s remotest verge,Where lone Mæotisf11spreads her wintry waters,Do weep for thee.ANTISTROPHE II.The flower of Araby’s wandering warriors weepFor thee, Prometheus;n30And they who high their airy holds have perchedOn Caucasus’ ridge, with pointed lances bristling,Do weep for thee.EPODE.One only vexed like thee, and even as thou,In adamant bound,A Titan, and a god scorned by the gods,Atlas I knew.He on his shoulders the surpassing weightOf the celestial pole stoutly upbore,And groaned beneath.Roars billowy Ocean, and the Deep sucks backIts waters when he sobs; from Earth’s dark cavesDeep hell resounds;The fountains of the holy-streaming riversDo moan with him.Prometheus.Deem me not self-willed, nor with pride high-strung,That I am dumb; my heart is gnawed to seeMyself thus mocked and jeered. These gods, to whomOwe they their green advancement but to me?But this ye know; and, not to teach the taught,I’ll speak of it no more. Of human kind,My great offence in aiding them, in teachingThe babe to speak, and rousing torpid mindTo take the grasp of itself—of this I’ll talk;Meaning to mortal men no blame, but onlyThe true recital of mine own deserts.For, soothly, having eyes to see they saw not,n31And hearing heard not; but like dreamy phantoms,A random life they led from year to year,All blindly floundering on. No craft they knewWith woven brick or jointed beam to pileThe sunward porch; but in the dark earth burrowedAnd housed, like tiny ants in sunless caves.No signs they knew to mark the wintry year:The flower-strewn Spring, and the fruit-laden Summer,Uncalendared, unregistered, returned—Till I the difficult art of the stars revealed,Their risings and their settings. Numbers, too,I taught them (a most choice device)n32and howBy marshalled signs to fix their shifting thoughts,That Memory, mother of Muses, might achieveHer wondrous works. I first slaved to the yokeBoth ox and ass. I, the rein-loving steeds(Of wealth’s gay-flaunting pomp the chiefest pride)Joined to the car; and bade them ease the toilsOf labouring men vicarious. I the firstUpon the lint-winged car of marinerWas launched, sea-wandering. Such wise arts I foundTo soothe the ills of man’s ephemeral life;But for myself, plunged in this depth of woe,No prop I find.Chorus.Sad chance! Thy wit hath sliptFrom its firm footing then when needed most,Like some unlearned leech who many healed,But being sick himself, from all his store,Cannot cull out one medicinal drug.Prometheus.Hear me yet farther; and in hearing marvel,What arts and curious shifts my wit devised.Chiefest of all, the cure of dire diseaseMen owe to me. Nor healing food, nor drink,Nor unguent knew they, but did slowly witherAnd waste away for lack of pharmacy,Till taught by me to mix the soothing drug,And check corruption’s march. I fixed the artOf divination with its various phaseOf dim revealings, making dreams speak truth,Stray voices, and encounters by the waySignificant; the flight of taloned birdsOn right and left I marked—these fraught with ban,With blissful augury those; their way of life,Their mutual loves and enmities, their flocks,And friendly gatherings; the entrails’ smoothness,The hue best liked by the gods, the gall, the liverWith all its just proportions. I first wrappedIn the smooth fat the thighs; first burnt the loins,And from the flickering flame taught men to spellNo easy lore, and cleared the fire-faced signsn33Obscure before. Yet more: I probed the Earth,To yield its hidden wealth to help man’s weakness—Iron, copper, silver, gold. None but a fool,A prating fool, will stint me of this praise.And thus, with one short word to sum the tale,Prometheus taught all arts to mortal men.Chorus.Do good to men, but do it with discretion.Why shouldst thou harm thyself? Good hope I nurseTo see thee soon from these harsh chains unbound,As free, as mighty, as great Jove himself.Prometheus.This may not be; the destined course of thingsFate must accomplish; I must bend me yet’Neath wrongs on wrongs, ere I may ’scape these bonds.Though Art be strong, Necessity is stronger.Chorus.And who is lord of strong Necessity?n34Prometheus.The triform Fates, and the sure-memoried Furies.Chorus.And mighty Jove himself must yield to them?Prometheus.No more than others Jove can ’scape his doom.n35Chorus.What doom?—No doom hath he but endless sway.Prometheus.’Tis not for thee to know: tempt not the question.Chorus.There’s some dread mystery in thy chary speech,Close-veiled.Prometheus.Urge this no more: the truth thou’lt knowIn fitting season; now it lies concealedIn deepest darkness! for relenting JoveHimself must woo this secret from my breast.CHORAL HYMN.STROPHE I.Never, O never may Jove,Who in Olympus reigns omnipotent lord,Plant his high will against my weak opinion!n36Let me approach the godsWith blood of oxen and with holy feasts,By father Ocean’s quenchless stream, and payNo backward vows:Nor let my tongue offend; but in my heartBe lowly wisdom graven.ANTISTROPHE I.For thus old Wisdom speaks:Thy life ’tis sweet to cherish, and while the lengthOf years is thine, thy heart with cheerful hopesAnd lightsome joys to feed.But thee—ah me! my blood runs cold to see thee,Pierced to the marrow with a thousand pains.Not fearing Jove,Self-willed thou hast respect to man, Prometheus,Much more than man deserveth.STROPHE II.For what is man?f12behold!Can he requite thy love—child of a day—Or help thy extreme need? Hast thou not seenThe blind and aimless strivings,The barren blank endeavour,The pithless deeds, of the fleeting dreamlike race?Never, O nevermore,May mortal wit Jove’s ordered plan deceive.ANTISTROPHE II.This lore my heart hath learnedFrom sight of thee, and thy sharp pains, Prometheus.Alas! what diverse strain I sang thee then,Around the bridal chamber,And around the bridal bath,When thou my sister fair, Hesione,Won by rich gifts didst leadn37From Ocean’s caves thy spousal bed to share.EnterIo.n38Io.What land is this?—what race of mortalsOwns this desert? who art thou,Rock-bound with these wintry fetters,And for what crime tortured thus?Worn and weary with far travel,Tell me where my feet have borne me!O pain! pain! pain! it stings and goads me again,The fateful brize!—save me, O Earth!n39—AvauntThou horrible shadow of the Earth-born Argus!Could not the grave close up thy hundred eyes,But thou must come,Haunting my path with thy suspicious look,Unhoused from Hades?Avaunt! avaunt!—why wilt thou hound my track,The famished wanderer on the waste sea-shore?STROPHE.Pipe not thy sounding wax-compacted reedWith drowsy drone at me! Ah wretched me!Wandering, still wandering o’er wide Earth, and drivenWhere? where? O tell me where?O Son of Kronos, in what damned sinBeing caught hast thou to misery yoked me thus,Pricked me to desperation, and my heartPierced with thy furious goads?Blast me with lightnings! bury me in Earth! To the gapeOf greedy sea-monsters give me! Hear, O hearMy prayer, O King!Enough, enough, these errant toils have tried me;And yet no rest I find: nor when, nor whereThese woes shall cease may know.Chorus.n40Dost hear the plaint of the ox-horned maid?Prometheus.How should I not? the Inachian maid who knows not,Stung by the god-sent brize? the maid who smoteJove’s lustful heart with love: and his harsh spouseHounds her o’er Earth with chase interminable.ANTISTROPHE.Io.My father’s name thou know’st, and my descent!Who art thou? god or mortal? Speak! what charmGives wretch like thee, the certain clue to knowMy lamentable fate?Aye, and the god-sent plague thou know’st; the stingThat spurs me o’er the far-stretched Earth; the goadThat mads me sheer, wastes, withers, and consumes,A worn and famished maid,Whipt by the scourge of jealous Hera’s wrath!Ah me! ah me! Misery has many shapes,But none like mine.O thou, who named my Argive home, declareWhat ills await me yet; what end; what hope?If hope there be for Io.Chorus.I pray thee speak to the weary way-worn maid.Prometheus.I’ll tell thee all thy wish, not in enigmasTangled and dark, but in plain phrase, as friendShould speak to friend. Thou see’st Prometheus, whoTo mortal men gifted immortal fire.Io.O thou, to man a common blessing given,What crime hath bound thee to this wintry rock?Prometheus.I have but ceased rehearsing all my wrongs.Io.And dost thou then refuse the boon I ask?Prometheus.What boon? ask what thou wilt, and I will answer.Io.Say, then, who bound thee to this ragged cliff?Prometheus.Stern Jove’s decree, and harsh Hephaestus’ hand.Io.And for what crime?Prometheus.Let what I’ve said suffice.Io.This, too, I ask—what bound hath fate appointedTo my far-wandering toils?Prometheus.This not to knowWere better than to learn.Io.Nay, do not hideThis thing from me!Prometheus.If ’tis a boon, believe me,I grudge it not.Io.Then why so slow to answer?Prometheus.I would not crush thee with the cruel truth.Io.Fear not; I choose to hear it.Prometheus.Listen then.Chorus.Nay, hear me rather. With her own mouth this maidShall first her bygone woes rehearse; next thouWhat yet remains shalt tell.Prometheus.Even so. [ToIo.] Speak thou;They are the sisters of thy father, Io;n41And to wail out our griefs, when they who listenOur troubles with a willing tear requite,Is not without its use.Io.I will obey,And in plain speech my chanceful story tell;Though much it grieves me to retrace the source,Whence sprung this god-sent pest, and of my shapeDisfigurement abhorred. Night after nightStrange dreams around my maiden pillow hoveringWhispered soft temptings. “O thrice-blessed maid,Why pin’st thou thus in virgin loneliness,When highest wedlock courts thee? Struck by the shaftOf fond desire for thee Jove burns, and pantsTo twine his loves with thine. Spurn not, O maid,The proffered bed of Jove; but hie thee straightTo Lerne’s bosomed mead,n42where are the sheep-foldsAnd ox-stalls of thy sire, that so the eyeOf Jove, being filled with thee, may cease from craving.”Such nightly dreams my restless couch possessedTill I, all tears, did force me to unfoldThe portent to my father. He to Pythof13Sent frequent messengers, and to Dodona,Searching the pleasure of the gods; but theyWith various-woven phrase came back, and answersMore doubtful than the quest. At length, a clearAnd unambiguous voice came to my father,Enjoining, with most strict command, to send meFar from my home, and from my country far,To the extreme bounds of Earth an outcast wanderer,Else that the fire-faced bolt of Jove should smiteOur universal race. By such responses,Moved of oracular Loxias, my fatherReluctant me reluctant drove from home,And shut the door against me. What he didHe did perforce; Jove’s bit was in his mouth.Forthwith my wit was frenzied, and my formAssumed the brute. With maniac bound I rushed,Horned as thou see’st, and with the sharp-mouthed stingOf gad-fly pricked infuriate to the cliffOf Lerne, and Cenchréa’s limpid wave;While Argus, Earth-born cow-herd, hundred-eyed,Followed the winding traces of my pathWith sharp observance. Him swift-swooping FateSnatched unexpected from his sleepless guard;But I from land to land still wander on,Scourged by the wrath of Heaven’s relentless Queen.Thou hast my tale; the sequel, if thou know’st it,Is thine to tell; but do not seek, I pray thee,In pity for me, to drop soft lies; for nothingIs worse than the smooth craft of practised phrase.Chorus.Enough, enough! Woe’s me that everSuch voices of strange grief should rend my ear!That such a tale of woe,Insults, and wrongs, and horrors, should freeze me through,As with a two-edged sword!O destiny! destiny! woes most hard to see,More hard to bear! Alas! poor maid for thee!Prometheus.Thy wails anticipate her woes; restrainThy trembling tears till thou hast heard the whole.Chorus.Proceed: to know the worst some solace bringsTo the vexed heart.Prometheus.Your first request I granted,And lightly; from her own mouth, ye have heardThe spring of harm, the stream expect from me,How Hera shall draw out her slow revenge.Meanwhile, thou seed of Inachus, lend an earAnd learn thy future travel. First to the eastn43Turn thee, and traverse the unploughed Scythian fields,Whose wandering tribes their wattled homes transportAloft on well-wheeled wains, themselves well slungWith the far-darting bow. These pass, and, holdingThy course by the salt sea’s sounding surge, pass throughThe land; next, on thy left, thou’lt reach the Chalybs,Workers in iron. These too avoid—for theyAre savage, and harsh to strangers. Thence proceeding,Thou to a stream shalt come, not falsely namedHubristes: but the fierce ill-forded wavePass not till Caucasus, hugest hill, receives thee,There where the flood its gushing strength foams forthFresh from the rocky brow. Cross then the peaksThat neighbour with the stars, and thence directSouthward thy path to where the AmazonsDwell, husband-hated, who shall one day peopleThermódon’s bank, and Themiscyre, and whereHarsh Salmydessus whets his ravening jaws,The sailor’s foe, stepmother to the ships.These maids shall give thee escort. Next thou’lt reachThe narrow Cimmerian isthmus, skirting bleakThe waters of Mæotis. Here delay not,But with bold breast cross thou the strait. Thy passageLinked with the storied name of BosphorusShall live through endless time. Here, leaving Europe,The Asian soil receives thee. Now, answer me,Daughters of Ocean, doth not Jove in all thingsProve his despotic will?—In lawless loveLonging to mingle with this mortal maid,He heaps her with these woes. A bitter suitor,Poor maid, was thine, and I have told thee scarceThe prelude of thy griefs.Io.Ah! wretched me!Prometheus.Alas, thy cries and groans!—What wilt thou do,When the full measure of thy woes is told thee?Chorus.What! more? her cup of woes not full?Prometheus.’Twill flowAnd overflow, a sea of whelming woes.Io.Why do I live? Why not embrace the gainThat, with one cast, this toppling cliff secures,And dash me headlong on the ground, to endLife and life’s sorrows? Once to die is betterThan thus to drag sick life.Prometheus.Thou’rt happy, Io,That death from all thy living wrongs may free thee;But I, whom Fate hath made immortal, seeNo end to my long-lingering pains appointed,Till Jove from his usurping sway be hurled.Io.Jove from his tyranny hurled—can such thing be?Prometheus.Doubtless ’twould feast thine eyes to see’t?Io.Ay, truly,Wronged as I am by him.Prometheus.Then, learn from meThat he is doomed to fall.Io.What hand shall wrestJove’s sceptre?Prometheus.Jove’s own empty wit.Io.How so?Prometheus.From evil marriage reaping evil fruit.Io.Marriage! of mortal lineage or divine?Prometheus.Ask me no further. This I may not answer.Io.Shall his spouse thrust him from his ancient throne?Prometheus.The son that she brings forth shall wound his father.Io.And hath he no redemption from this doom?Prometheus.None, till he loose me from these hated bonds.Io.But who, in Jove’s despite, shall loose thee?Prometheus.OneFrom thine own womb descended.Io.How? My Son?One born of me shall be thy Saviour!—When?Prometheus.When generations ten have passed, the third.n44
STROPHE I.Chorus.
Fear nothing; for a friendly band approaches;
Fleet rivalry of wings
Oar’d us to this far height, with hard consent
Wrung from our careful sire
The winds swift-sweeping bore me: for I heard
The harsh hammer’s note deep deep in ocean caves,
And, throwing virgin shame aside, unshod
The winged car I mounted.
Prometheus.
Ah! ah!
Daughters of prolific Tethys,n13
And of ancient father Ocean,
With his sleepless current whirling
Round the firm ball of the globe.
Look! with rueful eyes behold me
Nailed by adamantine rivets,
Keeping weary watch unenvied
On this tempest-rifted rock!
ANTISTROPHE I.Chorus.
I look, Prometheus; and a tearful cloud
My woeful sight bedims,
To see thy goodliest form with insult chained,
In adamantine bonds,
To this bare crag, where pinching airs shall blast thee
New gods now hold the helm of Heaven; new laws
Mark Jove’s unrighteous rule; the giant trace
Of Titan times hath vanished.n14
Prometheus.
Deep in death-receiving Hades
Had he bound me, had he whelmed me
In Tartarean pit, unfathomed,
Fettered with unyielding bonds!
Then nor god nor man had feasted
Eyes of triumph on my wrongs,
Nor I, thus swung in middle ether,f8
Moved the laughter of my foes.
STROPHE II.Chorus.
Which of the gods hath heart so hard
To mock thy woes? Who will withhold
The fellow-feeling and the tear,
Save only Jove. But he doth nurse
Strong wrath within his stubborn breast,
And holds all Heaven in awe.
Nor will he cease till his hot rage is glutted,
Or some new venture shakes his stable throne.
Prometheus.
By my Titan soul, I swear it!
Though with harsh chains now he mocks me,
Even now the hour is ripening,
When this haughty lord of Heaven
Shall embrace my knees, beseeching
Me to unveil the new-forged counsels
That shall hurl him from his throne.n15
But no honey-tongued persuasion,
No smooth words of artful charming,
No stout threats shall loose my tongue,
Till he loose these bonds of insult,
And himself make just atonement
For injustice done to me.
ANTISTROPHE II.Chorus.
Thou art a bold man, and defiest
The keenest pangs to force thy will.
With a most unreined tongue thou speakest;
But me—sharp fear hath pierced my heart.
I fear for thee: and of thy woes
The distant, doubtful end
I see not. O, ’tis hard, most hard to reach
The heart of Jove!n16prayer beats his ear in vain.
Prometheus.
Harsh is Jove, I know—he frameth
Justice for himself; but soon,
When the destined arm o’ertakes him,
He shall tremble as a child.
He shall smooth his bristling anger,
Courting friendship shunned before,
More importunate to unbind me
Than impatient I of bonds.
Chorus.
Speak now, and let us know the whole offence
Jove charges thee withal; for which he seized,
And with dishonor and dire insult loads thee.
Unfold the tale; unless, perhaps, such sorrow
Irks thee to tell.
Prometheus.
To tell or not to tell
Irks me the same; which way I turn is pain.
When first the gods their fatal strife began,
And insurrection raged in Heaven—some striving
To cast old Kronos from his hoary throne,
That Jove might reign, and others to crush i’ the bud
His swelling mastery—I wise counsel gave
To the Titans, sons of primal Heaven and Earth;
But gave in vain. Their dauntless stubborn souls
Spurned gentle ways, and patient-working wiles,
Weening swift triumph with a blow. But me,
My mother Themis, not once but oft, and Earth
(One shape of various names),n17prophetic told
That violence and rude strength in such a strife
Were vain—craft haply might prevail. This lesson
I taught the haughty Titans, but they deigned
Scarce with contempt to hear my prudent words.
Thus baffled in my plans, I deemed it best,
As things then were, leagued with my mother Themis,
To accept Jove’s proffered friendship. By my counsels
From his primeval throne was Kronosf9hurled
Into the pit Tartarean, dark, profound,
With all his troop of friends. Such was the kindness
From me received by him who now doth hold
The masterdom of Heaven; these the rewards
Of my great zeal: for so it hath been ever.
Suspicion’s a disease that cleaves to tyrants,
And they who love most are the first suspected.n18
As for your question, for what present fault
I bear the wrong that now afflicts me, hear.
Soon as he sat on his ancestral throne
He called the gods together, and assigned
To each his fair allotment, and his sphere
Of sway supreme; but, ah! for wretched man!
To him nor part nor portion fell: Jove vowed
To blot his memory from the Earth, and mould
The race anew,f10I only of the gods
Thwarted his will;n19and, but for my strong aid,
Hades had whelmed, and hopeless ruin swamped
All men that breathe. Such were my crimes: these pains
Grievous to suffer, pitiful to behold,
Were purchased thus; and mercy’s now denied
To him whose crime was mercy to mankind:
And here I lie, in cunning torment stretched,n20
A spectacle inglorious to Jove.
Chorus.
An iron-heart were his, and flinty hard,
Who on thy woes could look without a tear,
Prometheus; I had liefer not so seen thee,
And seeing thee fain would call mine eyesight liar.
Prometheus.
Certes no sight am I for friends to look on.
Chorus.
Was this thy sole offence?
Prometheus.
I taught weak mortals
Not to foresee harm, and forestall the Fates.
Chorus.
A sore disease to anticipate mischance:
How didst thou cure it?
Prometheus.
Blind hopes of good I planted
In their dark breasts.n21
Chorus.
That was a boon indeed,
To ephemeral man.
Prometheus.
Nay more, I gave them fire.
Chorus.
And flame-faced fire is now enjoyed by mortals?n22
Prometheus.
Enjoyed, and of all arts the destined mother.
Chorus.
And is this all the roll of thy offendings
That he should rage so fierce? Hath he not set
Bounds to his vengeance?
Prometheus.
None, but his own pleasure.
Chorus.
And when shall he please? Vain the hope; thou see’st
That thou hast erred; and that thou hast to us
No pleasure brings, to thee excess of pain.
Of this enough. Seek now to cure the evil.
Prometheus.
’Tis a light thing for him whose foot’s unwarped
By misadventure’s meshes to advise
And counsel the unfortunate. But I
Foreknew my fate, and if I erred, I erred
With conscious purpose, purchasing man’s weal
With mine own grief. I knew I should offend
The Thunderer, though deeming not that he
Would perch me thus to pine ’twixt Earth and Sky,
Of this wild wintry waste sole habitant.
But cease to weep for ills that weeping mends not;
Descend, and I’ll discourse to thee at length
Of chances yet to come. Nay, do not doubt;
But leave thy car, nor be ashamed to share
The afflictions of the afflicted; for Mishap,
Of things that lawless wander, wanders most;
With me to-day it is with you to-morrow.
Chorus.
Not to sluggish ears, Prometheus,
Hast thou spoken thy desire;
From our breeze-borne car descending,
With light foot we greet the ground.
Leaving ether chaste, smooth pathway
Of the gently-winnowing wing,
On this craggy rock I stand,
To hear the tale, while thou mayst tell it,
Of thy sorrows to the end.
EnterOcean.n23
Ocean.
From my distant caves ceruleann24
This fleet-pinioned bird hath borne me;
Needed neither bit nor bridle,
Thought instinctive reined the creature;
Thus, to know thy griefs, Prometheus,
And to grieve with thee I come.
Soothly strong the tie of kindred
Binds the heart of man and god;
But, though no such tie had bound me,
I had wept for thee the same.
Well thou know’st not mine the cunning
To discourse with glozing phrase:
Tell me how I may relieve thee,
I am ready to relieve;
Friend thou boastest none than Ocean
Surer, in the hour of need.
Prometheus.
How now, old Ocean? thou too come to view
My dire disasters?—how shouldst thou have dared,
Leaving the billowy stream whose name thou bearest,
Thy rock-roofed halls, and self-built palaces,
To visit this Scythian land, stern mother of iron,
To know my sorrows, and to grieve with me?
Look on this sight—thy friend, the friend of Jove,
Who helped him to the sway which now he bears,
Crushed by the self-same god himself exalted.
Ocean.
I see, Prometheus; and I come to speak
A wise word to the wise; receive it wisely.
Know what thou art, and make thy manners new;
For a new king doth rule the subject gods.
Compose thy speech, nor cast such whetted words
’Gainst Jove, who, though he sits apart sublime,
Hath ears, and with new pains may smite his victim,
To which his present wrath shall seem a toy.
Listen to me; slack thy fierce ire, and seek
Speedy deliverance from these woes. Trite wisdom
Belike I speak, Prometheus; but thou knowest
A lofty-sounding tongue with passionate phrase
Buys its own ruin. Proud art thou, unyielding,
And heap’st new woes tenfold on thine own head.
Why should’st thou kick against the pricks? Jove reigns
A lord severe, and of his acts need give
Account to none, I go to plead for thee,
And, what I can, will try to save my kinsman;
But be thou calm the while; curb thy rash speech,
And let not fame report, that one so wise
Fell by the forfeit of a foolish tongue.
Prometheus.
Count thyself happy, Ocean, being free
From blame, who shared and dared with me. Be wise,
And what thy meddling aids not, let alone.
In vain thou plead’st with him; his ears are deaf.
Look to thyself: thy errand is not safe.
Ocean.
Wise art thou, passing wise, for others’ weal,
For thine own good most foolish. Prithee do not
So stretch thy stubborn whim to pull against
The friends that pull for thee. ’Tis no vain boast;
I know that Jove will hear me.
Prometheus.
Thou art kind;
And for thy kind intent and friendly feeling
Have my best thanks. But do not, I beseech thee,
Waste labour upon me. If thou wilt labour,
Seek a more hopeful subject. Thou wert wiser,
Being safe, to keep thee safe. I, when I suffer,
Wish not that all my friends should suffer with me.
Enough my brother Atlas’ miseries grieve me.n25
Who in the extreme West stands, stoutly bearing
The pillars of Heaven and Earth upon his shoulders,n26
No lightsome burden. Him too, I bewail,
That made his home in dark Cilician caverns.
The hostile portent, Earth-born, hundred-headed
Impetuous Typhon,n27quelled by force, who stood
Alone, against the embattled host of gods,
Hissing out murder from his monstrous jaws;
And from his eyes there flashed a Gorgon glare,
As he would smite the tyranny of great Jove
Clean down; but he, with sleepless thunder watching,
Hurl’d headlong a flame-breathing bolt, and laid
The big-mouthed vaunter low. Struck to the heart
With blasted strength, and shrunk to ashes, there
A huge and helpless hulk, outstretched he lies,
Beside the salt sea’s strait, pressed down beneath
The roots of Ætna, on whose peaks Hephaestus
Sits hammering the hot metal. Thence, one day,
Shall streams of liquid fire, swift passage forcing,
With savage jaws the wide-spread plains devour
Of the fair-fruited Sicily. Such hot shafts,
From the flame-breathing ferment of the deep,
Shall Typhon cast with sateless wrath, though now
All scorched and cindered by the Thunderer’s stroke,
Moveless he lies. But why should I teach thee?
Thou art a wise man, thine own wisdom use
To save thyself. For me, I’ll even endure
These pains, till Jove shall please to slack his ire.
Ocean.
Know’st thou not this, Prometheus, that mild words
Are medicines of fierce wrath?n28
Prometheus.
They are, when spoken
In a mild hour; but the high-swelling heart
They do but fret the more.
Ocean.
But, in the attempt
To ward the threatened harm, what evil see’st thou?
Prometheus.
Most bootless toil, and folly most inane.
Ocean.
Be it so; but yet ’tis sometimes well, believe me,
That a wise man should seem to be a fool.
Prometheus.
Seem fool, seem wise, I, in the end, am blamed.
Ocean.
Thy reckless words reluctant send me home.
Prometheus.
Beware, lest love for me make thyself hated.
Ocean.
Of whom? Of him, who, on the all-powerful throne
Sits, a new lord?
Prometheus.
Even him. Beware thou vex not
Jove’s jealous heart.
Ocean.
In this, thy fate shall warn me.
Prometheus.
Away! farewell; and may the prudent thoughts,
That sway thy bosom now, direct thee ever.
Ocean.
I go, and quickly. My four-footed bird
Brushes the broad path of the limpid air
With forward wing: right gladly will he bend
The wearied knee on his familiar stall.
CHORAL HYMN.STROPHE I.
Thy dire disasters, unexampled wrongs,
I weep, Prometheus.
From its soft founts distilled the flowing tear
My cheek bedashes.
’Tis hard, most hard! By self-made laws Jove rules,
And ’gainst the host of primal gods he points
The lordly spear.
ANTISTROPHE I.
With echoing groans the ambient waste bewails
Thy fate, Prometheus;
The neighbouring tribes of holy Asia weep
For thee, Prometheus;n29
For thee and thine! names mighty and revered
Of yore, now shamed, dishonoured, and cast down,
And chained with thee.
STROPHE II.
And Colchis, with her belted daughters, weeps
For thee, Prometheus;
And Scythian tribes, on Earth’s remotest verge,
Where lone Mæotisf11spreads her wintry waters,
Do weep for thee.
ANTISTROPHE II.
The flower of Araby’s wandering warriors weep
For thee, Prometheus;n30
And they who high their airy holds have perched
On Caucasus’ ridge, with pointed lances bristling,
Do weep for thee.
EPODE.
One only vexed like thee, and even as thou,
In adamant bound,
A Titan, and a god scorned by the gods,
Atlas I knew.
He on his shoulders the surpassing weight
Of the celestial pole stoutly upbore,
And groaned beneath.
Roars billowy Ocean, and the Deep sucks back
Its waters when he sobs; from Earth’s dark caves
Deep hell resounds;
The fountains of the holy-streaming rivers
Do moan with him.
Prometheus.
Deem me not self-willed, nor with pride high-strung,
That I am dumb; my heart is gnawed to see
Myself thus mocked and jeered. These gods, to whom
Owe they their green advancement but to me?
But this ye know; and, not to teach the taught,
I’ll speak of it no more. Of human kind,
My great offence in aiding them, in teaching
The babe to speak, and rousing torpid mind
To take the grasp of itself—of this I’ll talk;
Meaning to mortal men no blame, but only
The true recital of mine own deserts.
For, soothly, having eyes to see they saw not,n31
And hearing heard not; but like dreamy phantoms,
A random life they led from year to year,
All blindly floundering on. No craft they knew
With woven brick or jointed beam to pile
The sunward porch; but in the dark earth burrowed
And housed, like tiny ants in sunless caves.
No signs they knew to mark the wintry year:
The flower-strewn Spring, and the fruit-laden Summer,
Uncalendared, unregistered, returned—
Till I the difficult art of the stars revealed,
Their risings and their settings. Numbers, too,
I taught them (a most choice device)n32and how
By marshalled signs to fix their shifting thoughts,
That Memory, mother of Muses, might achieve
Her wondrous works. I first slaved to the yoke
Both ox and ass. I, the rein-loving steeds
(Of wealth’s gay-flaunting pomp the chiefest pride)
Joined to the car; and bade them ease the toils
Of labouring men vicarious. I the first
Upon the lint-winged car of mariner
Was launched, sea-wandering. Such wise arts I found
To soothe the ills of man’s ephemeral life;
But for myself, plunged in this depth of woe,
No prop I find.
Chorus.
Sad chance! Thy wit hath slipt
From its firm footing then when needed most,
Like some unlearned leech who many healed,
But being sick himself, from all his store,
Cannot cull out one medicinal drug.
Prometheus.
Hear me yet farther; and in hearing marvel,
What arts and curious shifts my wit devised.
Chiefest of all, the cure of dire disease
Men owe to me. Nor healing food, nor drink,
Nor unguent knew they, but did slowly wither
And waste away for lack of pharmacy,
Till taught by me to mix the soothing drug,
And check corruption’s march. I fixed the art
Of divination with its various phase
Of dim revealings, making dreams speak truth,
Stray voices, and encounters by the way
Significant; the flight of taloned birds
On right and left I marked—these fraught with ban,
With blissful augury those; their way of life,
Their mutual loves and enmities, their flocks,
And friendly gatherings; the entrails’ smoothness,
The hue best liked by the gods, the gall, the liver
With all its just proportions. I first wrapped
In the smooth fat the thighs; first burnt the loins,
And from the flickering flame taught men to spell
No easy lore, and cleared the fire-faced signsn33
Obscure before. Yet more: I probed the Earth,
To yield its hidden wealth to help man’s weakness—
Iron, copper, silver, gold. None but a fool,
A prating fool, will stint me of this praise.
And thus, with one short word to sum the tale,
Prometheus taught all arts to mortal men.
Chorus.
Do good to men, but do it with discretion.
Why shouldst thou harm thyself? Good hope I nurse
To see thee soon from these harsh chains unbound,
As free, as mighty, as great Jove himself.
Prometheus.
This may not be; the destined course of things
Fate must accomplish; I must bend me yet
’Neath wrongs on wrongs, ere I may ’scape these bonds.
Though Art be strong, Necessity is stronger.
Chorus.
And who is lord of strong Necessity?n34
Prometheus.
The triform Fates, and the sure-memoried Furies.
Chorus.
And mighty Jove himself must yield to them?
Prometheus.
No more than others Jove can ’scape his doom.n35
Chorus.
What doom?—No doom hath he but endless sway.
Prometheus.
’Tis not for thee to know: tempt not the question.
Chorus.
There’s some dread mystery in thy chary speech,
Close-veiled.
Prometheus.
Urge this no more: the truth thou’lt know
In fitting season; now it lies concealed
In deepest darkness! for relenting Jove
Himself must woo this secret from my breast.
CHORAL HYMN.STROPHE I.
Never, O never may Jove,
Who in Olympus reigns omnipotent lord,
Plant his high will against my weak opinion!n36
Let me approach the gods
With blood of oxen and with holy feasts,
By father Ocean’s quenchless stream, and pay
No backward vows:
Nor let my tongue offend; but in my heart
Be lowly wisdom graven.
ANTISTROPHE I.
For thus old Wisdom speaks:
Thy life ’tis sweet to cherish, and while the length
Of years is thine, thy heart with cheerful hopes
And lightsome joys to feed.
But thee—ah me! my blood runs cold to see thee,
Pierced to the marrow with a thousand pains.
Not fearing Jove,
Self-willed thou hast respect to man, Prometheus,
Much more than man deserveth.
STROPHE II.
For what is man?f12behold!
Can he requite thy love—child of a day—
Or help thy extreme need? Hast thou not seen
The blind and aimless strivings,
The barren blank endeavour,
The pithless deeds, of the fleeting dreamlike race?
Never, O nevermore,
May mortal wit Jove’s ordered plan deceive.
ANTISTROPHE II.
This lore my heart hath learned
From sight of thee, and thy sharp pains, Prometheus.
Alas! what diverse strain I sang thee then,
Around the bridal chamber,
And around the bridal bath,
When thou my sister fair, Hesione,
Won by rich gifts didst leadn37
From Ocean’s caves thy spousal bed to share.
EnterIo.n38
Io.
What land is this?—what race of mortals
Owns this desert? who art thou,
Rock-bound with these wintry fetters,
And for what crime tortured thus?
Worn and weary with far travel,
Tell me where my feet have borne me!
O pain! pain! pain! it stings and goads me again,
The fateful brize!—save me, O Earth!n39—Avaunt
Thou horrible shadow of the Earth-born Argus!
Could not the grave close up thy hundred eyes,
But thou must come,
Haunting my path with thy suspicious look,
Unhoused from Hades?
Avaunt! avaunt!—why wilt thou hound my track,
The famished wanderer on the waste sea-shore?
STROPHE.
Pipe not thy sounding wax-compacted reed
With drowsy drone at me! Ah wretched me!
Wandering, still wandering o’er wide Earth, and driven
Where? where? O tell me where?
O Son of Kronos, in what damned sin
Being caught hast thou to misery yoked me thus,
Pricked me to desperation, and my heart
Pierced with thy furious goads?
Blast me with lightnings! bury me in Earth! To the gape
Of greedy sea-monsters give me! Hear, O hear
My prayer, O King!
Enough, enough, these errant toils have tried me;
And yet no rest I find: nor when, nor where
These woes shall cease may know.
Chorus.n40
Dost hear the plaint of the ox-horned maid?
Prometheus.
How should I not? the Inachian maid who knows not,
Stung by the god-sent brize? the maid who smote
Jove’s lustful heart with love: and his harsh spouse
Hounds her o’er Earth with chase interminable.
ANTISTROPHE.Io.
My father’s name thou know’st, and my descent!
Who art thou? god or mortal? Speak! what charm
Gives wretch like thee, the certain clue to know
My lamentable fate?
Aye, and the god-sent plague thou know’st; the sting
That spurs me o’er the far-stretched Earth; the goad
That mads me sheer, wastes, withers, and consumes,
A worn and famished maid,
Whipt by the scourge of jealous Hera’s wrath!
Ah me! ah me! Misery has many shapes,
But none like mine.
O thou, who named my Argive home, declare
What ills await me yet; what end; what hope?
If hope there be for Io.
Chorus.
I pray thee speak to the weary way-worn maid.
Prometheus.
I’ll tell thee all thy wish, not in enigmas
Tangled and dark, but in plain phrase, as friend
Should speak to friend. Thou see’st Prometheus, who
To mortal men gifted immortal fire.
Io.
O thou, to man a common blessing given,
What crime hath bound thee to this wintry rock?
Prometheus.
I have but ceased rehearsing all my wrongs.
Io.
And dost thou then refuse the boon I ask?
Prometheus.
What boon? ask what thou wilt, and I will answer.
Io.
Say, then, who bound thee to this ragged cliff?
Prometheus.
Stern Jove’s decree, and harsh Hephaestus’ hand.
Io.
And for what crime?
Prometheus.
Let what I’ve said suffice.
Io.
This, too, I ask—what bound hath fate appointed
To my far-wandering toils?
Prometheus.
This not to know
Were better than to learn.
Io.
Nay, do not hide
This thing from me!
Prometheus.
If ’tis a boon, believe me,
I grudge it not.
Io.
Then why so slow to answer?
Prometheus.
I would not crush thee with the cruel truth.
Io.
Fear not; I choose to hear it.
Prometheus.
Listen then.
Chorus.
Nay, hear me rather. With her own mouth this maid
Shall first her bygone woes rehearse; next thou
What yet remains shalt tell.
Prometheus.
Even so. [ToIo.] Speak thou;
They are the sisters of thy father, Io;n41
And to wail out our griefs, when they who listen
Our troubles with a willing tear requite,
Is not without its use.
Io.
I will obey,
And in plain speech my chanceful story tell;
Though much it grieves me to retrace the source,
Whence sprung this god-sent pest, and of my shape
Disfigurement abhorred. Night after night
Strange dreams around my maiden pillow hovering
Whispered soft temptings. “O thrice-blessed maid,
Why pin’st thou thus in virgin loneliness,
When highest wedlock courts thee? Struck by the shaft
Of fond desire for thee Jove burns, and pants
To twine his loves with thine. Spurn not, O maid,
The proffered bed of Jove; but hie thee straight
To Lerne’s bosomed mead,n42where are the sheep-folds
And ox-stalls of thy sire, that so the eye
Of Jove, being filled with thee, may cease from craving.”
Such nightly dreams my restless couch possessed
Till I, all tears, did force me to unfold
The portent to my father. He to Pythof13
Sent frequent messengers, and to Dodona,
Searching the pleasure of the gods; but they
With various-woven phrase came back, and answers
More doubtful than the quest. At length, a clear
And unambiguous voice came to my father,
Enjoining, with most strict command, to send me
Far from my home, and from my country far,
To the extreme bounds of Earth an outcast wanderer,
Else that the fire-faced bolt of Jove should smite
Our universal race. By such responses,
Moved of oracular Loxias, my father
Reluctant me reluctant drove from home,
And shut the door against me. What he did
He did perforce; Jove’s bit was in his mouth.
Forthwith my wit was frenzied, and my form
Assumed the brute. With maniac bound I rushed,
Horned as thou see’st, and with the sharp-mouthed sting
Of gad-fly pricked infuriate to the cliff
Of Lerne, and Cenchréa’s limpid wave;
While Argus, Earth-born cow-herd, hundred-eyed,
Followed the winding traces of my path
With sharp observance. Him swift-swooping Fate
Snatched unexpected from his sleepless guard;
But I from land to land still wander on,
Scourged by the wrath of Heaven’s relentless Queen.
Thou hast my tale; the sequel, if thou know’st it,
Is thine to tell; but do not seek, I pray thee,
In pity for me, to drop soft lies; for nothing
Is worse than the smooth craft of practised phrase.
Chorus.
Enough, enough! Woe’s me that ever
Such voices of strange grief should rend my ear!
That such a tale of woe,
Insults, and wrongs, and horrors, should freeze me through,
As with a two-edged sword!
O destiny! destiny! woes most hard to see,
More hard to bear! Alas! poor maid for thee!
Prometheus.
Thy wails anticipate her woes; restrain
Thy trembling tears till thou hast heard the whole.
Chorus.
Proceed: to know the worst some solace brings
To the vexed heart.
Prometheus.
Your first request I granted,
And lightly; from her own mouth, ye have heard
The spring of harm, the stream expect from me,
How Hera shall draw out her slow revenge.
Meanwhile, thou seed of Inachus, lend an ear
And learn thy future travel. First to the eastn43
Turn thee, and traverse the unploughed Scythian fields,
Whose wandering tribes their wattled homes transport
Aloft on well-wheeled wains, themselves well slung
With the far-darting bow. These pass, and, holding
Thy course by the salt sea’s sounding surge, pass through
The land; next, on thy left, thou’lt reach the Chalybs,
Workers in iron. These too avoid—for they
Are savage, and harsh to strangers. Thence proceeding,
Thou to a stream shalt come, not falsely named
Hubristes: but the fierce ill-forded wave
Pass not till Caucasus, hugest hill, receives thee,
There where the flood its gushing strength foams forth
Fresh from the rocky brow. Cross then the peaks
That neighbour with the stars, and thence direct
Southward thy path to where the Amazons
Dwell, husband-hated, who shall one day people
Thermódon’s bank, and Themiscyre, and where
Harsh Salmydessus whets his ravening jaws,
The sailor’s foe, stepmother to the ships.
These maids shall give thee escort. Next thou’lt reach
The narrow Cimmerian isthmus, skirting bleak
The waters of Mæotis. Here delay not,
But with bold breast cross thou the strait. Thy passage
Linked with the storied name of Bosphorus
Shall live through endless time. Here, leaving Europe,
The Asian soil receives thee. Now, answer me,
Daughters of Ocean, doth not Jove in all things
Prove his despotic will?—In lawless love
Longing to mingle with this mortal maid,
He heaps her with these woes. A bitter suitor,
Poor maid, was thine, and I have told thee scarce
The prelude of thy griefs.
Io.
Ah! wretched me!
Prometheus.
Alas, thy cries and groans!—What wilt thou do,
When the full measure of thy woes is told thee?
Chorus.
What! more? her cup of woes not full?
Prometheus.
’Twill flow
And overflow, a sea of whelming woes.
Io.
Why do I live? Why not embrace the gain
That, with one cast, this toppling cliff secures,
And dash me headlong on the ground, to end
Life and life’s sorrows? Once to die is better
Than thus to drag sick life.
Prometheus.
Thou’rt happy, Io,
That death from all thy living wrongs may free thee;
But I, whom Fate hath made immortal, see
No end to my long-lingering pains appointed,
Till Jove from his usurping sway be hurled.
Io.
Jove from his tyranny hurled—can such thing be?
Prometheus.
Doubtless ’twould feast thine eyes to see’t?
Io.
Ay, truly,
Wronged as I am by him.
Prometheus.
Then, learn from me
That he is doomed to fall.
Io.
What hand shall wrest
Jove’s sceptre?
Prometheus.
Jove’s own empty wit.
Io.
How so?
Prometheus.
From evil marriage reaping evil fruit.
Io.
Marriage! of mortal lineage or divine?
Prometheus.
Ask me no further. This I may not answer.
Io.
Shall his spouse thrust him from his ancient throne?
Prometheus.
The son that she brings forth shall wound his father.
Io.
And hath he no redemption from this doom?
Prometheus.
None, till he loose me from these hated bonds.
Io.
But who, in Jove’s despite, shall loose thee?
Prometheus.
One
From thine own womb descended.
Io.
How? My Son?
One born of me shall be thy Saviour!—When?
Prometheus.
When generations ten have passed, the third.n44