Io.What land is this? what people is here?And who is he that writhes, I see,In the rock-hung chain?Now what is the crime that hath brought thee to pain?Now what is the land—make answer free—Which I wander through, in my wrong and fear?Ah! ah! ah me!The gad-fly strength to agony!O Earth, keep off that phantasm paleOf earth-born Argus!—ah!—I quailWhen my soul descriesThat herdsman with the myriad eyesWhich seem, as he comes, one crafty eyeGraves hide him not, though he should die,But he doggeth me in my miseryFrom the roots of death, on high—on high—And along the sands of the siding deep,All famine-worn, he follows me,And his waxen reed doth undersoundThe waters roundAnd giveth a measure that giveth sleep.Woe, woe, woe!Where shall my weary course be done?What wouldst thou with me, Saturn's son?And in what have I sinned, that I should goThus yoked to grief by thine hand for ever?Ah! ah! dost vex me soThat I madden and shiverStung through with dread?Flash the fire down to burn me!Heave the earth up to cover me!Plunge me in the deep, with the salt waves over me,That the sea-beasts may be fed!O king, do not spurn meIn my prayer!For this wandering everlonger, evermore,Hath overworn me,And I know not on what shoreI may rest from my despair.Chorus.Hearest thou what the ox-horned maiden saith?Prometheus.How could I choose but hearken what she saith,The phrensied maiden?—Inachus's child?—Who love-warms Zeus's heart, and now is lashedBy Herè's hate along the unending ways?Io.Who taught thee to articulate that name,—My father's? Speak to his childBy grief and shame defiled!Who art thou, victim, thou who dost acclaimMine anguish in true words on the wide air,And callest too by name the curse that cameFrom Herè unaware,To waste and pierce me with its maddening goad?Ah—ah—I leapWith the pang of the hungry—I bound on the road—I am driven by my doom—I am overcomeBy the wrath of an enemy strong and deep!Are any of those who have tasted pain,Alas! as wretched as I?Now tell me plain, doth aught remainFor my soul to endure beneath the sky?Is there any help to be holpen by?If knowledge be in thee, let it be said!Cry aloud—cryTo the wandering, woful maid!Prometheus.Whatever thou wouldst learn I will declare,—No riddle upon my lips, but such straight wordsAs friends should use to each other when they talk.Thou seest Prometheus, who gave mortals fire.Io.O common Help of all men, known of all,O miserable Prometheus,—for what causeDost thou endure thus?Prometheus.I have done with wailFor my own griefs, but lately.Io.Wilt thou notVouchsafe the boon to me?Prometheus.Say what thou wilt,For I vouchsafe all.Io.Speak then, and revealWho shut thee in this chasm.Prometheus.The will of Zeus,The hand of his Hephæstus.Io.And what crimeDost expiate so?Prometheus.Enough for thee I have toldIn so much only.Io.Nay, but show besidesThe limit of my wandering, and the timeWhich yet is lacking to fulfil my grief.Prometheus.Why, not to know were better than to knowFor such as thou.Io.Beseech thee, blind me notTo that which I must suffer.Prometheus.If I do,The reason is not that I grudge a boon.Io.What reason, then, prevents thy speaking out?Prometheus.No grudging; but a fear to break thine heart.Io.Less care for me, I pray thee. CertaintyI count for advantage.Prometheus.Thou wilt have it so,And therefore I must speak. Now hear—Chorus.Not yet.Give half the guerdon my way. Let us learnFirst, what the curse is that befell the maid,—Her own voice telling her own wasting woes:The sequence of that anguish shall awaitThe teaching of thy lips.Prometheus.It doth behoveThat thou, Maid Io, shouldst vouchsafe to theseThe grace they pray,—the more, because they are calledThy father's sisters: since to open outAnd mourn out grief where it is possibleTo draw a tear from the audience, is a workThat pays its own price well.Io.I cannot chooseBut trust you, nymphs, and tell you all ye ask,In clear words—though I sob amid my speechIn speaking of the storm-curse sent from Zeus,And of my beauty, from what height it tookIts swoop on me, poor wretch! left thus deformedAnd monstrous to your eyes. For evermoreAround my virgin-chamber, wandering wentThe nightly visions which entreated meWith syllabled smooth sweetness.—"Blessed maid,Why lengthen out thy maiden hours when fatePermits the noblest spousal in the world?When Zeus burns with the arrow of thy loveAnd fain would touch thy beauty?—Maiden, thouDespise not Zeus! depart to Lerné's meadThat's green around thy father's flocks and stalls,Until the passion of the heavenly EyeBe quenched in sight." Such dreams did all night longConstrain me—me, unhappy!—till I daredTo tell my father how they trod the darkWith visionary steps. Whereat he sentHis frequent heralds to the Pythian fane,And also to Dodona, and inquiredHow best, by act or speech, to please the gods.The same returning brought back oraclesOf doubtful sense, indefinite response,Dark to interpret; but at last there cameTo Inachus an answer that was clear,Thrown straight as any bolt, and spoken out—This—"he should drive me from my home and landAnd bid me wander to the extreme vergeOf all the earth—or, if he willed it not,Should have a thunder with a fiery eyeLeap straight from Zeus to burn up all his raceTo the last root of it." By which Loxian wordSubdued, he drove me forth and shut me out,He loth, me loth,—but Zeus's violent bitCompelled him to the deed: when instantlyMy body and soul were changèd and distraught,And, hornèd as ye see, and spurred alongBy the fanged insect, with a maniac leapI rushed on to Cenchrea's limpid streamAnd Lerné's fountain-water. There, the earth-born,The herdsman Argus, most immitigableOf wrath, did find me out, and track me outWith countless eyes set staring at my steps:And though an unexpected sudden doomDrew him from life, I, curse-tormented still,Am driven from land to land before the scourgeThe gods hold o'er me. So thou hast heard the past,And if a bitter future thou canst tell,Speak on. I charge thee, do not flatter meThrough pity, with false words; for, in my mind,Deceiving works more shame than torturing doth.Chorus.Ah! silence here!Nevermore, nevermoreWould I languish forThe stranger's wordTo thrill in mine ear—Nevermore for the wrong and the woe and the fearSo hard to behold,So cruel to bear,Piercing my soul with a double-edged swordOf a sliding cold.Ah Fate! ah me!I shudder to seeThis wandering maid in her agony.Prometheus.Grief is too quick in thee and fear too full:Be patient till thou hast learnt the rest.Chorus.Speak: teachTo those who are sad already, it seems sweet,By clear foreknowledge to make perfect, pain.Prometheus.The boon ye asked me first was lightly won,—For first ye asked the story of this maid's griefAs her own lips might tell it. Now remainsTo list what other sorrows she so youngMust bear from Herè. Inachus's child,O thou! drop down thy soul my weighty words,And measure out the landmarks which are setTo end thy wandering. Toward the orient sunFirst turn thy face from mine and journey onAlong the desert flats till thou shalt comeWhere Scythia's shepherd peoples dwell aloft,Perched in wheeled waggons under woven roofs,And twang the rapid arrow past the bow—Approach them not; but siding in thy courseThe rugged shore-rocks resonant to the sea,Depart that country. On the left hand dwellThe iron-workers, called the Chalybes,Of whom beware, for certes they are uncouthAnd nowise bland to strangers. Reaching soThe stream Hybristes (well thescornercalled),Attempt no passage,—it is hard to pass,—Or ere thou come to Caucasus itself,That highest of mountains, where the river leapsThe precipice in his strength. Thou must toil upThose mountain-tops that neighbour with the stars,And tread the south way, and draw near, at last,The Amazonian host that hateth man,Inhabitants of Themiscyra, closeUpon Thermodon, where the sea's rough jawDoth gnash at Salmydessa and provideA cruel host to seamen, and to shipsA stepdame. They with unreluctant handShall lead thee on and on, till thou arriveJust where the ocean-gates show narrowestOn the Cimmerian isthmus. Leaving which,Behoves thee swim with fortitude of soulThe strait Mæotis. Ay, and evermoreThat traverse shall be famous on men's lips,That strait, called Bosphorus, the horned-one's road,So named because of thee, who so wilt passFrom Europe's plain to Asia's continent.How think ye, nymphs? the king of gods appearsImpartial in ferocious deeds? Behold!The god desirous of this mortal's loveHath cursed her with these wanderings. Ah, fair child,Thou hast met a bitter groom for bridal troth!For all thou yet hast heard can only proveThe incompleted prelude of thy doom.Io.Ah, ah!Prometheus.Is 't thy turn, now, to shriek and moan?How wilt thou, when thou hast hearkened what remains?Chorus.Besides the grief thou hast told can aught remain?Prometheus.A sea—of foredoomed evil worked to storm.Io.What boots my life, then? why not cast myselfDown headlong from this miserable rock,That, dashed against the flats, I may redeemMy soul from sorrow? Better once to dieThan day by day to suffer.Prometheus.Verily,It would be hard for thee to bear my woeFor whom it is appointed not to die.Death frees from woe: but I before me seeIn all my far prevision not a boundTo all I suffer, ere that Zeus shall fallFrom being a king.Io.And can it ever beThat Zeus shall fall from empire?Prometheus.Thou, methinks,Wouldst take some joy to see it.Io.Could I choose?Iwho endure such pangs now, by that god!Prometheus.Learn from me, therefore, that the event shall be.Io.By whom shall his imperial sceptred handBe emptied so?Prometheus.Himself shall spoil himself,Through his idiotic counsels.Io.How? declare:Unless the word bring evil.Prometheus.He shall wed;And in the marriage-bond be joined to grief.Io.A heavenly bride—or human? Speak it outIf it be utterable.Prometheus.Why should I say which?It ought not to be uttered, verily.Io.ThenIt is his wife shall tear him from his throne?Prometheus.It is his wife shall bear a son to him,More mighty than the father.Io.From this doomHath he no refuge?Prometheus.None: or ere that I,Loosed from these fetters—Io.Yea—but who shall looseWhile Zeus is adverse?Prometheus.One who is born of thee:It is ordained so.Io.What is this thou sayest?A son of mine shall liberate thee from woe?Prometheus.After ten generations, count three more,And find him in the third.Io.The oracleRemains obscure.Prometheus.And search it not, to learnThine own griefs from it.Io.Point me not to a good,To leave me straight bereaved.Prometheus.I am preparedTo grant thee one of two things.Io.But which two?Set them before me; grant me power to choose.Prometheus.I grant it, choose now: shall I name aloudWhat griefs remain to wound thee, or what handShall save me out of mine?Chorus.Vouchsafe, O god,The one grace of the twain to her who prays;The next to me; and turn back neither prayerDishonour'd by denial. To herselfRecount the future wandering of her feet;Then point me to the looser of thy chain,Because I yearn to know him.Prometheus.Since ye will,Of absolute will, this knowledge, I will setNo contrary against it, nor keep backA word of all ye ask for. Io, firstTo thee I must relate thy wandering courseFar winding. As I tell it, write it downIn thy soul's book of memories. When thou hast pastThe refluent bound that parts two continents,Track on the footsteps of the orient sunIn his own fire, across the roar of seas,—Fly till thou hast reached the Gorgonæan flatsBeside Cisthené. There, the Phorcides,Three ancient maidens, live, with shape of swan,One tooth between them, and one common eye:On whom the sun doth never look at allWith all his rays, nor evermore the moonWhen she looks through the night. Anear to whomAre the Gorgon sisters three, enclothed with wings,With twisted snakes for ringlets, man-abhorred:There is no mortal gazes in their faceAnd gazing can breathe on. I speak of suchTo guard thee from their horror. Ay, and listAnother tale of a dreadful sight; bewareThe Griffins, those unbarking dogs of Zeus,Those sharp-mouthed dogs!—and the Arimaspian hostOf one-eyed horsemen, habiting besideThe river of Pluto that runs bright with gold:Approach them not, beseech thee! PresentlyThou'lt come to a distant land, a dusky tribeOf dwellers at the fountain of the Sun,Whence flows the river Æthiops; wind alongIts banks and turn off at the cataracts,Just as the Nile pours from the Bybline hillsHis holy and sweet wave; his course shall guideThine own to that triangular Nile-groundWhere, Io, is ordained for thee and thineA lengthened exile. Have I said in thisAught darkly or incompletely?—now repeatThe question, make the knowledge fuller! Lo,I have more leisure than I covet, here.Chorus.If thou canst tell us aught that's left untold,Or loosely told, of her most dreary flight,Declare it straight: but if thou hast uttered all,Grant us that latter grace for which we prayed,Remembering how we prayed it.Prometheus.She has heardThe uttermost of her wandering. There it ends.But that she may be certain not to have heardAll vainly, I will speak what she enduredEre coming hither, and invoke the pastTo prove my prescience true. And so—to leaveA multitude of words and pass at onceTo the subject of thy course—when thou hadst goneTo those Molossian plains which sweep aroundDodona shouldering Heaven, whereby the faneOf Zeus Thesprotian keepeth oracle,And, wonder past belief, where oaks do waveArticulate adjurations—(ay, the sameSaluted thee in no perplexèd phraseBut clear with glory, noble wife of ZeusThat shouldst be,—there some sweetness took thy sense!)Thou didst rush further onward, stung alongThe ocean-shore, toward Rhea's mighty bayAnd, tost back from it, wast tost to it againIn stormy evolution:—and, know well,In coming time that hollow of the seaShall bear the name Ionian and presentA monument of Io's passage throughUnto all mortals. Be these words the signsOf my soul's power to look beyond the veilOf visible things. The rest, to you and herI will declare in common audience, nymphs,Returning thither where my speech brake off.There is a town Canobus, built uponThe earth's fair margin at the mouth of NileAnd on the mound washed up by it; Io, thereShall Zeus give back to thee thy perfect mind,And only by the pressure and the touchOf a hand not terrible; and thou to ZeusShalt bear a dusky son who shall be calledThence, Epaphus,Touched. That son shall pluck the fruitOf all that land wide-watered by the flowOf Nile; but after him, when counting outAs far as the fifth full generation, thenFull fifty maidens, a fair woman-race,Shall back to Argos turn reluctantly,To fly the proffered nuptials of their kin,Their father's brothers. These being passion struck,Like falcons bearing hard on flying doves,Shall follow, hunting at a quarry of loveThey should not hunt; till envious Heaven maintainA curse betwixt that beauty and their desire,And Greece receive them, to be overcomeIn murtherous woman-war, by fierce red handsKept savage by the night. For every wifeShall slay a husband, dyeing deep in bloodThe sword of a double edge—(I wish indeedAs fair a marriage-joy to all my foes!)One bride alone shall fail to smite to deathThe head upon her pillow, touched with love,Made impotent of purpose and impelledTo choose the lesser evil,—shame on her cheeks,Than blood-guilt on her hands: which bride shall bearA royal race in Argos. Tedious speechWere needed to relate particularsOf these things; 'tis enough that from her seedShall spring the strong He, famous with the bow,Whose arm shall break my fetters off. Behold,My mother Themis, that old Titaness,Delivered to me such an oracle,—But how and when, I should be long to speak,And thou, in hearing, wouldst not gain at all.Io.Eleleu, eleleu!How the spasm and the painAnd the fire on the brainStrike, burning me through!How the sting of the curse, all aflame as it flew,Pricks me onward again!How my heart in its terror is spurning my breast,And my eyes, like the wheels of a chariot, roll round!I am whirled from my course, to the east, to the west,In the whirlwind of phrensy all madly inwound—And my mouth is unbridled for anguish and hate,And my words beat in vain, in wild storms of unrest,On the sea of my desolate fate.
Io.What land is this? what people is here?And who is he that writhes, I see,In the rock-hung chain?Now what is the crime that hath brought thee to pain?Now what is the land—make answer free—Which I wander through, in my wrong and fear?Ah! ah! ah me!The gad-fly strength to agony!O Earth, keep off that phantasm paleOf earth-born Argus!—ah!—I quailWhen my soul descriesThat herdsman with the myriad eyesWhich seem, as he comes, one crafty eyeGraves hide him not, though he should die,But he doggeth me in my miseryFrom the roots of death, on high—on high—And along the sands of the siding deep,All famine-worn, he follows me,And his waxen reed doth undersoundThe waters roundAnd giveth a measure that giveth sleep.
Woe, woe, woe!Where shall my weary course be done?What wouldst thou with me, Saturn's son?And in what have I sinned, that I should goThus yoked to grief by thine hand for ever?Ah! ah! dost vex me soThat I madden and shiverStung through with dread?Flash the fire down to burn me!Heave the earth up to cover me!Plunge me in the deep, with the salt waves over me,That the sea-beasts may be fed!O king, do not spurn meIn my prayer!For this wandering everlonger, evermore,Hath overworn me,And I know not on what shoreI may rest from my despair.
Chorus.Hearest thou what the ox-horned maiden saith?
Prometheus.How could I choose but hearken what she saith,The phrensied maiden?—Inachus's child?—Who love-warms Zeus's heart, and now is lashedBy Herè's hate along the unending ways?
Io.Who taught thee to articulate that name,—My father's? Speak to his childBy grief and shame defiled!Who art thou, victim, thou who dost acclaimMine anguish in true words on the wide air,And callest too by name the curse that cameFrom Herè unaware,To waste and pierce me with its maddening goad?Ah—ah—I leapWith the pang of the hungry—I bound on the road—I am driven by my doom—I am overcomeBy the wrath of an enemy strong and deep!Are any of those who have tasted pain,Alas! as wretched as I?Now tell me plain, doth aught remainFor my soul to endure beneath the sky?Is there any help to be holpen by?If knowledge be in thee, let it be said!Cry aloud—cryTo the wandering, woful maid!
Prometheus.Whatever thou wouldst learn I will declare,—No riddle upon my lips, but such straight wordsAs friends should use to each other when they talk.Thou seest Prometheus, who gave mortals fire.
Io.O common Help of all men, known of all,O miserable Prometheus,—for what causeDost thou endure thus?
Prometheus.I have done with wailFor my own griefs, but lately.
Io.Wilt thou notVouchsafe the boon to me?
Prometheus.Say what thou wilt,For I vouchsafe all.
Io.Speak then, and revealWho shut thee in this chasm.
Prometheus.The will of Zeus,The hand of his Hephæstus.
Io.And what crimeDost expiate so?
Prometheus.Enough for thee I have toldIn so much only.
Io.Nay, but show besidesThe limit of my wandering, and the timeWhich yet is lacking to fulfil my grief.
Prometheus.Why, not to know were better than to knowFor such as thou.
Io.Beseech thee, blind me notTo that which I must suffer.
Prometheus.If I do,The reason is not that I grudge a boon.
Io.What reason, then, prevents thy speaking out?
Prometheus.No grudging; but a fear to break thine heart.
Io.Less care for me, I pray thee. CertaintyI count for advantage.
Prometheus.Thou wilt have it so,And therefore I must speak. Now hear—
Chorus.Not yet.Give half the guerdon my way. Let us learnFirst, what the curse is that befell the maid,—Her own voice telling her own wasting woes:The sequence of that anguish shall awaitThe teaching of thy lips.
Prometheus.It doth behoveThat thou, Maid Io, shouldst vouchsafe to theseThe grace they pray,—the more, because they are calledThy father's sisters: since to open outAnd mourn out grief where it is possibleTo draw a tear from the audience, is a workThat pays its own price well.
Io.I cannot chooseBut trust you, nymphs, and tell you all ye ask,In clear words—though I sob amid my speechIn speaking of the storm-curse sent from Zeus,And of my beauty, from what height it tookIts swoop on me, poor wretch! left thus deformedAnd monstrous to your eyes. For evermoreAround my virgin-chamber, wandering wentThe nightly visions which entreated meWith syllabled smooth sweetness.—"Blessed maid,Why lengthen out thy maiden hours when fatePermits the noblest spousal in the world?When Zeus burns with the arrow of thy loveAnd fain would touch thy beauty?—Maiden, thouDespise not Zeus! depart to Lerné's meadThat's green around thy father's flocks and stalls,Until the passion of the heavenly EyeBe quenched in sight." Such dreams did all night longConstrain me—me, unhappy!—till I daredTo tell my father how they trod the darkWith visionary steps. Whereat he sentHis frequent heralds to the Pythian fane,And also to Dodona, and inquiredHow best, by act or speech, to please the gods.The same returning brought back oraclesOf doubtful sense, indefinite response,Dark to interpret; but at last there cameTo Inachus an answer that was clear,Thrown straight as any bolt, and spoken out—This—"he should drive me from my home and landAnd bid me wander to the extreme vergeOf all the earth—or, if he willed it not,Should have a thunder with a fiery eyeLeap straight from Zeus to burn up all his raceTo the last root of it." By which Loxian wordSubdued, he drove me forth and shut me out,He loth, me loth,—but Zeus's violent bitCompelled him to the deed: when instantlyMy body and soul were changèd and distraught,And, hornèd as ye see, and spurred alongBy the fanged insect, with a maniac leapI rushed on to Cenchrea's limpid streamAnd Lerné's fountain-water. There, the earth-born,The herdsman Argus, most immitigableOf wrath, did find me out, and track me outWith countless eyes set staring at my steps:And though an unexpected sudden doomDrew him from life, I, curse-tormented still,Am driven from land to land before the scourgeThe gods hold o'er me. So thou hast heard the past,And if a bitter future thou canst tell,Speak on. I charge thee, do not flatter meThrough pity, with false words; for, in my mind,Deceiving works more shame than torturing doth.
Chorus.Ah! silence here!Nevermore, nevermoreWould I languish forThe stranger's wordTo thrill in mine ear—Nevermore for the wrong and the woe and the fearSo hard to behold,So cruel to bear,Piercing my soul with a double-edged swordOf a sliding cold.Ah Fate! ah me!I shudder to seeThis wandering maid in her agony.
Prometheus.Grief is too quick in thee and fear too full:Be patient till thou hast learnt the rest.
Chorus.Speak: teachTo those who are sad already, it seems sweet,By clear foreknowledge to make perfect, pain.
Prometheus.The boon ye asked me first was lightly won,—For first ye asked the story of this maid's griefAs her own lips might tell it. Now remainsTo list what other sorrows she so youngMust bear from Herè. Inachus's child,O thou! drop down thy soul my weighty words,And measure out the landmarks which are setTo end thy wandering. Toward the orient sunFirst turn thy face from mine and journey onAlong the desert flats till thou shalt comeWhere Scythia's shepherd peoples dwell aloft,Perched in wheeled waggons under woven roofs,And twang the rapid arrow past the bow—Approach them not; but siding in thy courseThe rugged shore-rocks resonant to the sea,Depart that country. On the left hand dwellThe iron-workers, called the Chalybes,Of whom beware, for certes they are uncouthAnd nowise bland to strangers. Reaching soThe stream Hybristes (well thescornercalled),Attempt no passage,—it is hard to pass,—Or ere thou come to Caucasus itself,That highest of mountains, where the river leapsThe precipice in his strength. Thou must toil upThose mountain-tops that neighbour with the stars,And tread the south way, and draw near, at last,The Amazonian host that hateth man,Inhabitants of Themiscyra, closeUpon Thermodon, where the sea's rough jawDoth gnash at Salmydessa and provideA cruel host to seamen, and to shipsA stepdame. They with unreluctant handShall lead thee on and on, till thou arriveJust where the ocean-gates show narrowestOn the Cimmerian isthmus. Leaving which,Behoves thee swim with fortitude of soulThe strait Mæotis. Ay, and evermoreThat traverse shall be famous on men's lips,That strait, called Bosphorus, the horned-one's road,So named because of thee, who so wilt passFrom Europe's plain to Asia's continent.How think ye, nymphs? the king of gods appearsImpartial in ferocious deeds? Behold!The god desirous of this mortal's loveHath cursed her with these wanderings. Ah, fair child,Thou hast met a bitter groom for bridal troth!For all thou yet hast heard can only proveThe incompleted prelude of thy doom.
Io.Ah, ah!
Prometheus.Is 't thy turn, now, to shriek and moan?How wilt thou, when thou hast hearkened what remains?
Chorus.Besides the grief thou hast told can aught remain?
Prometheus.A sea—of foredoomed evil worked to storm.
Io.What boots my life, then? why not cast myselfDown headlong from this miserable rock,That, dashed against the flats, I may redeemMy soul from sorrow? Better once to dieThan day by day to suffer.
Prometheus.Verily,It would be hard for thee to bear my woeFor whom it is appointed not to die.Death frees from woe: but I before me seeIn all my far prevision not a boundTo all I suffer, ere that Zeus shall fallFrom being a king.
Io.And can it ever beThat Zeus shall fall from empire?
Prometheus.Thou, methinks,Wouldst take some joy to see it.
Io.Could I choose?Iwho endure such pangs now, by that god!
Prometheus.Learn from me, therefore, that the event shall be.
Io.By whom shall his imperial sceptred handBe emptied so?
Prometheus.Himself shall spoil himself,Through his idiotic counsels.
Io.How? declare:Unless the word bring evil.
Prometheus.He shall wed;And in the marriage-bond be joined to grief.
Io.A heavenly bride—or human? Speak it outIf it be utterable.
Prometheus.Why should I say which?It ought not to be uttered, verily.
Io.ThenIt is his wife shall tear him from his throne?
Prometheus.It is his wife shall bear a son to him,More mighty than the father.
Io.From this doomHath he no refuge?
Prometheus.None: or ere that I,Loosed from these fetters—
Io.Yea—but who shall looseWhile Zeus is adverse?
Prometheus.One who is born of thee:It is ordained so.
Io.What is this thou sayest?A son of mine shall liberate thee from woe?
Prometheus.After ten generations, count three more,And find him in the third.
Io.The oracleRemains obscure.
Prometheus.And search it not, to learnThine own griefs from it.
Io.Point me not to a good,To leave me straight bereaved.
Prometheus.I am preparedTo grant thee one of two things.
Io.But which two?Set them before me; grant me power to choose.
Prometheus.I grant it, choose now: shall I name aloudWhat griefs remain to wound thee, or what handShall save me out of mine?
Chorus.Vouchsafe, O god,The one grace of the twain to her who prays;The next to me; and turn back neither prayerDishonour'd by denial. To herselfRecount the future wandering of her feet;Then point me to the looser of thy chain,Because I yearn to know him.
Prometheus.Since ye will,Of absolute will, this knowledge, I will setNo contrary against it, nor keep backA word of all ye ask for. Io, firstTo thee I must relate thy wandering courseFar winding. As I tell it, write it downIn thy soul's book of memories. When thou hast pastThe refluent bound that parts two continents,Track on the footsteps of the orient sunIn his own fire, across the roar of seas,—Fly till thou hast reached the Gorgonæan flatsBeside Cisthené. There, the Phorcides,Three ancient maidens, live, with shape of swan,One tooth between them, and one common eye:On whom the sun doth never look at allWith all his rays, nor evermore the moonWhen she looks through the night. Anear to whomAre the Gorgon sisters three, enclothed with wings,With twisted snakes for ringlets, man-abhorred:There is no mortal gazes in their faceAnd gazing can breathe on. I speak of suchTo guard thee from their horror. Ay, and listAnother tale of a dreadful sight; bewareThe Griffins, those unbarking dogs of Zeus,Those sharp-mouthed dogs!—and the Arimaspian hostOf one-eyed horsemen, habiting besideThe river of Pluto that runs bright with gold:Approach them not, beseech thee! PresentlyThou'lt come to a distant land, a dusky tribeOf dwellers at the fountain of the Sun,Whence flows the river Æthiops; wind alongIts banks and turn off at the cataracts,Just as the Nile pours from the Bybline hillsHis holy and sweet wave; his course shall guideThine own to that triangular Nile-groundWhere, Io, is ordained for thee and thineA lengthened exile. Have I said in thisAught darkly or incompletely?—now repeatThe question, make the knowledge fuller! Lo,I have more leisure than I covet, here.
Chorus.If thou canst tell us aught that's left untold,Or loosely told, of her most dreary flight,Declare it straight: but if thou hast uttered all,Grant us that latter grace for which we prayed,Remembering how we prayed it.
Prometheus.She has heardThe uttermost of her wandering. There it ends.But that she may be certain not to have heardAll vainly, I will speak what she enduredEre coming hither, and invoke the pastTo prove my prescience true. And so—to leaveA multitude of words and pass at onceTo the subject of thy course—when thou hadst goneTo those Molossian plains which sweep aroundDodona shouldering Heaven, whereby the faneOf Zeus Thesprotian keepeth oracle,And, wonder past belief, where oaks do waveArticulate adjurations—(ay, the sameSaluted thee in no perplexèd phraseBut clear with glory, noble wife of ZeusThat shouldst be,—there some sweetness took thy sense!)Thou didst rush further onward, stung alongThe ocean-shore, toward Rhea's mighty bayAnd, tost back from it, wast tost to it againIn stormy evolution:—and, know well,In coming time that hollow of the seaShall bear the name Ionian and presentA monument of Io's passage throughUnto all mortals. Be these words the signsOf my soul's power to look beyond the veilOf visible things. The rest, to you and herI will declare in common audience, nymphs,Returning thither where my speech brake off.There is a town Canobus, built uponThe earth's fair margin at the mouth of NileAnd on the mound washed up by it; Io, thereShall Zeus give back to thee thy perfect mind,And only by the pressure and the touchOf a hand not terrible; and thou to ZeusShalt bear a dusky son who shall be calledThence, Epaphus,Touched. That son shall pluck the fruitOf all that land wide-watered by the flowOf Nile; but after him, when counting outAs far as the fifth full generation, thenFull fifty maidens, a fair woman-race,Shall back to Argos turn reluctantly,To fly the proffered nuptials of their kin,Their father's brothers. These being passion struck,Like falcons bearing hard on flying doves,Shall follow, hunting at a quarry of loveThey should not hunt; till envious Heaven maintainA curse betwixt that beauty and their desire,And Greece receive them, to be overcomeIn murtherous woman-war, by fierce red handsKept savage by the night. For every wifeShall slay a husband, dyeing deep in bloodThe sword of a double edge—(I wish indeedAs fair a marriage-joy to all my foes!)One bride alone shall fail to smite to deathThe head upon her pillow, touched with love,Made impotent of purpose and impelledTo choose the lesser evil,—shame on her cheeks,Than blood-guilt on her hands: which bride shall bearA royal race in Argos. Tedious speechWere needed to relate particularsOf these things; 'tis enough that from her seedShall spring the strong He, famous with the bow,Whose arm shall break my fetters off. Behold,My mother Themis, that old Titaness,Delivered to me such an oracle,—But how and when, I should be long to speak,And thou, in hearing, wouldst not gain at all.
Io.Eleleu, eleleu!How the spasm and the painAnd the fire on the brainStrike, burning me through!How the sting of the curse, all aflame as it flew,Pricks me onward again!How my heart in its terror is spurning my breast,And my eyes, like the wheels of a chariot, roll round!I am whirled from my course, to the east, to the west,In the whirlwind of phrensy all madly inwound—And my mouth is unbridled for anguish and hate,And my words beat in vain, in wild storms of unrest,On the sea of my desolate fate.
[Iorushes out.
Chorus.—Strophe.Oh, wise was he, oh, wise was heWho first within his spirit knewAnd with his tongue declared it trueThat love comes best that comes untoThe equal of degree!And that the poor and that the lowShould seek no love from those above,Whose souls are fluttered with the flowOf airs about their golden height,Or proud because they see arowAncestral crowns of light.Antistrophe.Oh, never, never may ye, Fates,Behold me with your awful eyesLift mine too fondly up the skiesWhere Zeus upon the purple waits!Nor let me step too near—too nearTo any suitor, bright from heaven:Because I see, because I fearThis loveless maiden vexed and ladenBy this fell curse of Heré, drivenOn wanderings dread and drear.Epode.Nay, grant an equal troth insteadOf nuptial love, to bind me by!It will not hurt, I shall not dreadTo meet it in reply.But let not love from those aboveRevert and fix me, as I said,With that inevitable Eye!I have no sword to fight that fight,I have no strength to tread that path,I know not if my nature hathThe power to bear, I cannot seeWhither from Zeus's infiniteI have the power to flee.Prometheus.Yet Zeus, albeit most absolute of will,Shall turn to meekness,—such a marriage-riteHe holds in preparation, which anonShall thrust him headlong from his gerent seatAdown the abysmal void, and so the curseHis father Chronos muttered in his fall,As he fell from his ancient throne and cursed,Shall be accomplished wholly. No escapeFrom all that ruin shall the filial ZeusFind granted to him from any of his gods,Unless I teach him. I the refuge know,And I, the means. Now, therefore, let him sitAnd brave the imminent doom, and fix his faithOn his supernal noises, hurtling onWith restless hand the bolt that breathes out fire;For these things shall not help him, none of them,Nor hinder his perdition when he fallsTo shame, and lower than patience: such a foeHe doth himself prepare against himself,A wonder of unconquerable hate,An organizer of sublimer fireThan glares in lightnings, and of grander soundThan aught the thunder rolls, out-thundering it,With power to shatter in Poseidon's fistThe trident-spear which, while it plagues the sea,Doth shake the shores around it. Ay, and Zeus,Precipitated thus, shall learn at lengthThe difference betwixt rule and servitude.Chorus.Thou makest threats for Zeus of thy desires.Prometheus.I tell you, all these things shall be fulfilled.Even so as I desire them.Chorus.Must we thenLook out for one shall come to master Zeus?Prometheus.These chains weigh lighter than his sorrows shall.Chorus.How art thou not afraid to utter such words?Prometheus.What shouldIfear who cannot die?Chorus.ButheCan visit thee with dreader woe than death's.Prometheus.Why, let him do it! I am here, preparedFor all things and their pangs.Chorus.The wise are theyWho reverence Adrasteia.Prometheus.Reverence thou,Adore thou, flatter thou, whomever reigns,Whenever reigning! but for me, your ZeusIs less than nothing. Let him act and reignHis brief hour out according to his will—He will not, therefore, rule the gods too long.But lo! I see that courier-god of Zeus,That new-made menial of the new-crowned king:He doubtless comes to announce to us something new.
Chorus.—Strophe.Oh, wise was he, oh, wise was heWho first within his spirit knewAnd with his tongue declared it trueThat love comes best that comes untoThe equal of degree!And that the poor and that the lowShould seek no love from those above,Whose souls are fluttered with the flowOf airs about their golden height,Or proud because they see arowAncestral crowns of light.
Antistrophe.Oh, never, never may ye, Fates,Behold me with your awful eyesLift mine too fondly up the skiesWhere Zeus upon the purple waits!Nor let me step too near—too nearTo any suitor, bright from heaven:Because I see, because I fearThis loveless maiden vexed and ladenBy this fell curse of Heré, drivenOn wanderings dread and drear.
Epode.Nay, grant an equal troth insteadOf nuptial love, to bind me by!It will not hurt, I shall not dreadTo meet it in reply.But let not love from those aboveRevert and fix me, as I said,With that inevitable Eye!I have no sword to fight that fight,I have no strength to tread that path,I know not if my nature hathThe power to bear, I cannot seeWhither from Zeus's infiniteI have the power to flee.
Prometheus.Yet Zeus, albeit most absolute of will,Shall turn to meekness,—such a marriage-riteHe holds in preparation, which anonShall thrust him headlong from his gerent seatAdown the abysmal void, and so the curseHis father Chronos muttered in his fall,As he fell from his ancient throne and cursed,Shall be accomplished wholly. No escapeFrom all that ruin shall the filial ZeusFind granted to him from any of his gods,Unless I teach him. I the refuge know,And I, the means. Now, therefore, let him sitAnd brave the imminent doom, and fix his faithOn his supernal noises, hurtling onWith restless hand the bolt that breathes out fire;For these things shall not help him, none of them,Nor hinder his perdition when he fallsTo shame, and lower than patience: such a foeHe doth himself prepare against himself,A wonder of unconquerable hate,An organizer of sublimer fireThan glares in lightnings, and of grander soundThan aught the thunder rolls, out-thundering it,With power to shatter in Poseidon's fistThe trident-spear which, while it plagues the sea,Doth shake the shores around it. Ay, and Zeus,Precipitated thus, shall learn at lengthThe difference betwixt rule and servitude.
Chorus.Thou makest threats for Zeus of thy desires.
Prometheus.I tell you, all these things shall be fulfilled.Even so as I desire them.
Chorus.Must we thenLook out for one shall come to master Zeus?
Prometheus.These chains weigh lighter than his sorrows shall.
Chorus.How art thou not afraid to utter such words?
Prometheus.What shouldIfear who cannot die?
Chorus.ButheCan visit thee with dreader woe than death's.
Prometheus.Why, let him do it! I am here, preparedFor all things and their pangs.
Chorus.The wise are theyWho reverence Adrasteia.
Prometheus.Reverence thou,Adore thou, flatter thou, whomever reigns,Whenever reigning! but for me, your ZeusIs less than nothing. Let him act and reignHis brief hour out according to his will—He will not, therefore, rule the gods too long.But lo! I see that courier-god of Zeus,That new-made menial of the new-crowned king:He doubtless comes to announce to us something new.
Hermesenters.
Hermes.I speak to thee, the sophist, the talker-downOf scorn by scorn, the sinner against gods,The reverencer of men, the thief of fire,—I speak to thee and adjure thee! Zeus requiresThy declaration of what marriage-riteThus moves thy vaunt and shall hereafter causeHis fall from empire. Do not wrap thy speechIn riddles, but speak clearly! Never castAmbiguous paths, Prometheus, for my feet,Since Zeus, thou mayst perceive, is scarcely wonTo mercy by such means.Prometheus.A speech well-mouthedIn the utterance, and full-minded in the sense,As doth befit a servant of the gods!New gods, ye newly reign, and think forsoothYe dwell in towers too high for any dartTo carry a wound there!—have I not stood byWhile two kings fell from thence? and shall I notBehold the third, the same who rules you now,Fall, shamed to sudden ruin?—Do I seemTo tremble and quail before your modern gods?Far be it from me!—For thyself, depart,Re-tread thy steps in haste. To all thou hast askedI answer nothing.Hermes.Such a wind of prideImpelled thee of yore full-sail upon these rocks.Prometheus.I would not barter—-learn thou soothly that!—My suffering for thy service. I maintainIt is a nobler thing to serve these rocksThan live a faithful slave to father Zeus.Thus upon scorners I retort their scorn.Hermes.It seems that thou dost glory in thy despair.Prometheus.I glory? would my foes did glory so,And I stood by to see them!—naming whom,Thou art not unremembered.Hermes.Dost thou chargeMe also with the blame of thy mischance?Prometheus.I tell thee I loathe the universal gods,Who for the good I gave them rendered backThe ill of their injustice.Hermes.Thou art mad—Thou art raving, Titan, at the fever-height.Prometheus.If it be madness to abhor my foes,May I be mad!Hermes.If thou wert prosperousThou wouldst be unendurable.Prometheus.Alas!Hermes.Zeus knows not that word.Prometheus.But maturing TimeTeaches all things.Hermes.Howbeit, thou hast not learntThe wisdom yet, thou needest.Prometheus.If I had,I should not talk thus with a slave like thee.Hermes.No answer thou vouchsafest, I believe,To the great Sire's requirement.Prometheus.VerilyI owe him grateful service,—and should pay it.Hermes.Why, thou dost mock me, Titan, as I stoodA child before thy face.Prometheus.No child, forsooth,But yet more foolish than a foolish child,If thou expect that I should answer aughtThy Zeus can ask. No torture from his handNor any machination in the worldShall force mine utterance ere he loose, himself,These cankerous fetters from me. For the rest,Let him now hurl his blanching lightnings down,And with his white-winged snows and mutterings deepOf subterranean thunders mix all things,Confound them in disorder. None of thisShall bend my sturdy will and make me speakThe name of his dethroner who shall come.Hermes.Can this avail thee? Look to it!Prometheus.Long agoIt was looked forward to, precounselled of.Hermes.Vain god, take righteous courage! dare for onceTo apprehend and front thine agoniesWith a just prudence.Prometheus.Vainly dost thou chafeMy soul with exhortation, as yonder seaGoes beating on the rock. Oh, think no moreThat I, fear-struck by Zeus to a woman's mind,Will supplicate him, loathèd as he is,With feminine upliftings of my hands,To break these chains. Far from me be the thought!Hermes.I have indeed, methinks, said much in vain,For still thy heart beneath my showers of prayersLies dry and hard—nay, leaps like a young horseWho bites against the new bit in his teeth,And tugs and struggles against the new-tried rein,—Still fiercest in the feeblest thing of all,Which sophism is; since absolute will disjoinedFrom perfect mind is worse than weak. Behold,Unless my words persuade thee, what a blastAnd whirlwind of inevitable woeMust sweep persuasion through thee! For at firstThe Father will split up this jut of rockWith the great thunder and the bolted flameAnd hide thy body where a hinge of stoneShall catch it like an arm; and when thou hast passedA long black time within, thou shalt come outTo front the sun while Zeus's winged hound,The strong carnivorous eagle, shall wheel downTo meet thee, self-called to a daily feast,And set his fierce beak in thee and tear offThe long rags of thy flesh and batten deepUpon thy dusky liver. Do not lookFor any end moreover to this curseOr ere some god appear, to accept thy pangsOn his own head vicarious, and descendWith unreluctant step the darks of hellAnd gloomy abysses around Tartarus.Then ponder this—this threat is not a growthOf vain invention; it is spoken and meant;King Zeus's mouth is impotent to lie,Consummating the utterance by the act;So, look to it, thou! take heed, and nevermoreForget good counsel, to indulge self-will.Chorus.Our Hermes suits his reasons to the times;At least I think so, since he bids thee dropSelf-will for prudent counsel. Yield to him!When the wise err, their wisdom makes their shame.Prometheus.Unto me the foreknower, this mandate of powerHe cries, to reveal it.What's strange in my fate, if I suffer from hateAt the hour that I feel it?Let the locks of the lightning, all bristling and whitening,Flash, coiling me round,While the æther goes surging 'neath thunder and scourgingOf wild winds unbound!Let the blast of the firmament whirl from its placeThe earth rooted below,And the brine of the ocean, in rapid emotion,Be driven in the faceOf the stars up in heaven, as they walk to and fro!Let him hurl me anon into Tartarus—on—To the blackest degree,With Necessity's vortices strangling me down;But he cannot join death to a fate meant forme!Hermes.Why, the words that he speaks and the thoughts that he thinksAre maniacal!—add,If the Fate who hath bound him should loose not the links,He were utterly mad.Then depart ye who groan with him,Leaving to moan with him,—Go in haste! lest the roar of the thunder anearingShould blast you to idiocy, living and hearing.Chorus.Change thy speech for another, thy thought for a new,If to move me and teach me indeed be thy care!For thy words swerve so far from the loyal and trueThat the thunder of Zeus seems more easy to bear.How! couldst teach me to venture such vileness? behold!Ichoose, with this victim, this anguish foretold!I recoil from the traitor in hate and disdain,And I know that the curse of the treason is worseThan the pang of the chain.Hermes.Then remember, O nymphs, what I tell you before,Nor, when pierced by the arrows that Até will throw you,Cast blame on your fate and declare evermoreThat Zeus thrust you on anguish he did not foreshow you.Nay, verily, nay! for ye perish anonFor your deed—by your choice. By no blindness of doubt,No abruptness of doom, but by madness alone,In the great net of Até, whence none cometh out,Ye are wound and undone.Prometheus.Ay! in act now, in word now no more,Earth is rocking in space.And the thunders crash up with a roar upon roar,And the eddying lightnings flash fire in my face,And the whirlwinds are whirling the dust round and round,And the blasts of the winds universal leap freeAnd blow each upon each with a passion of sound,And æther goes mingling in storm with the sea.Such a curse on my head, in a manifest dread,From the hand of your Zeus has been hurtled along.O my mother's fair glory! O Æther, enringingAll eyes with the sweet common light of thy bringing!Dost see how I suffer this wrong?
Hermes.I speak to thee, the sophist, the talker-downOf scorn by scorn, the sinner against gods,The reverencer of men, the thief of fire,—I speak to thee and adjure thee! Zeus requiresThy declaration of what marriage-riteThus moves thy vaunt and shall hereafter causeHis fall from empire. Do not wrap thy speechIn riddles, but speak clearly! Never castAmbiguous paths, Prometheus, for my feet,Since Zeus, thou mayst perceive, is scarcely wonTo mercy by such means.
Prometheus.A speech well-mouthedIn the utterance, and full-minded in the sense,As doth befit a servant of the gods!New gods, ye newly reign, and think forsoothYe dwell in towers too high for any dartTo carry a wound there!—have I not stood byWhile two kings fell from thence? and shall I notBehold the third, the same who rules you now,Fall, shamed to sudden ruin?—Do I seemTo tremble and quail before your modern gods?Far be it from me!—For thyself, depart,Re-tread thy steps in haste. To all thou hast askedI answer nothing.
Hermes.Such a wind of prideImpelled thee of yore full-sail upon these rocks.
Prometheus.I would not barter—-learn thou soothly that!—My suffering for thy service. I maintainIt is a nobler thing to serve these rocksThan live a faithful slave to father Zeus.Thus upon scorners I retort their scorn.
Hermes.It seems that thou dost glory in thy despair.
Prometheus.I glory? would my foes did glory so,And I stood by to see them!—naming whom,Thou art not unremembered.
Hermes.Dost thou chargeMe also with the blame of thy mischance?
Prometheus.I tell thee I loathe the universal gods,Who for the good I gave them rendered backThe ill of their injustice.
Hermes.Thou art mad—Thou art raving, Titan, at the fever-height.
Prometheus.If it be madness to abhor my foes,May I be mad!
Hermes.If thou wert prosperousThou wouldst be unendurable.
Prometheus.Alas!
Hermes.Zeus knows not that word.
Prometheus.But maturing TimeTeaches all things.
Hermes.Howbeit, thou hast not learntThe wisdom yet, thou needest.
Prometheus.If I had,I should not talk thus with a slave like thee.
Hermes.No answer thou vouchsafest, I believe,To the great Sire's requirement.
Prometheus.VerilyI owe him grateful service,—and should pay it.
Hermes.Why, thou dost mock me, Titan, as I stoodA child before thy face.
Prometheus.No child, forsooth,But yet more foolish than a foolish child,If thou expect that I should answer aughtThy Zeus can ask. No torture from his handNor any machination in the worldShall force mine utterance ere he loose, himself,These cankerous fetters from me. For the rest,Let him now hurl his blanching lightnings down,And with his white-winged snows and mutterings deepOf subterranean thunders mix all things,Confound them in disorder. None of thisShall bend my sturdy will and make me speakThe name of his dethroner who shall come.
Hermes.Can this avail thee? Look to it!
Prometheus.Long agoIt was looked forward to, precounselled of.
Hermes.Vain god, take righteous courage! dare for onceTo apprehend and front thine agoniesWith a just prudence.
Prometheus.Vainly dost thou chafeMy soul with exhortation, as yonder seaGoes beating on the rock. Oh, think no moreThat I, fear-struck by Zeus to a woman's mind,Will supplicate him, loathèd as he is,With feminine upliftings of my hands,To break these chains. Far from me be the thought!
Hermes.I have indeed, methinks, said much in vain,For still thy heart beneath my showers of prayersLies dry and hard—nay, leaps like a young horseWho bites against the new bit in his teeth,And tugs and struggles against the new-tried rein,—Still fiercest in the feeblest thing of all,Which sophism is; since absolute will disjoinedFrom perfect mind is worse than weak. Behold,Unless my words persuade thee, what a blastAnd whirlwind of inevitable woeMust sweep persuasion through thee! For at firstThe Father will split up this jut of rockWith the great thunder and the bolted flameAnd hide thy body where a hinge of stoneShall catch it like an arm; and when thou hast passedA long black time within, thou shalt come outTo front the sun while Zeus's winged hound,The strong carnivorous eagle, shall wheel downTo meet thee, self-called to a daily feast,And set his fierce beak in thee and tear offThe long rags of thy flesh and batten deepUpon thy dusky liver. Do not lookFor any end moreover to this curseOr ere some god appear, to accept thy pangsOn his own head vicarious, and descendWith unreluctant step the darks of hellAnd gloomy abysses around Tartarus.Then ponder this—this threat is not a growthOf vain invention; it is spoken and meant;King Zeus's mouth is impotent to lie,Consummating the utterance by the act;So, look to it, thou! take heed, and nevermoreForget good counsel, to indulge self-will.
Chorus.Our Hermes suits his reasons to the times;At least I think so, since he bids thee dropSelf-will for prudent counsel. Yield to him!When the wise err, their wisdom makes their shame.
Prometheus.Unto me the foreknower, this mandate of powerHe cries, to reveal it.What's strange in my fate, if I suffer from hateAt the hour that I feel it?Let the locks of the lightning, all bristling and whitening,Flash, coiling me round,While the æther goes surging 'neath thunder and scourgingOf wild winds unbound!Let the blast of the firmament whirl from its placeThe earth rooted below,And the brine of the ocean, in rapid emotion,Be driven in the faceOf the stars up in heaven, as they walk to and fro!Let him hurl me anon into Tartarus—on—To the blackest degree,With Necessity's vortices strangling me down;But he cannot join death to a fate meant forme!
Hermes.Why, the words that he speaks and the thoughts that he thinksAre maniacal!—add,If the Fate who hath bound him should loose not the links,He were utterly mad.Then depart ye who groan with him,Leaving to moan with him,—Go in haste! lest the roar of the thunder anearingShould blast you to idiocy, living and hearing.
Chorus.Change thy speech for another, thy thought for a new,If to move me and teach me indeed be thy care!For thy words swerve so far from the loyal and trueThat the thunder of Zeus seems more easy to bear.How! couldst teach me to venture such vileness? behold!Ichoose, with this victim, this anguish foretold!I recoil from the traitor in hate and disdain,And I know that the curse of the treason is worseThan the pang of the chain.
Hermes.Then remember, O nymphs, what I tell you before,Nor, when pierced by the arrows that Até will throw you,Cast blame on your fate and declare evermoreThat Zeus thrust you on anguish he did not foreshow you.Nay, verily, nay! for ye perish anonFor your deed—by your choice. By no blindness of doubt,No abruptness of doom, but by madness alone,In the great net of Até, whence none cometh out,Ye are wound and undone.
Prometheus.Ay! in act now, in word now no more,Earth is rocking in space.And the thunders crash up with a roar upon roar,And the eddying lightnings flash fire in my face,And the whirlwinds are whirling the dust round and round,And the blasts of the winds universal leap freeAnd blow each upon each with a passion of sound,And æther goes mingling in storm with the sea.Such a curse on my head, in a manifest dread,From the hand of your Zeus has been hurtled along.O my mother's fair glory! O Æther, enringingAll eyes with the sweet common light of thy bringing!Dost see how I suffer this wrong?