I.My song is done.My voice that long hath faltered shall be still.The mystic darkness drops from Calvary's hillInto the common light of this day's sun.II.I see no more thy cross, O holy Slain!I hear no more the horror and the coilOf the great world's turmoilFeeling thy countenancetoo still,—nor yellOf demons sweeping past it to their prison.The skies that turned to darkness with thy painMake now a summer's day;And on my changèd ear that sabbath bellRecords howChrist is risen.III.And I—ah! what am ITo counterfeit, with faculty earth-darkened,Seraphic brows of lightAnd seraph language never used nor hearkened?Ah me! what word that seraphs say, could comeFrom mouth so used to sighs, so soon to lieSighless, because then breathless, in the tomb?IV.Bright ministers of God and grace—of graceBecause of God! whether ye bow adownIn your own heaven, before the living faceOf him who died and deathless wears the crown,Or whether at this hour ye haply areAnear, around me, hiding in the nightOf this permitted ignorance your light,This feebleness to spare,—Forgive me, that mine earthly heart should dareShape images of unincarnate spiritsAnd lay upon their burning lips a thoughtCold with the weeping which mine earth inherits.And though ye find in such hoarse music, wroughtTo copy yours, a cadence all the whileOf sin and sorrow—only pitying smile!Ye know to pity, well.V.Itoo may haply smile another dayAt the far recollection of this lay,When God may call me in your midst to dwell,To hear your most sweet music's miracleAnd see your wondrous faces. May it be!For his remembered sake, the Slain on rood,Who rolled his earthly garment red in blood(Treading the wine-press) that the weak, like me,Before his heavenly throne should walk in white.
I.
My song is done.My voice that long hath faltered shall be still.The mystic darkness drops from Calvary's hillInto the common light of this day's sun.
II.
I see no more thy cross, O holy Slain!I hear no more the horror and the coilOf the great world's turmoilFeeling thy countenancetoo still,—nor yellOf demons sweeping past it to their prison.The skies that turned to darkness with thy painMake now a summer's day;And on my changèd ear that sabbath bellRecords howChrist is risen.
III.
And I—ah! what am ITo counterfeit, with faculty earth-darkened,Seraphic brows of lightAnd seraph language never used nor hearkened?Ah me! what word that seraphs say, could comeFrom mouth so used to sighs, so soon to lieSighless, because then breathless, in the tomb?
IV.
Bright ministers of God and grace—of graceBecause of God! whether ye bow adownIn your own heaven, before the living faceOf him who died and deathless wears the crown,Or whether at this hour ye haply areAnear, around me, hiding in the nightOf this permitted ignorance your light,This feebleness to spare,—Forgive me, that mine earthly heart should dareShape images of unincarnate spiritsAnd lay upon their burning lips a thoughtCold with the weeping which mine earth inherits.And though ye find in such hoarse music, wroughtTo copy yours, a cadence all the whileOf sin and sorrow—only pitying smile!Ye know to pity, well.
V.
Itoo may haply smile another dayAt the far recollection of this lay,When God may call me in your midst to dwell,To hear your most sweet music's miracleAnd see your wondrous faces. May it be!For his remembered sake, the Slain on rood,Who rolled his earthly garment red in blood(Treading the wine-press) that the weak, like me,Before his heavenly throne should walk in white.
PERSONS.Prometheus.Oceanus.Hermes.Hephæstus.Io,daughter ofInachus.StrengthandForce.Chorus of Sea Nymphs.
PERSONS.
Prometheus.Oceanus.Hermes.Hephæstus.Io,daughter ofInachus.StrengthandForce.Chorus of Sea Nymphs.
Scene.—StrengthandForce,HephæstusandPrometheus,at the Rocks.
Strength.We reach the utmost limit of the earth,The Scythian track, the desert without man.And now, Hephæstus, thou must needs fulfilThe mandate of our Father, and with linksIndissoluble of adamantine chainsFasten against this beetling precipiceThis guilty god. Because he filched awayThine own bright flower, the glory of plastic fire,And gifted mortals with it,—such a sinIt doth behove he expiate to the gods,Learning to accept the empery of ZeusAnd leave off his old trick of loving man.Hephæstus.O Strength and Force, for you, our Zeus's willPresents a deed for doing, no more!—butI,I lack your daring, up this storm-rent chasmTo fix with violent hands a kindred god,Howbeit necessity compels me soThat I must dare it, and our Zeus commandsWith a most inevitable word. Ho, thou!High-thoughted son of Themis who is sage!Thee loth, I loth must rivet fast in chainsAgainst this rocky height unclomb by man,Where never human voice nor face shall findOut thee who lov'st them, and thy beauty's flower,Scorched in the sun's clear heat, shall fade away.Night shall come up with garniture of starsTo comfort thee with shadow, and the sunDisperse with retrickt beams the morning-frosts,But through all changes sense of present woeShall vex thee sore, because with none of themThere comes a hand to free. Such fruit is pluckedFrom love of man! and in that thou, a god,Didst brave the wrath of gods and give awayUndue respect to mortals, for that crimeThou art adjudged to guard this joyless rock,Erect, unslumbering, bending not the knee,And many a cry and unavailing moanTo utter on the air. For Zeus is sternAnd new-made kings are cruel.Strength.Be it so.Why loiter in vain pity? Why not hateA god the gods hate? one too who betrayedThy glory unto men?Hephæstus.An awful thingIs kinship joined to friendship.Strength.Grant it be;Is disobedience to the Father's wordA possible thing? Dost quail not more for that?Hephæstus.Thou, at least, art a stern one: ever bold.Strength.Why, if I wept, it were no remedy;And do notthouspend labour on the airTo bootless uses.Hephæstus.Cursed handicraft!I curse and hate thee, O my craft!Strength.Why hateThy craft most plainly innocent of allThese pending ills?Hephæstus.I would some other handWere here to work it!Strength.All work hath its pain,Except to rule the gods. There is none freeExcept King Zeus.Hephæstus.I know it very well:I argue not against it.Strength.Why not, then,Make haste and lock the fetters overhimLest Zeus behold thee lagging?Hephæstus.Here be chains.Zeus may behold these.Strength.Seize him: strike amain:Strike with the hammer on each side his hands—Rivet him to the rock.Hephæstus.The work is done,And thoroughly done.Strength.Still faster grapple him;Wedge him in deeper: leave no inch to stir.He's terrible for finding a way outFrom the irremediable.Hephæstus.Here's an arm, at least,Grappled past freeing.Strength.Now then, buckle meThe other securely. Let this wise one learnHe's duller than our Zeus.Hephæstus.Oh, none but heAccuse me justly.Strength.Now, straight through the chest,Take him and bite him with the clenching toothOf the adamantine wedge, and rivet him.Hephæstus.Alas, Prometheus, what thou sufferest hereI sorrow over.Strength.Dost thou flinch againAnd breathe groans for the enemies of Zeus?Beware lest thine own pity find thee out.Hephæstus.Thou dost behold a spectacle that turnsThe sight o' the eyes to pity.Strength.I beholdA sinner suffer his sin's penalty.But lash the thongs about his sides.Hephæstus.So much,I must do. Urge no farther than I must.Strength.Ay, but Iwillurge!—and, with shout on shout,Will hound thee at this quarry. Get thee downAnd ring amain the iron round his legs.Hephæstus.That work was not long doing.Strength.Heavily nowLet fall the strokes upon the perforant gyves:For He who rates the work has a heavy hand.Hephæstus.Thy speech is savage as thy shape.Strength.Be thouGentle and tender! but revile not meFor the firm will and the untruckling hate.Hephæstus.Let us go. He is netted round with chains.Strength.Here, now, taunt on! and having spoiled the godsOf honours, crown withal thy mortal menWho live a whole day out. Why how couldtheyDraw off from thee one single of thy griefs?Methinks the Dæmons gave thee a wrong name,"Prometheus," which means Providence,—becauseThou dost thyself need providence to seeThy roll and ruin from the top of doom.Prometheus (alone).O holy Æther, and swift-wingèd Winds,And River-wells, and laughter innumerousOf yon sea-waves! Earth, mother of us all,And all-viewing cyclic Sun, I cry on you,—Behold me, a god, what I endure from gods!Behold, with throe on throe,How, wasted by this woe,I wrestle down the myriad years of time!Behold, how fast around me,The new King of the happy ones sublimeHas flung the chain he forged, has shamed and bound me!Woe, woe! to-day's woe and the coming morrow'sI cover with one groan. And where is found meA limit to these sorrows?And yet what word do I say? I have foreknownClearly all things that should be; nothing doneComes sudden to my soul; and I must bearWhat is ordained with patience, being awareNecessity doth front the universeWith an invincible gesture. Yet this curseWhich strikes me now, I find it hard to braveIn silence or in speech. Because I gaveHonour to mortals, I have yoked my soulTo this compelling fate. Because I stoleThe secret fount of fire, whose bubbles wentOver the ferule's brim, and manward sentArt's mighty means and perfect rudiment,That sin I expiate in this agony,Hung here in fetters, 'neath the blanching sky.Ah, ah me! what a sound,What a fragrance sweeps up from a pinion unseenOf a god, or a mortal, or nature between,Sweeping up to this rock where the earth has her bound,To have sight of my pangs or some guerdon obtain.Lo, a god in the anguish, a god in the chain!The god, Zeus hateth soreAnd his gods hate again,As many as tread on his glorified floor,Because I loved mortals too much evermore.Alas me! what a murmur and motion I hear,As of birds flying near!And the air undersingsThe light stroke of their wings—And all life that approaches I wait for in fear.Chorus of Sea Nymphs, 1st Strophe.Fear nothing! our troopFloats lovingly upWith a quick-oaring strokeOf wings steered to the rock,Having softened the soul of our father below.For the gales of swift-bearing have sent me a sound,And the clank of the iron, the malleted blow,Smote down the profoundOf my caverns of old,And struck the red light in a blush from my brow,—Till I sprang up unsandaled, in haste to behold,And rushed forth on my chariot of wings manifold.Prometheus.Alas me!—alas me!Ye offspring of Tethys who bore at her breastMany children, and eke of Oceanus, heCoiling still around earth with perpetual unrest!Behold me and seeHow transfixed with the fangOf a fetter I hangOn the high-jutting rocks of this fissure and keepAn uncoveted watch o'er the world and the deep.Chorus, 1st Antistrophe.I behold thee, Prometheus; yet now, yet now,A terrible cloud whose rain is tearsSweeps over mine eyes that witness howThy body appearsHung awaste on the rocks by infrangible chains:For new is the Hand, new the rudder that steersThe ship of Olympus through surge and wind—And of old things passed, no track is behind.Prometheus.Under earth, under HadesWhere the home of the shade is,All into the deep, deep Tartarus,I would he had hurled me adown.I would he had plunged me, fastened thusIn the knotted chain with the savage clang,All into the dark where there should be none,Neither god nor another, to laugh and see.But now the winds sing through and shakeThe hurtling chains wherein I hang,And I, in my naked sorrows, makeMuch mirth for my enemy.Chorus, 2nd Strophe.Nay! who of the gods hath a heart so sternAs to use thy woe for a mock and mirth?Who would not turn more mild to learnThy sorrows? who of the heaven and earthSave Zeus? But heRight wrathfullyBears on his sceptral soul unbentAnd rules thereby the heavenly seed,Nor will he pause till he contentHis thirsty heart in a finished deed;Or till Another shall appear,To win by fraud, to seize by fearThe hard-to-be-captured government.Prometheus.Yet even ofmehe shall have need,That monarch of the blessed seed,Of me, of me, who now am cursedBy his fetters dire,—To wring my secret out withalAnd learn by whom his sceptre shallBe filched from him—as was, at first,His heavenly fire.But he never shall enchant meWith his honey-lipped persuasion;Never, never shall he daunt meWith the oath and threat of passionInto speaking as they want me,Till he loose this savage chain,And accept the expiationOf my sorrow, in his pain.Chorus, 2nd Antistrophe.Thou art, sooth, a brave god,And, for all thou hast borneFrom the stroke of the rod,Nought relaxest from scorn.But thou speakest unto meToo free and unworn;And a terror strikes through meAnd festers my soulAnd I fear, in the rollOf the storm, for thy fateIn the ship far from shore:Since the son of Saturnus is hard in his hateAnd unmoved in his heart evermore.Prometheus.I know that Zeus is stern;I know he metes his justice by his will;And yet, his soul shall learnMore softness when once broken by this ill:And curbing his unconquerable vauntHe shall rush on in fear to meet with meWho rush to meet with him in agony,To issues of harmonious covenant.Chorus.Remove the veil from all things and relateThe story to us,—of what crime accused,Zeus smites thee with dishonourable pangs.Speak: if to teach us do not grieve thyself.Prometheus.The utterance of these things is torture to me,But so, too, is their silence; each way liesWoe strong as fate.When gods began with wrath,And war rose up between their starry brows,Some choosing to cast Chronos from his throneThat Zeus might king it there, and some in hasteWith opposite oaths that they would have no ZeusTo rule the gods for ever,—I, who broughtThe counsel I thought meetest, could not moveThe Titans, children of the Heaven and Earth,What time, disdaining in their rugged soulsMy subtle machinations, they assumedIt was an easy thing for force to takeThe mastery of fate. My mother, then,Who is called not only Themis but Earth too,(Her single beauty joys in many names)Did teach me with reiterant prophecyWhat future should be, and how conquering godsShould not prevail by strength and violenceBut by guile only. When I told them so,They would not deign to contemplate the truthOn all sides round; whereat I deemed it bestTo lead my willing mother upwardlyAnd set my Themis face to face with ZeusAs willing to receive her. Tartarus,With its abysmal cloister of the Dark,Because I gave that counsel, covers upThe antique Chronos and his siding hosts,And, by that counsel helped, the king of godsHath recompensed me with these bitter pangs:For kingship wears a cancer at the heart,—Distrust in friendship. Do ye also askWhat crime it is for which he tortures me?That shall be clear before you. When at firstHe filled his father's throne, he instantlyMade various gifts of glory to the godsAnd dealt the empire out. Alone of men,Of miserable men, he took no count,But yearned to sweep their track off from the worldAnd plant a newer race there. Not a godResisted such desire except myself.Idared it!Idrew mortals back to light,From meditated ruin deep as hell!For which wrong, I am bent down in these pangsDreadful to suffer, mournful to behold,And I, who pitied man, am thought myselfUnworthy of pity; while I render outDeep rhythms of anguish 'neath the harping handThat strikes me thus—a sight to shame your Zeus!Chorus.Hard as thy chains and cold as all these rocksIs he, Prometheus, who withholds his heartFrom joining in thy woe. I yearned beforeTo fly this sight; and, now I gaze on it,I sicken inwards.Prometheus.To my friends, indeed,I must be a sad sight.Chorus.And didst thou sinNo more than so?Prometheus.I did restrain besidesMy mortals from premeditating death.Chorus.How didst thou medicine the plague-fear of death?Prometheus.I set blind Hopes to inhabit in their house.Chorus.By that gift thou didst help thy mortals well.Prometheus.I gave them also fire.Chorus.And have they now,Those creatures of a day, the red-eyed fire?Prometheus.They have: and shall learn by it many arts.Chorus.And truly for such sins Zeus tortures theeAnd will remit no anguish? Is there setNo limit before thee to thine agony?Prometheus.No other: only what seems good tohim.Chorus.And how will it seem good? what hope remains?Seest thou not that thou hast sinned? But that thou hast sinnedIt glads me not to speak of, and grieves thee:Then let it pass from both, and seek thyselfSome outlet from distress.Prometheus.It is in truthAn easy thing to stand aloof from painAnd lavish exhortation and adviceOn one vexed sorely by it. I have knownAll in prevision. By my choice, my choice,I freely sinned—I will confess my sin—And helping mortals, found my own despair.I did not think indeed that I should pineBeneath such pangs against such skyey rocks,Doomed to this drear hill and no neighbouringOf any life: but mourn not ye for griefsI bear to-day: hear rather, dropping downTo the plain, how other woes creep on to me,And learn the consummation of my doom.Beseech you, nymphs, beseech you, grieve for meWho now am grieving; for Grief walks the earth,And sits down at the foot of each by turns.Chorus.We hear the deep clash of thy words,Prometheus, and obey.And I spring with a rapid foot awayFrom the rushing car and the holy air,The track of birds;And I drop to the rugged ground and thereAwait the tale of thy despair.
Strength.We reach the utmost limit of the earth,The Scythian track, the desert without man.And now, Hephæstus, thou must needs fulfilThe mandate of our Father, and with linksIndissoluble of adamantine chainsFasten against this beetling precipiceThis guilty god. Because he filched awayThine own bright flower, the glory of plastic fire,And gifted mortals with it,—such a sinIt doth behove he expiate to the gods,Learning to accept the empery of ZeusAnd leave off his old trick of loving man.
Hephæstus.O Strength and Force, for you, our Zeus's willPresents a deed for doing, no more!—butI,I lack your daring, up this storm-rent chasmTo fix with violent hands a kindred god,Howbeit necessity compels me soThat I must dare it, and our Zeus commandsWith a most inevitable word. Ho, thou!High-thoughted son of Themis who is sage!Thee loth, I loth must rivet fast in chainsAgainst this rocky height unclomb by man,Where never human voice nor face shall findOut thee who lov'st them, and thy beauty's flower,Scorched in the sun's clear heat, shall fade away.Night shall come up with garniture of starsTo comfort thee with shadow, and the sunDisperse with retrickt beams the morning-frosts,But through all changes sense of present woeShall vex thee sore, because with none of themThere comes a hand to free. Such fruit is pluckedFrom love of man! and in that thou, a god,Didst brave the wrath of gods and give awayUndue respect to mortals, for that crimeThou art adjudged to guard this joyless rock,Erect, unslumbering, bending not the knee,And many a cry and unavailing moanTo utter on the air. For Zeus is sternAnd new-made kings are cruel.
Strength.Be it so.Why loiter in vain pity? Why not hateA god the gods hate? one too who betrayedThy glory unto men?
Hephæstus.An awful thingIs kinship joined to friendship.
Strength.Grant it be;Is disobedience to the Father's wordA possible thing? Dost quail not more for that?
Hephæstus.Thou, at least, art a stern one: ever bold.
Strength.Why, if I wept, it were no remedy;And do notthouspend labour on the airTo bootless uses.
Hephæstus.Cursed handicraft!I curse and hate thee, O my craft!
Strength.Why hateThy craft most plainly innocent of allThese pending ills?
Hephæstus.I would some other handWere here to work it!
Strength.All work hath its pain,Except to rule the gods. There is none freeExcept King Zeus.
Hephæstus.I know it very well:I argue not against it.
Strength.Why not, then,Make haste and lock the fetters overhimLest Zeus behold thee lagging?
Hephæstus.Here be chains.Zeus may behold these.
Strength.Seize him: strike amain:Strike with the hammer on each side his hands—Rivet him to the rock.
Hephæstus.The work is done,And thoroughly done.
Strength.Still faster grapple him;Wedge him in deeper: leave no inch to stir.He's terrible for finding a way outFrom the irremediable.
Hephæstus.Here's an arm, at least,Grappled past freeing.
Strength.Now then, buckle meThe other securely. Let this wise one learnHe's duller than our Zeus.
Hephæstus.Oh, none but heAccuse me justly.
Strength.Now, straight through the chest,Take him and bite him with the clenching toothOf the adamantine wedge, and rivet him.
Hephæstus.Alas, Prometheus, what thou sufferest hereI sorrow over.
Strength.Dost thou flinch againAnd breathe groans for the enemies of Zeus?Beware lest thine own pity find thee out.
Hephæstus.Thou dost behold a spectacle that turnsThe sight o' the eyes to pity.
Strength.I beholdA sinner suffer his sin's penalty.But lash the thongs about his sides.
Hephæstus.So much,I must do. Urge no farther than I must.
Strength.Ay, but Iwillurge!—and, with shout on shout,Will hound thee at this quarry. Get thee downAnd ring amain the iron round his legs.
Hephæstus.That work was not long doing.
Strength.Heavily nowLet fall the strokes upon the perforant gyves:For He who rates the work has a heavy hand.
Hephæstus.Thy speech is savage as thy shape.
Strength.Be thouGentle and tender! but revile not meFor the firm will and the untruckling hate.
Hephæstus.Let us go. He is netted round with chains.
Strength.Here, now, taunt on! and having spoiled the godsOf honours, crown withal thy mortal menWho live a whole day out. Why how couldtheyDraw off from thee one single of thy griefs?Methinks the Dæmons gave thee a wrong name,"Prometheus," which means Providence,—becauseThou dost thyself need providence to seeThy roll and ruin from the top of doom.
Prometheus (alone).O holy Æther, and swift-wingèd Winds,And River-wells, and laughter innumerousOf yon sea-waves! Earth, mother of us all,And all-viewing cyclic Sun, I cry on you,—Behold me, a god, what I endure from gods!Behold, with throe on throe,How, wasted by this woe,I wrestle down the myriad years of time!Behold, how fast around me,The new King of the happy ones sublimeHas flung the chain he forged, has shamed and bound me!Woe, woe! to-day's woe and the coming morrow'sI cover with one groan. And where is found meA limit to these sorrows?And yet what word do I say? I have foreknownClearly all things that should be; nothing doneComes sudden to my soul; and I must bearWhat is ordained with patience, being awareNecessity doth front the universeWith an invincible gesture. Yet this curseWhich strikes me now, I find it hard to braveIn silence or in speech. Because I gaveHonour to mortals, I have yoked my soulTo this compelling fate. Because I stoleThe secret fount of fire, whose bubbles wentOver the ferule's brim, and manward sentArt's mighty means and perfect rudiment,That sin I expiate in this agony,Hung here in fetters, 'neath the blanching sky.Ah, ah me! what a sound,What a fragrance sweeps up from a pinion unseenOf a god, or a mortal, or nature between,Sweeping up to this rock where the earth has her bound,To have sight of my pangs or some guerdon obtain.Lo, a god in the anguish, a god in the chain!The god, Zeus hateth soreAnd his gods hate again,As many as tread on his glorified floor,Because I loved mortals too much evermore.Alas me! what a murmur and motion I hear,As of birds flying near!And the air undersingsThe light stroke of their wings—And all life that approaches I wait for in fear.
Chorus of Sea Nymphs, 1st Strophe.Fear nothing! our troopFloats lovingly upWith a quick-oaring strokeOf wings steered to the rock,Having softened the soul of our father below.For the gales of swift-bearing have sent me a sound,And the clank of the iron, the malleted blow,Smote down the profoundOf my caverns of old,And struck the red light in a blush from my brow,—Till I sprang up unsandaled, in haste to behold,And rushed forth on my chariot of wings manifold.
Prometheus.Alas me!—alas me!Ye offspring of Tethys who bore at her breastMany children, and eke of Oceanus, heCoiling still around earth with perpetual unrest!Behold me and seeHow transfixed with the fangOf a fetter I hangOn the high-jutting rocks of this fissure and keepAn uncoveted watch o'er the world and the deep.
Chorus, 1st Antistrophe.I behold thee, Prometheus; yet now, yet now,A terrible cloud whose rain is tearsSweeps over mine eyes that witness howThy body appearsHung awaste on the rocks by infrangible chains:For new is the Hand, new the rudder that steersThe ship of Olympus through surge and wind—And of old things passed, no track is behind.
Prometheus.Under earth, under HadesWhere the home of the shade is,All into the deep, deep Tartarus,I would he had hurled me adown.I would he had plunged me, fastened thusIn the knotted chain with the savage clang,All into the dark where there should be none,Neither god nor another, to laugh and see.But now the winds sing through and shakeThe hurtling chains wherein I hang,And I, in my naked sorrows, makeMuch mirth for my enemy.
Chorus, 2nd Strophe.Nay! who of the gods hath a heart so sternAs to use thy woe for a mock and mirth?Who would not turn more mild to learnThy sorrows? who of the heaven and earthSave Zeus? But heRight wrathfullyBears on his sceptral soul unbentAnd rules thereby the heavenly seed,Nor will he pause till he contentHis thirsty heart in a finished deed;Or till Another shall appear,To win by fraud, to seize by fearThe hard-to-be-captured government.
Prometheus.Yet even ofmehe shall have need,That monarch of the blessed seed,Of me, of me, who now am cursedBy his fetters dire,—To wring my secret out withalAnd learn by whom his sceptre shallBe filched from him—as was, at first,His heavenly fire.But he never shall enchant meWith his honey-lipped persuasion;Never, never shall he daunt meWith the oath and threat of passionInto speaking as they want me,Till he loose this savage chain,And accept the expiationOf my sorrow, in his pain.
Chorus, 2nd Antistrophe.Thou art, sooth, a brave god,And, for all thou hast borneFrom the stroke of the rod,Nought relaxest from scorn.But thou speakest unto meToo free and unworn;And a terror strikes through meAnd festers my soulAnd I fear, in the rollOf the storm, for thy fateIn the ship far from shore:Since the son of Saturnus is hard in his hateAnd unmoved in his heart evermore.
Prometheus.I know that Zeus is stern;I know he metes his justice by his will;And yet, his soul shall learnMore softness when once broken by this ill:And curbing his unconquerable vauntHe shall rush on in fear to meet with meWho rush to meet with him in agony,To issues of harmonious covenant.
Chorus.Remove the veil from all things and relateThe story to us,—of what crime accused,Zeus smites thee with dishonourable pangs.Speak: if to teach us do not grieve thyself.
Prometheus.The utterance of these things is torture to me,But so, too, is their silence; each way liesWoe strong as fate.When gods began with wrath,And war rose up between their starry brows,Some choosing to cast Chronos from his throneThat Zeus might king it there, and some in hasteWith opposite oaths that they would have no ZeusTo rule the gods for ever,—I, who broughtThe counsel I thought meetest, could not moveThe Titans, children of the Heaven and Earth,What time, disdaining in their rugged soulsMy subtle machinations, they assumedIt was an easy thing for force to takeThe mastery of fate. My mother, then,Who is called not only Themis but Earth too,(Her single beauty joys in many names)Did teach me with reiterant prophecyWhat future should be, and how conquering godsShould not prevail by strength and violenceBut by guile only. When I told them so,They would not deign to contemplate the truthOn all sides round; whereat I deemed it bestTo lead my willing mother upwardlyAnd set my Themis face to face with ZeusAs willing to receive her. Tartarus,With its abysmal cloister of the Dark,Because I gave that counsel, covers upThe antique Chronos and his siding hosts,And, by that counsel helped, the king of godsHath recompensed me with these bitter pangs:For kingship wears a cancer at the heart,—Distrust in friendship. Do ye also askWhat crime it is for which he tortures me?That shall be clear before you. When at firstHe filled his father's throne, he instantlyMade various gifts of glory to the godsAnd dealt the empire out. Alone of men,Of miserable men, he took no count,But yearned to sweep their track off from the worldAnd plant a newer race there. Not a godResisted such desire except myself.Idared it!Idrew mortals back to light,From meditated ruin deep as hell!For which wrong, I am bent down in these pangsDreadful to suffer, mournful to behold,And I, who pitied man, am thought myselfUnworthy of pity; while I render outDeep rhythms of anguish 'neath the harping handThat strikes me thus—a sight to shame your Zeus!
Chorus.Hard as thy chains and cold as all these rocksIs he, Prometheus, who withholds his heart
From joining in thy woe. I yearned beforeTo fly this sight; and, now I gaze on it,I sicken inwards.
Prometheus.To my friends, indeed,I must be a sad sight.
Chorus.And didst thou sinNo more than so?
Prometheus.I did restrain besidesMy mortals from premeditating death.
Chorus.How didst thou medicine the plague-fear of death?
Prometheus.I set blind Hopes to inhabit in their house.
Chorus.By that gift thou didst help thy mortals well.
Prometheus.I gave them also fire.
Chorus.And have they now,Those creatures of a day, the red-eyed fire?
Prometheus.They have: and shall learn by it many arts.
Chorus.And truly for such sins Zeus tortures theeAnd will remit no anguish? Is there setNo limit before thee to thine agony?
Prometheus.No other: only what seems good tohim.
Chorus.And how will it seem good? what hope remains?Seest thou not that thou hast sinned? But that thou hast sinnedIt glads me not to speak of, and grieves thee:Then let it pass from both, and seek thyselfSome outlet from distress.
Prometheus.It is in truthAn easy thing to stand aloof from painAnd lavish exhortation and adviceOn one vexed sorely by it. I have knownAll in prevision. By my choice, my choice,I freely sinned—I will confess my sin—And helping mortals, found my own despair.I did not think indeed that I should pineBeneath such pangs against such skyey rocks,Doomed to this drear hill and no neighbouringOf any life: but mourn not ye for griefsI bear to-day: hear rather, dropping downTo the plain, how other woes creep on to me,And learn the consummation of my doom.Beseech you, nymphs, beseech you, grieve for meWho now am grieving; for Grief walks the earth,And sits down at the foot of each by turns.
Chorus.We hear the deep clash of thy words,Prometheus, and obey.And I spring with a rapid foot awayFrom the rushing car and the holy air,The track of birds;And I drop to the rugged ground and thereAwait the tale of thy despair.
Oceanusenters.
Oceanus.I reach the bourn of my weary roadWhere I may see and answer thee,Prometheus, in thine agony.On the back of the quick-winged bird I glode,And I bridled him inWith the will of a god.Behold, thy sorrow aches in meConstrained by the force of kin.Nay, though that tie were all undone,For the life of none beneath the sunWould I seek a larger benisonThan I seek for thine.And thou shalt learn my words are truth,—That no fair parlance of the mouthGrows falsely out of mine.Now give me a deed to prove my faith;For no faster friend is named in breathThan I, Oceanus, am thine.Prometheus.Ha! what has brought thee? Hast thou also comeTo look upon my woe? How hast thou daredTo leave the depths called after thee, the cavesSelf-hewn and self-roofed with spontaneous rock,To visit earth, the mother of my chain?Hast come indeed to view my doom and mournThat I should sorrow thus? Gaze on, and seeHow I, the fast friend of your Zeus,—how IThe erector of the empire in his hand,Am bent beneath that hand, in this despair.Oceanus.Prometheus, I behold: and I would fainExhort thee, though already subtle enough,To a better wisdom. Titan, know thyself,And take new softness to thy manners sinceA new king rules the gods. If words like these,Harsh words and trenchant, thou wilt fling abroad,Zeus haply, though he sit so far and high,May hear thee do it, and so, this wrath of hisWhich now affects thee fiercely, shall appearA mere child's sport at vengeance. Wretched god,Rather dismiss the passion which thou hast,And seek a change from grief. Perhaps I seemTo address thee with old saws and outworn sense,—Yet such a curse, Prometheus, surely waitsOn lips that speak too proudly: thou, meantime,Art none the meeker, nor dost yield a jotTo evil circumstance, preparing stillTo swell the account of grief with other griefsThan what are borne. Beseech thee, use me thenFor counsel: do not spurn against the pricks,—Seeing that who reigns, reigns by crueltyInstead of right. And now, I go from hence,And will endeavour if a power of mineCan break thy fetters through. For thee,—be calm,And smooth thy words from passion. Knowest thou notOf perfect knowledge, thou who knowest too much,That where the tongue wags, ruin never lags?Prometheus.I gratulate thee who hast shared and daredAll things with me, except their penalty.Enough so! leave these thoughts. It cannot beThat thou shouldst moveHim.Hemaynotbe moved;Andthoubeware of sorrow on this road.Oceanus.Ay! ever wiser for another's useThan thine! the event, and not the prophecy,Attests it to me. Yet where now I rush,Thy wisdom hath no power to drag me back;Because I glory, glory, to go henceAnd win for thee deliverance from thy pangs,As a free gift from Zeus.Prometheus.Why there, again,I give thee gratulation and applause.Thou lackest no goodwill. But, as for deeds,Do nought! 'twere all done vainly; helping nought,Whatever thou wouldst do. Rather take restAnd keep thyself from evil. If I grieve,I do not therefore wish to multiplyThe griefs of others. Verily, not so!For still my brother's doom doth vex my soul,—My brother Atlas, standing in the west,Shouldering the column of the heaven and earth,A difficult burden! I have also seen,And pitied as I saw, the earth-born one,The inhabitant of old Cilician caves,The great war-monster of the hundred heads,(All taken and bowed beneath the violent Hand,)Typhon the fierce, who did resist the gods,And, hissing slaughter from his dreadful jaws,Flash out ferocious glory from his eyesAs if to storm the throne of Zeus. Whereat,The sleepless arrow of Zeus flew straight at him,The headlong bolt of thunder breathing flame,And struck him downward from his eminenceOf exultation; through the very soul,It struck him, and his strength was withered upTo ashes, thunder-blasted. Now he liesA helpless trunk supinely, at full lengthBeside the strait of ocean, spurred intoBy roots of Ætna; high upon whose topsHephæstus sits and strikes the flashing ore.From thence the rivers of fire shall burst awayHereafter, and devour with savage jawsThe equal plains of fruitful Sicily,Such passion he shall boil back in hot dartsOf an insatiate fury and sough of flame,Fallen Typhon,—howsoever struck and charredBy Zeus's bolted thunder. But for thee,Thou art not so unlearned as to needMy teaching—let thy knowledge save thyself.Iquaff the full cup of a present doom,And wait till Zeus hath quenched his will in wrath.Oceanus.Prometheus, art thou ignorant of this,That words do medicine anger?Prometheus.If the wordWith seasonable softness touch the soulAnd, where the parts are ulcerous, sear them notBy any rudeness.Oceanus.With a noble aimTo dare as nobly—is there harm inthat?Dost thou discern it? Teach me.Prometheus.I discernVain aspiration, unresultive work.Oceanus.Then suffer me to bear the brunt of this!Since it is profitable that one who is wiseShould seem not wise at all.Prometheus.And such would seemMy very crime.Oceanus.In truth thine argumentSends me back home.Prometheus.Lest any lament for meShould cast thee down to hate.Oceanus.The hate of himWho sits a new king on the absolute throne?Prometheus.Beware of him, lest thine heart grieve by him.Oceanus.Thy doom, Prometheus, be my teacher!Prometheus.Go.Depart—beware—and keep the mind thou hast.Oceanus.Thy words drive after, as I rush before.Lo! my four-footed bird sweeps smooth and wideThe flats of air with balanced pinions, gladTo bend his knee at home in the ocean-stall.
Oceanus.I reach the bourn of my weary roadWhere I may see and answer thee,Prometheus, in thine agony.On the back of the quick-winged bird I glode,And I bridled him inWith the will of a god.Behold, thy sorrow aches in meConstrained by the force of kin.Nay, though that tie were all undone,For the life of none beneath the sunWould I seek a larger benisonThan I seek for thine.And thou shalt learn my words are truth,—That no fair parlance of the mouthGrows falsely out of mine.Now give me a deed to prove my faith;For no faster friend is named in breathThan I, Oceanus, am thine.
Prometheus.Ha! what has brought thee? Hast thou also comeTo look upon my woe? How hast thou daredTo leave the depths called after thee, the cavesSelf-hewn and self-roofed with spontaneous rock,To visit earth, the mother of my chain?Hast come indeed to view my doom and mournThat I should sorrow thus? Gaze on, and seeHow I, the fast friend of your Zeus,—how IThe erector of the empire in his hand,Am bent beneath that hand, in this despair.
Oceanus.Prometheus, I behold: and I would fainExhort thee, though already subtle enough,To a better wisdom. Titan, know thyself,And take new softness to thy manners sinceA new king rules the gods. If words like these,Harsh words and trenchant, thou wilt fling abroad,Zeus haply, though he sit so far and high,May hear thee do it, and so, this wrath of hisWhich now affects thee fiercely, shall appearA mere child's sport at vengeance. Wretched god,Rather dismiss the passion which thou hast,And seek a change from grief. Perhaps I seemTo address thee with old saws and outworn sense,—Yet such a curse, Prometheus, surely waitsOn lips that speak too proudly: thou, meantime,Art none the meeker, nor dost yield a jotTo evil circumstance, preparing stillTo swell the account of grief with other griefsThan what are borne. Beseech thee, use me thenFor counsel: do not spurn against the pricks,—Seeing that who reigns, reigns by crueltyInstead of right. And now, I go from hence,And will endeavour if a power of mineCan break thy fetters through. For thee,—be calm,And smooth thy words from passion. Knowest thou notOf perfect knowledge, thou who knowest too much,That where the tongue wags, ruin never lags?
Prometheus.I gratulate thee who hast shared and daredAll things with me, except their penalty.Enough so! leave these thoughts. It cannot beThat thou shouldst moveHim.Hemaynotbe moved;Andthoubeware of sorrow on this road.
Oceanus.Ay! ever wiser for another's useThan thine! the event, and not the prophecy,Attests it to me. Yet where now I rush,Thy wisdom hath no power to drag me back;Because I glory, glory, to go henceAnd win for thee deliverance from thy pangs,As a free gift from Zeus.
Prometheus.Why there, again,I give thee gratulation and applause.Thou lackest no goodwill. But, as for deeds,Do nought! 'twere all done vainly; helping nought,Whatever thou wouldst do. Rather take restAnd keep thyself from evil. If I grieve,I do not therefore wish to multiplyThe griefs of others. Verily, not so!For still my brother's doom doth vex my soul,—My brother Atlas, standing in the west,Shouldering the column of the heaven and earth,A difficult burden! I have also seen,And pitied as I saw, the earth-born one,The inhabitant of old Cilician caves,The great war-monster of the hundred heads,(All taken and bowed beneath the violent Hand,)Typhon the fierce, who did resist the gods,And, hissing slaughter from his dreadful jaws,Flash out ferocious glory from his eyesAs if to storm the throne of Zeus. Whereat,The sleepless arrow of Zeus flew straight at him,The headlong bolt of thunder breathing flame,And struck him downward from his eminenceOf exultation; through the very soul,It struck him, and his strength was withered upTo ashes, thunder-blasted. Now he liesA helpless trunk supinely, at full lengthBeside the strait of ocean, spurred intoBy roots of Ætna; high upon whose topsHephæstus sits and strikes the flashing ore.From thence the rivers of fire shall burst awayHereafter, and devour with savage jawsThe equal plains of fruitful Sicily,Such passion he shall boil back in hot dartsOf an insatiate fury and sough of flame,Fallen Typhon,—howsoever struck and charredBy Zeus's bolted thunder. But for thee,Thou art not so unlearned as to needMy teaching—let thy knowledge save thyself.Iquaff the full cup of a present doom,And wait till Zeus hath quenched his will in wrath.
Oceanus.Prometheus, art thou ignorant of this,That words do medicine anger?
Prometheus.If the wordWith seasonable softness touch the soulAnd, where the parts are ulcerous, sear them notBy any rudeness.
Oceanus.With a noble aimTo dare as nobly—is there harm inthat?Dost thou discern it? Teach me.
Prometheus.I discernVain aspiration, unresultive work.
Oceanus.Then suffer me to bear the brunt of this!Since it is profitable that one who is wiseShould seem not wise at all.
Prometheus.And such would seemMy very crime.
Oceanus.In truth thine argumentSends me back home.
Prometheus.Lest any lament for meShould cast thee down to hate.
Oceanus.The hate of himWho sits a new king on the absolute throne?
Prometheus.Beware of him, lest thine heart grieve by him.
Oceanus.Thy doom, Prometheus, be my teacher!
Prometheus.Go.Depart—beware—and keep the mind thou hast.
Oceanus.Thy words drive after, as I rush before.Lo! my four-footed bird sweeps smooth and wideThe flats of air with balanced pinions, gladTo bend his knee at home in the ocean-stall.
[Oceanusdeparts.
Chorus, 1st Strophe.I moan thy fate, I moan for thee,Prometheus! From my eyes too tender,Drop after drop incessantlyThe tears of my heart's pity renderMy cheeks wet from their fountains free;Because that Zeus, the stern and cold,Whose law is taken from his breast,Uplifts his sceptre manifestOver the gods of old.1st Antistrophe.All the land is moaningWith a murmured plaint to-day;All the mortal nationsHaving habitationsIn the holy AsiaAre a dirge entoningFor thine honour and thy brothers',Once majestic beyond othersIn the old belief,—Now are groaning in the groaningOf thy deep-voiced grief.2nd Strophe.Mourn the maids inhabitantOf the Colchian land,Who with white, calm bosoms standIn the battle's roar:Mourn the Scythian tribes that hauntThe verge of earth, Mæotis' shore.2nd Antistrophe.Yea! Arabia's battle-crown,And dwellers in the beetling townMount Caucasus sublimely nears,—An iron squadron, thundering downWith the sharp-prowed spears.But one other before, have I seen to remainBy invincible painBound and vanquished,—one Titan! 'twas Atlas, who bearsIn a curse from the gods, by that strength of his ownWhich he evermore wears,The weight of the heaven on his shoulder alone,While he sighs up the stars;And the tides of the ocean wail bursting their bars,—Murmurs still the profound,And black Hades roars up through the chasm of the ground,And the fountains of pure-running rivers moan lowIn a pathos of woe.Prometheus.Beseech you, think not I am silent thusThrough pride or scorn. I only gnaw my heartWith meditation, seeing myself so wronged.For see—their honours to these new-made gods,What other gave but I, and dealt them outWith distribution? Ay—but here I am dumb!For here, I should repeat your knowledge to you,If I spake aught. List rather to the deedsI did for mortals; how, being fools before,I made them wise and true in aim of soul.And let me tell you—not as taunting men,But teaching you the intention of my gifts,How, first beholding, they beheld in vain,And hearing, heard not, but, like shapes in dreams,Mixed all things wildly down the tedious time,Nor knew to build a house against the sunWith wickered sides, nor any woodcraft knew,But lived, like silly ants, beneath the groundIn hollow caves unsunned. There, came to themNo steadfast sign of winter, nor of springFlower-perfumed, nor of summer full of fruit,But blindly and lawlessly they did all things,Until I taught them how the stars do riseAnd set in mystery, and devised for themNumber, the inducer of philosophies,The synthesis of Letters, and, beside,The artificer of all things, Memory,That sweet Muse-mother. I was first to yokeThe servile beasts in couples, carryingAn heirdom of man's burdens on their backs.I joined to chariots, steeds, that love the bitThey champ at—the chief pomp of golden ease.And none but I originated ships,The seaman's chariots, wandering on the brineWith linen wings. And I—oh, miserable!—Who did devise for mortals all these arts,Have no device left now to save myselfFrom the woe I suffer.Chorus.Most unseemly woeThou sufferest, and dost stagger from the senseBewildered! like a bad leech falling sickThou art faint at soul, and canst not find the drugsRequired to save thyself.Prometheus.Hearken the rest,And marvel further, what more arts and meansI did invent,—this, greatest: if a manFell sick, there was no cure, nor esculentNor chrism nor liquid, but for lack of drugsMen pined and wasted, till I showed them allThose mixtures of emollient remediesWhereby they might be rescued from disease.I fixed the various rules of mantic art,Discerned the vision from the common dream,Instructed them in vocal auguriesHard to interpret, and defined as plainThe wayside omens,—flights of crook-clawed birds,—Showed which are, by their nature, fortunate,And which not so, and what the food of each,And what the hates, affections, social needs,Of all to one another,—taught what signOf visceral lightness, coloured to a shade,May charm the genial gods, and what fair spotsCommend the lung and liver. Burning soThe limbs encased in fat, and the long chine,I led my mortals on to an art abstruse,And cleared their eyes to the image in the fire,Erst filmed in dark. Enough said now of thisFor the other helps of man hid underground,The iron and the brass, silver and gold,Can any dare affirm he found them outBefore me? none, I know! unless he chooseTo lie in his vaunt. In one word learn the whole,—That all arts came to mortals from Prometheus.Chorus.Give mortals now no inexpedient help,Neglecting thine own sorrow. I have hope stillTo see thee, breaking from the fetter here,Stand up as strong as Zeus.Prometheus.This ends not thus,The oracular fate ordains. I must be bowedBy infinite woes and pangs, to escape this chainNecessity is stronger than mine art.Chorus.Who holds the helm of that Necessity?Prometheus.The threefold Fates and the unforgetting Furies.Chorus.Is Zeus less absolute than these are?Prometheus.Yea,And therefore cannot fly what is ordained.Chorus.What is ordained for Zeus, except to beA king for ever?Prometheus.'Tis too early yetFor thee to learn it: ask no more.Chorus.PerhapsThy secret may be something holy?Prometheus.TurnTo another matter: this, it is not timeTo speak abroad, but utterly to veilIn silence. For by that same secret kept,I 'scape this chain's dishonour and its woe.Chorus, 1st Strophe.Never, oh neverMay Zeus, the all-giver,Wrestle down from his throneIn that might of his ownTo antagonize mine!Nor let me delayAs I bend on my wayToward the gods of the shrineWhere the altar is fullOf the blood of the bull,Near the tossing brineOf Ocean my father.May no sin be sped in the word that is said,But my vow be ratherConsummated,Nor evermore fail, nor evermore pine.1st Antistrophe.'Tis sweet to haveLife lengthened outWith hopes proved braveBy the very doubt,Till the spirit enfoldThose manifest joys which were foretold.But I thrill to beholdThee, victim doomed,By the countless caresAnd the drear despairsForever consumed,—And all because thou, who art fearless nowOf Zeus above,Didst overflow for mankind belowWith a free-souled, reverent love.Ah friend, behold and see!What's all the beauty of humanity?Can it be fair?What's all the strength? is it strong?And what hope can they bear,These dying livers—living one day long?Ah, seest thou not, my friend,How feeble and slowAnd like a dream, doth goThis poor blind manhood, drifted from its end?And how no mortal wranglings can confuseThe harmony of Zeus?Prometheus, I have learnt these thingsFrom the sorrow in thy face.Another song did fold its wingsUpon my lips in other days,When round the bath and round the bedThe hymeneal chant insteadI sang for thee, and smiled,—And thou didst lead, with gifts and vows,Hesione, my father's child,To be thy wedded spouse.
Chorus, 1st Strophe.I moan thy fate, I moan for thee,Prometheus! From my eyes too tender,Drop after drop incessantlyThe tears of my heart's pity renderMy cheeks wet from their fountains free;Because that Zeus, the stern and cold,Whose law is taken from his breast,Uplifts his sceptre manifestOver the gods of old.
1st Antistrophe.All the land is moaningWith a murmured plaint to-day;All the mortal nationsHaving habitationsIn the holy AsiaAre a dirge entoningFor thine honour and thy brothers',Once majestic beyond othersIn the old belief,—Now are groaning in the groaningOf thy deep-voiced grief.
2nd Strophe.Mourn the maids inhabitantOf the Colchian land,Who with white, calm bosoms standIn the battle's roar:Mourn the Scythian tribes that hauntThe verge of earth, Mæotis' shore.
2nd Antistrophe.Yea! Arabia's battle-crown,And dwellers in the beetling townMount Caucasus sublimely nears,—An iron squadron, thundering downWith the sharp-prowed spears.
But one other before, have I seen to remainBy invincible painBound and vanquished,—one Titan! 'twas Atlas, who bearsIn a curse from the gods, by that strength of his ownWhich he evermore wears,The weight of the heaven on his shoulder alone,While he sighs up the stars;And the tides of the ocean wail bursting their bars,—Murmurs still the profound,And black Hades roars up through the chasm of the ground,And the fountains of pure-running rivers moan lowIn a pathos of woe.
Prometheus.Beseech you, think not I am silent thusThrough pride or scorn. I only gnaw my heartWith meditation, seeing myself so wronged.For see—their honours to these new-made gods,What other gave but I, and dealt them outWith distribution? Ay—but here I am dumb!For here, I should repeat your knowledge to you,If I spake aught. List rather to the deedsI did for mortals; how, being fools before,I made them wise and true in aim of soul.And let me tell you—not as taunting men,But teaching you the intention of my gifts,How, first beholding, they beheld in vain,And hearing, heard not, but, like shapes in dreams,Mixed all things wildly down the tedious time,Nor knew to build a house against the sunWith wickered sides, nor any woodcraft knew,But lived, like silly ants, beneath the groundIn hollow caves unsunned. There, came to themNo steadfast sign of winter, nor of springFlower-perfumed, nor of summer full of fruit,But blindly and lawlessly they did all things,Until I taught them how the stars do riseAnd set in mystery, and devised for themNumber, the inducer of philosophies,The synthesis of Letters, and, beside,The artificer of all things, Memory,That sweet Muse-mother. I was first to yokeThe servile beasts in couples, carryingAn heirdom of man's burdens on their backs.I joined to chariots, steeds, that love the bitThey champ at—the chief pomp of golden ease.And none but I originated ships,The seaman's chariots, wandering on the brineWith linen wings. And I—oh, miserable!—Who did devise for mortals all these arts,Have no device left now to save myselfFrom the woe I suffer.
Chorus.Most unseemly woeThou sufferest, and dost stagger from the senseBewildered! like a bad leech falling sickThou art faint at soul, and canst not find the drugsRequired to save thyself.
Prometheus.Hearken the rest,And marvel further, what more arts and meansI did invent,—this, greatest: if a manFell sick, there was no cure, nor esculentNor chrism nor liquid, but for lack of drugsMen pined and wasted, till I showed them allThose mixtures of emollient remediesWhereby they might be rescued from disease.I fixed the various rules of mantic art,Discerned the vision from the common dream,Instructed them in vocal auguriesHard to interpret, and defined as plainThe wayside omens,—flights of crook-clawed birds,—Showed which are, by their nature, fortunate,And which not so, and what the food of each,And what the hates, affections, social needs,Of all to one another,—taught what signOf visceral lightness, coloured to a shade,May charm the genial gods, and what fair spotsCommend the lung and liver. Burning soThe limbs encased in fat, and the long chine,I led my mortals on to an art abstruse,And cleared their eyes to the image in the fire,Erst filmed in dark. Enough said now of thisFor the other helps of man hid underground,The iron and the brass, silver and gold,Can any dare affirm he found them outBefore me? none, I know! unless he chooseTo lie in his vaunt. In one word learn the whole,—That all arts came to mortals from Prometheus.
Chorus.Give mortals now no inexpedient help,Neglecting thine own sorrow. I have hope stillTo see thee, breaking from the fetter here,Stand up as strong as Zeus.
Prometheus.This ends not thus,The oracular fate ordains. I must be bowedBy infinite woes and pangs, to escape this chainNecessity is stronger than mine art.
Chorus.Who holds the helm of that Necessity?
Prometheus.The threefold Fates and the unforgetting Furies.
Chorus.Is Zeus less absolute than these are?
Prometheus.Yea,And therefore cannot fly what is ordained.
Chorus.What is ordained for Zeus, except to beA king for ever?
Prometheus.'Tis too early yetFor thee to learn it: ask no more.
Chorus.PerhapsThy secret may be something holy?
Prometheus.TurnTo another matter: this, it is not timeTo speak abroad, but utterly to veilIn silence. For by that same secret kept,I 'scape this chain's dishonour and its woe.
Chorus, 1st Strophe.Never, oh neverMay Zeus, the all-giver,Wrestle down from his throneIn that might of his ownTo antagonize mine!Nor let me delayAs I bend on my wayToward the gods of the shrineWhere the altar is fullOf the blood of the bull,Near the tossing brineOf Ocean my father.May no sin be sped in the word that is said,But my vow be ratherConsummated,Nor evermore fail, nor evermore pine.
1st Antistrophe.'Tis sweet to haveLife lengthened outWith hopes proved braveBy the very doubt,Till the spirit enfoldThose manifest joys which were foretold.But I thrill to beholdThee, victim doomed,By the countless caresAnd the drear despairsForever consumed,—And all because thou, who art fearless nowOf Zeus above,Didst overflow for mankind belowWith a free-souled, reverent love.Ah friend, behold and see!What's all the beauty of humanity?Can it be fair?What's all the strength? is it strong?And what hope can they bear,These dying livers—living one day long?Ah, seest thou not, my friend,How feeble and slowAnd like a dream, doth goThis poor blind manhood, drifted from its end?And how no mortal wranglings can confuseThe harmony of Zeus?
Prometheus, I have learnt these thingsFrom the sorrow in thy face.Another song did fold its wingsUpon my lips in other days,When round the bath and round the bedThe hymeneal chant insteadI sang for thee, and smiled,—And thou didst lead, with gifts and vows,Hesione, my father's child,To be thy wedded spouse.
Ioenters.