酷兔英语

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Tamed to the rein and drove in wheeled cars
The horse, of sumptuous pride the ornament.

And those sea-wanderers with the wings of cloth,
The shipman's waggons, none but I contrived.

These manifold inventions for mankind
I perfected, who, out upon't, have none-

No, not one shift-to rid me of this shame.
CHORUS

Thy sufferings have been shameful, and thy mind
Strays at a loss: like to a bad physician

Fallen sick, thou'rt out of heart: nor cans't prescribe
For thine own case the draught to make thee sound.

PROMETHEUS
But hear the sequel and the more admire

What arts, what aids I cleverly evolved.
The chiefest that, if any man fell sick,

There was no help for him, comestible,
Lotion or potion; but for lack of drugs

They dwindled quite away; until I taught them
To compounddraughts and mixtures sanative,

Wherewith they now are armed against disease.
I staked the winding path of divination

And was the first distinguisher of dreams,
The true from false; and voices ominous

Of meaning dark interpreted; and tokens
Seen when men take the road; and augury

By flight of all the greater crook-clawed birds
With nice discrimination I defined;

These by their nature fair and favourable,
Those, flattered with fair name. And of each sort

The habits I described; their mutual feuds
And friendships and the assemblages they hold.

And of the plumpness of the inward parts
What colour is acceptable to the Gods,

The well-streaked liver-lobe and gall-bladder.
Also by roasting limbs well wrapped in fat

And the long chine, I led men on the road
Of dark and riddling knowledge; and I purged

The glancing eye of fire, dim before,
And made its meaning plain. These are my works.

Then, things beneath the earth, aids hid from man,
Brass, iron, silver, gold, who dares to say

He was before me in discovering?
None, I wot well, unless he loves to babble.

And in a single word to sum the whole-
All manner of arts men from Prometheus learned.

CHORUS
Shoot not beyond the mark in succouring man

While thou thyself art comfortless: for
Am of good hope that from these bonds escaped

Thou shalt one day be mightier than Zeus.
PROMETHEUS

Fate, that brinks all things to an end, not thus
Apportioneth my lot: ten thousand pangs

Must bow, ten thousand miseries afflict me
Ere from these bonds I freedom find, for Art

Is by much weaker than Necessity.
CHORUS

Who is the pilot of Necessity?
PROMETHEUS

The Fates triform, and the unforgetting Furies.
CHORUS

So then Zeus is of lesser might than these?
PROMETHEUS

Surely he shall not shun the lot apportioned.
CHORUS

What lot for Zeus save world-without-end reign?
PROMETHEUS

Tax me no further with importunate questions.
CHORUS

O deep the mystery thou shroudest there
PROMETHEUS

Of aught but this freely thou may'st discourse;
But touching this I charge thee speak no word;

Nay, veil it utterly: for strictly kept
The secret from these bonds shall set me free.

CHORUS
May Zeus who all things swayeth

Ne'er wreak the might none stayeth
On wayward will of mine;

May I stint not nor waver
With offerings of sweet savour

And feasts of slaughtered kine;
The holy to the holy,

With frequent feet and lowly
At altar, fane and shrine,

Over the Ocean marches,
The deep that no drought parches,

Draw near to the divine.
My tongue the Gods estrange not;

My firm set purpose change not,
As wax melts in fire-shine.

Sweet is the life that lengthens,
While joyous hope still strengthens,

And glad, bright thoughts sustain;
But shuddering I behold thee,

The sorrows that enfold thee
And all thine endless pain.

For Zeus thou hast despised;
Thy fearless heart misprized

All that his vengeance can,
Thy wayward will obeying,

Excess of honour paying,
Prometheus, unto man.

And, oh, beloved, for this graceless grace
What thanks? What prowess for thy bold essay

Shall champion thee from men of mortal race,
The petty insects of a passing day?

Saw'st not how puny is the strength they spend?
With few, faint steps walking as dreams and blind,

Nor can the utmost of their lore transcend
The harmony of the Eternal Mind.

These things I learnedseeing thy glory dimmed,
Prometheus. Ah, not thus on me was shed

The rapture of sweet music, when I hymned
The marriage-song round bath and bridal bed

At thine espousals, and of thy blood-kin,
A bride thou chosest, wooing her to thee

With all good gifts that may a Goddess win,
Thy father's child, divine Hesione.

Enter IO, crazed and horned.
IO

What land is this? What people here abide?
And who is he,

The prisoner of this windswept mountain-side?
Speak, speak to me;

Tell me, poor caitiff, how did'st thou transgress,
Thus buffeted?

Whither am I, half-dead with weariness,
For-wandered?

Ha! Ha!
Again the prick, the stab of gadfly-sting!

O earth, earth, hide,
The hollow shape-Argus-that evil thing-

The hundred-eyed-
Earth-born-herdsman! I see him yet; he stalks

With stealthy pace
And crafty watch not all my poor wit baulks!

From the deep place
Of earth that hath his bones he breaketh bound,

And from the pale
Of Death, the Underworld, a hell-sent hound

On the blood-trail,
Fasting and faint he drives me on before,

With spectral hand,
Along the windings of the wasteful shore,

The salt sea-sand!
List! List! the pipe! how drowzily it shrills!

A cricket-cry!
See! See! the wax-webbed reeds! Oh, to these ills

Ye Gods on high,
Ye blessed Gods, what bourne? O wandering feet

When will ye rest?
O Cronian child, wherein by aught unmeet

Have I transgressed
To be yoke-fellow with Calamity?

My mind unstrung,
A crack-brained lack-wit, frantic mad am I,

By gad-fly stung,
Thy scourge, that tarres me on with buzzing wingl

Plunge me in fire,
Hide me in earth, to deep-sea monsters fling,

But my desire-
Kneeling I pray-grudge not to grant, O King!

Too long a race
Stripped for the course have I run to and fro;

And still I chase
The vanishing goal, the end of all my woe;

Enough have I mourned!
Hear'st thou the lowing of the maid cow-horned?

PROMETHEUS
How should I hear thee not? Thou art the child

Of Inachus, dazed with the dizzying fly.
The heart of Zeus thou hast made hot with love

And Hera's curse even as a runner stripped
Pursues thee ever on thine endless round.

IO
How dost thou know my father's name? Impart

To one like thee
A poor, distressful creature, who thou art.

Sorrow with me,
Sorrowful one! Tell me, whose voice proclaims

Things true and sad,
Naming by all their old, unhappy names,

What drove me mad-
Sick! Sick! ye Gods, with suffering ye have sent,

That clings and clings;
Wasting my lamp of life till it be spent!

Crazed with your stings!
Famished I come with trampling and with leaping,

Torment and shame,
To Hera's cruel wrath, her craft unsleeping,

Captive and tame
Of all wights woe-begone and fortune-crossed,

Oh, in the storm
Of the world's sorrow is there one so lost?

Speak, godlike form,
And be in this dark world my oracle I

Can'st thou not sift
The things to come? Hast thou no art to tell

What subtle shift,


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