酷兔英语

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Or sound of charming song shall make me well?

Hide naught of ill
But-if indeed thou knowest-prophesy-

In words that thrill
Clear-toned through air-what such a wretch as

Must yet abide-
The lost, lost maid that roams earth's kingdoms wide?

PROMETHEUS
What thou wouldst learn I will make clear to thee,

Not weaving subtleties, but simple sooth
Unfolding as the mouth should speak to friends.

I am Prometheus, giver of fire to mortals.
IO

Oh universal succour of mankind,
Sorrowful Prometheus, why art thou punished thus?

PROMETHEUS
I have but now ceased mourning for my griefs.

IO
Wilt thou not grant me then so small a boon?

PROMETHEUS
What is it thou dost ask? Thou shalt know all.

IO
Declare to me who chained thee in this gorge.

PROMETHEUS
The hest of Zeus, but 'twas Hephaestus' hand.

IO
But what transgression dost thou expiate?

PROMETHEUS
Let this suffice thee: thou shalt know no more.

IO
Nay, but the end of my long wandering

When shall it be? This too thou must declare.
PROMETHEUS

That it is better for thee not to know.
IO

Oh hide not from me what I have to suffer!
PROMETHEUS

Poor child! Poor child! I do not grudge the gift.
IO

Why then, art thou so slow to tell me all?
PROMETHEUS

It is not from unkindness; but I fear
'Twill break thy heart.

IO
Take thou no thought for me

Where thinking thwarteth heart's desire!
PROMETHEUS

So keen
To know thy sorrows! List I and thou shalt learn.

CHORUS
Not till thou hast indulged a wish of mine.

First let us hear the story of her grief
And she herself shall tell the woeful tale.

After, thy wisdom shall impart to her
The conflict yet to come.

PROMETHEUS
So be it, then.

And, Io, thus much courtesy thou owest
These maidens being thine own father's kin.

For with a moving story of our woes
To win a tear from weeping auditors

In nought demeans the teller.
IO

I know not
How fitly to refuse; and at your wish

All ye desire to know I will in plain,
Round terms set forth. And yet the telling of it

Harrows my soul; this winter's tale of wrong,
Of angry Gods and brute deformity,

And how and why on me these horrors swooped.
Always there were dreams visiting by night

The woman's chambers where I slept; and they
With flattering words admonished and cajoled me,

Saying, "O lucky one, so long a maid?
And what a match for thee if thou would'st wed

Why, pretty, here is Zeus as hot as hot-
Love-sick-to have thee! Such a bolt as thou

Hast shot clean through his heart And he won't rest
Till Cypris help him win thee! Lift not then,

My daughter, a proud foot to spurn the bed
Of Zeus: but get thee gone to meadow deep

By Lerna's marsh, where are thy father's flocks
And cattle-folds, that on the eye of Zeus

May fall the balm that shall assuage desire."
Such dreams oppressed me, troubling all my nights,

Woe's me! till I plucked courage up to tell
My father of these fears that walked in darkness.

And many times to Pytho and Dodona
He sent his sacred missioners, to inquire

How, or by deed or word, he might conform
To the high will and pleasure of the Gods.

And they returned with slippery oracles,
Nought plain, but all to baffle and perplex-

And then at last to Inachus there raught
A saying that flashed clear; the drift, that

Must be put out from home and country, forced
To be a wanderer at the ends of the earth,

A thing devote and dedicate; and if
I would not, there should fall a thunderbolt

From Zeus, with blinding flash, and utterly
Destroy my race. So spake the oracle

Of Loxias. In sorrow he obeyed,
And from beneath his roof drove forth his child

Grieving as he grieved, and from house and home
Bolted and barred me out. But the high hand

Of Zeus bear hardly on the rein of fate.
And, instantly-even in a moment-mind

And body suffered strange distortion. Horned
Even as ye see me now, and with sharp bite

Of gadfly pricked, with high-flung skip, stark-mad,
I bounded, galloping headlong on, until

I came to the sweet and of the stream
Kerchneian, hard by Lerna's spring. And thither

Argus, the giant herdsman, fierce and fell
As a strong wine unmixed, with hateful cast

Of all his cunning eyes upon the trail,
Gave chase and tracked me down. And there he perished

By violent and sudden doom surprised.
But I with darting sting-the scorpion whip

Of angry Gods-am lashed from land to land.
Thou hast my story, and, if thou can'st tell

What I have still to suffer, speak; but do not,
Moved by compassion, with a lying tale

Warm my cold heart; no sickness of the soul
Is half so shameful as composed falsehoods.

CHORUS
Off! lost one! off! Horror, I cry!

Horror and misery
Was this the traveller's tale I craved to hear?

Oh, that mine eyes should see
A sight so ill to look upon! Ah me!

Sorrow, defilement, haunting fear,
Fan my blood cold,

Stabbed with a two-edged sting!
O Fate, Fate, Fate, tremblingly I behold

The plight of Io, thine apportioning!
PROMETHEUS

Thou dost lament too soon, and art as one
All fear. Refrain thyself till thou hast heard

What's yet to be.
CHORUS

Speak and be our instructor:
There is a kind of balm to the sick soul

In certain knowledge of the grief to come.
PROMETHEUS

Your former wish I lightly granted ye:
And ye have heard, even as ye desired,

From this maid's lips the story of her sorrow.
Now hear the sequel, the ensuing woes

The damsel must endure from Hera's hate.
And thou, O seed of Inachaean loins,

Weigh well my words, that thou may'st understand
Thy journey's end. First towards the rising sun

Turn hence, and traverse fields that ne'er felt plough
Until thou reach the country of the Scyths,

A race of wanderers handling the long-bow
That shoots afar, and having their habitations

Under the open sky in wattled cotes
That move on wheels. Go not thou nigh to them,

But ever within sound of the breaking waver,
Pass through their land. And on the left of the

The Chalybes, workers in iron, dwell.
Beware of them, for they are savages,

Who suffer not a stranger to come near.
And thou shalt reach the river Hybristes,

Well named. Cross not, for it is ill to cross,
Until thou come even unto Caucasus,

Highest of mountains, where the foaming river
Blows all its volume from the summit ridge

That o'ertops all. And that star-neighboured ridge
Thy feet must climb; and, following the road

That runneth south, thou presently shall reach
The Amazonian hosts that loathe the male,

And shall one day remove from thence and found
Themiscyra hard by Thermodon's stream,

Where on the craggy Salmadessian coast
Waves gnash their teeth, the maw of mariners

And step-mother of ships. And they shall lead the
Upon thy way, and with a right good will.

Then shalt thou come to the Cimmerian Isthmus,
Even at the pass and portals of the sea,

And leaving it behind thee, stout of heart,
Cross o'er the channel of Maeotis' lake.

For ever famous among men shall be
The story of thy crossing, and the strait

Be called by a new name, the Bosporus,
In memory of thee. Then having left

Europa's soil behind thee thou shalt come
To the main land of Asia. What think ye?

Is not the only ruler of the Gods
A complete tyrant, violent to all,

Respecting none? First, being himself a God,
He burneth to enjoy a mortal maid,

And then torments her with these wanderings.
A sorry suitor for thy love, poor girl,

A bitter wooing. Yet having heard so much
Thou art not even in the overture

And prelude of the song.
IO

Alas! Oh! Oh!
PROMETHEUS



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