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,