Of these, enough is said. The other boons, Stored in the womb of earth, in aid of men- Copper and iron, silver, gold withal- Who dares affirm he found them ere I found?

None-well I know-save who would babble lies!

Know thou, in compa.s.s of a single phrase- All arts, for mortals' use, Prometheus gave.

CHORUS

Nay, aid not mortal men beyond their due, Holding too light a reckoning of thyself And of thine own distress: good hope have I To see thee once again from fetters free And matched with Zeus in parity of power.

PROMETHEUS

Not yet nor thus hath Fate ordained the end- Not until age-long pains and countless woes Have bent and bowed me, shall my shackles fall; Art strives too feebly against destiny.

CHORUS

But what hand rules the helm of destiny?

PROMETHEUS

The triform Fates, and Furies unforgiving.

CHORUS

Then is the power of Zeus more weak than theirs?

PROMETHEUS

He may not shun the fate ordained for him.

CHORUS

What is ordained for him, save endless rule?

PROMETHEUS

Seek not for answer: this thou may'st not learn.

CHORUS

Surely thy silence hides some solemn thing.

PROMETHEUS

Think on some other theme: 'tis not the hour, This secret to unveil; in deepest dark Be it concealed: by guarding it shall I Escape at last from bonds, and scorn, and pain.

CHORUS

O never may my weak and faint desire Strive against G.o.d most high- Never be slack in service, never tire Of sacred loyalty; Nor fail to wend unto the altar-side, Where with the blood of kine Steams up the offering, by the quenchless tide Of Ocean, Sire divine!

Be this within my heart, indelible- Offend not with thy tongue!

Sweet, sweet it is, in cheering hopes to dwell, Immortal, ever young, In maiden gladness fostering evermore A soft content of soul!

But ah, I shudder at thine anguish sore- Thy doom thro' years that roll!

Thou could'st not cower to Zeus: a love too great Thou unto man hast given- Too high of heart thou wert-ah, thankless fate!

What aid, 'gainst wrath of Heaven, Could mortal man afford? in vain thy gift To things so powerless!

Could'st thou not see? they are as dreams that drift; Their strength is feebleness A purblind race, in hopeless fetters bound, They have no craft or skill, That could o'erreach the ordinance profound of the eternal will.

Alas, Prometheus! on thy woe condign I looked, and learned this lore; And a new strain floats to these lips of mine- Not the glad song of yore, When by the l.u.s.tral wave I sang to see My sister made thy bride, Decked with thy gifts, thy loved Hesione, And clasped unto thy side.

[Enter IO, horned like a cow.]

IO

Alack! what land, what folk are here?

Whom see I clenched in rocky fetters drear Unto the stormy crag?

for what thing done Dost thou in agony atone?

Ah, tell me whither, well-a-day!

My feet have roamed their weary way?

Ah, but it maddens, the sting!

it burns in my piteous side!

Ah, but the vision, the spectre, the earth-born, the myriad-eyed!

Avoid thee! Earth, hide him, thine offspring! he cometh-O aspect of ill!

Ghostly, and crafty of face, and dead, but pursuing me still!

Ah, woe upon me, woe ineffable!

He steals upon my track, a hound of h.e.l.l- Where'er I stray, along the sands and brine, Weary and foodless, come his creeping eyne!

And ah, the ghostly sound- The wax-stopped reed-flute's weird and drowsy drone!

Alack my wandering woes, that round and round Lead me in many mazes, lost, foredone!

O child of Cronos! for what deed of wrong Am I enthralled by thee in penance long?

Why by the stinging bruise, the thing of fear, Dost thou torment me, heart and brain?

Nay, give me rather to the flames that sear, Or to some hidden grave, Or to the rending jaws, the monsters of the main!

Nor grudge the boon for which I crave, O king!

Enough, enough of weary wandering, Pangs from which none can save!

Hearken! in pity hold Io, the ox-horned maid, thy love of old!

PROMETHEUS

Hear Zeus or not, I hear and know thee well, Daughter of Inachus; I know thee driven, Stung by the gadfly, mazed with agony.

Ay, thou art she whose beauty fired the breast Of Zeus with pa.s.sion; she whom Hera's hate Now hara.s.ses o'er leagues and leagues of land.

IO

Alack, thou namest Inachus my sire!

Wottest thou of him? how, from lips of pain, Comes to my woeful ears truth's very strain?

How knowest thou the curse, the burning fire The G.o.d-sent, piercing pest that stings and clings?

Ah me! in frenzied, foodless wanderings. .h.i.ther I come, and on me from on high Lies Hera's angry craft! Ah, men unblest!

Not one there is, not one, that is unblest as I.

But thou-tell me the rest!

Utter the rede of woes to come for me; Utter the aid, the cure, if aid or cure there be!

PROMETHEUS

Lo, clearly will I show forth all thy quest- Not in dark speech, but with such simple phrase As doth befit the utterance of a friend.

I am Prometheus, who gave fire to men.

IO

O daring, proven champion of man's race, What sin, Prometheus, dost thou thus atone?

PROMETHEUS

One moment since, I told my woes and ceased.

IO

Then should I plead my suit to thee in vain?