Aeschylus

A LYRICO-DRAMATIC SPECTACLE

??se d? ????t?p?d?s? ??????a p???????????

?es??? ???a????s?.

Hesiod.

Neither to change, nor flatter, nor repent.

Shelley.

PERSONS

Might and Force, Ministers of Jove.

Hephaesthus or Vulcan, the God of Fire.

Prometheus, Son of Iapetus, a Titan.

Chorus of Oceanides.

Oceanus.

Io, Daughter of Inachus, King of Argos.

Hermes, Messenger of the Gods.

Scene—A Rocky Desert in European Scythia.

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

In the mythology of the ancient Greeks, as of many other nations, we find the earlier periods characterised by a series of terrible mundane struggles—wars in Heaven and wars on Earth—which serve as an introduction to, and a preparation for the more regularly ordered and more permanent dynasty that ultimately sways the sceptre of Olympus. In the theological poem of Hesiod, as in the prose narration of Apollodorus, Heaven and Earth are represented as the rulers of the first celestial dynasty; their offspring, called Titans, in the person of one of their number, Kronos, by a violent act of dethronement, forms a second dynasty; while he, in his turn, after a no less violent struggle, gives place to a third sceptre—viz., that of Jove—who, in the faith of the orthodox Athenian, was the supreme ruler of the world of gods, and men, now, after many throes and struggles, arrived, at its normal state, not henceforward to be disturbed. The general character which this succession of dynasties exhibits, is that of order arising out of confusion, peace out of war, and wisely-reasoned plan triumphing over brute force—

“Scimus ut impios

Titanas immanemque turmam

Fulmine sustulerit caduco,

Qui terram inertem, qui mare temperat

Ventosum, et urbes, regnaque tristia,

Divosque, mortalesque turbas,

Imperio regit unus aequo.”

This representation of the philosophic lyrist of a late age is in perfect harmony with the epithets ?t??e?? and ?t??ta given to Jove by the earliest Greek poets, and with the allegory by which ??t??, or Counsel personified, is represented as one of the wives of the Supreme Ruler. It is worthy of notice also, in the same view, that the legends about the Titans, Giants, and other Earth-born monsters, warring with Jove, are often attached to districts—such as Campania and Cilicia—in which the signs of early volcanic action are, even at the present day, unmistakeable; plainly indicating that such mythic narrations were only exhibitions, in the historical form (according to the early style), of great elemental convulsions and physical changes taking place on the face of the Earth.

Among the persons most prominent in that primeval age of gigantic “world-strife” (if we may be allowed to Anglicize a German compound) stands Prometheus; not, however, like his Titan brethren in character, though identical with them in descent, and in the position which he finally assumed towards the god in whose hands the supreme government of the world eventually remained. Prometheus, as his name denotes, strives against the high authority of Jove, not by that “reasonless force which falls by its own weight,” but by intelligence and cunning. Viewed in this character, he was the natural ally, not of the serpent-footed Giants and the flame-breathing Typhon, but of the All-wise Olympian; and such, indeed, Æschylus, in the present piece (v. 219, p. 189 below), represents as having been his original position: but, as “before honor is humility, and before pride comes a fall,” so the son of Iapetus, like Tantalus, and so many others in the profoundly moral mythology of the Hellenes, found himself exalted into the fellowship of the blissful gods, only that he might be precipitated into a more terrible depth of misery. He was wise; nay, benevolent (??a??ta, Hesiod. Theog., 614); his delight was to exercise his high intellect in the elevation of the infant human race, sunk in a state of almost brutish stupidity; he stood forward as an incarnation of that practical intellect (so triumphant in these latter days), which subjects the rude elements of nature, for human use and convenience, to mechanical calculation and control; but, with all this, he was proud, he was haughty; his Titanic strength and his curious intellect he used, to shake himself free from all dependence on the highest power, which the constitution of things had ordered should stand as the strong key-stone of the whole. Not to ruin mankind, but to save them, he sinned the sin of Lucifer; he would make himself God; and, as in the eye of a court-martial, the subaltern who usurps the functions of the commander-in-chief stands not acquitted, because he alleges that he acted with a benevolent intent, or for the public good, so, in the faith of an orthodox Athenian, Prometheus was not the less worthy of his airy chains because he defied the will of Jove in the championship of mankind. Neither man nor god may question or impugn the divine decree of supreme Jove, on grounds of expediency or propriety. With the will of Zeus, as with the laws of nature, there is no arguing. In this relationship the first, second, and third point of duty is submission. Such is the doctrine of modern Christian theology; such, also, was the doctrine of the old Hellenic theologer, Hesiod—

Vain the wit is of the wisest to deceive the mind of Jove;

Not Prometheus, son of Iapetus, though his heart was moved by love,

Might escape the heavy anger of the god that rules the skies,

But, despite of all his cunning, with a strong chain bound he lies.

Theog. 613.

Those who are acquainted with the philological learning on this subject, which I have discussed elsewhere,^f1 or even with the common ideas on the legend of Prometheus brought into circulation by the productions of modern poetry, are aware that the view just given of the moral significance of this weighty old myth, is not the current one, and that we are rather accustomed to look upon Prometheus as a sort of proto-martyr of liberty, bearing up with the strength of a god against the punishment unjustly inflicted on him by the celestial usurper and tyrant, Jove. But Hesiod, we have just seen, looks on the matter with very different eyes; and the unquestioned supremacy of Jove that stands out everywhere, from the otherwise not always consistent theological system of the Iliad, leads plainly to the conclusion that Homer also, had he had occasion to introduce this legend, would have handled it in a spirit altogether different from our Shelleys and Byrons, and other earth-shaking and heaven-scaling poets of the modern revolutionary school. As little is there any ground (see the life of Æschylus) for the supposition that our tragedian has taken up different theological ground in reference to this myth, from that which belonged to the two great expositors of the popular creed; not to mention the staring absurdity of the idea, that a grave tragic poet in a serious composition, at a public religious festival, should have dared, or daring, should have been allowed, to hold up their supreme deity to a nation of freemen in the character of a cruel and unjust tyrant. Thrown back, therefore, on the original Hesiodic conception of the myth, we are led to observe that the imperfect and unsatisfactory ideas so current on this subject in modern times, have taken their rise from the practice (so natural under the circumstances) of looking on the extant piece as a complete whole, whereas nothing is more certain than that it is only a fragment; the second part, in fact, of a dramatic trilogy similar in conception and execution to that, of which we have endeavoured to present a reflection in the preceding pages. Potter, in his translation published a hundred years ago, prefaced his version of the present piece with the well-known fact, that Æschylus wrote three plays on this subject—the Fire-bringing Prometheus, the Prometheus Bound, and the Prometheus Unbound—this intimation was not sufficient to prevent his readers, with the usual hastiness of human logic, from judging of what they saw, as if it were an organic whole, containing within itself every element necessary for forming a true conception of its character. The consequence was, that the hero of the piece, who, of course, tells his own story in the most favourable way for himself, was considered as having passed a final judgment on the case; as the friend and representative of man, he naturally seemed entitled to the gratitude of men; while Jove, being now only an idol in the world (perhaps a devil), and having no advocate in the heart of the modern reader, was made to stand—on the representation of the same Prometheus—as the type of heartless tyranny, and the impersonation of absolute power combined with absolute selfishness. This is Shelley’s view; but that such was not the view of Æschylus we may be assured, both from the consideration already mentioned, and from the poet’s method of reconciling apparently incompatible claims of opposite celestial powers, so curiously exhibited in the Eumenides. In the trilogy of the preceding pages, Orestes stands in a situation, so far as the development of the plot is concerned, precisely analogous to that of Prometheus in the present piece. His conduct, as submitted to the moral judgment of the spectator, produces the same conflict of contrary emotions of which his own bosom is the victim. With the one-half of our heart we approve of his avenging his father’s murder; with the other half, we plead that a son shall, on no ground of offence, allow his indignation to proceed so far as to imbrue his hands in the blood of her whose milk he had sucked. This contrariety of emotions excited in the second piece of the trilogy, produces the tragic knot, which it is the business of the poet to unloose, by the worthy interposition of a god. “Nec Deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus.”—Exactly so in the second piece of the Promethean trilogy, our moral judgment praises the benevolence of the god, who, to elevate our human race from brutish degradation, dared to defy omnipotent power, and to deceive the wisdom of the omniscient; while, at the same time, we cannot but condemn the spirit of unreined independence that would shake itself free from the great centre of moral cohesion, and the reckless boldness that casts reproach in, the face of the great Ruler of the universe. In this state of suspense, represented by the doubtful attitude of the Chorus^f2 through the whole play, the present fragment of the great Æschylean Promethiad leaves the well-instructed modern reader; and it admits not, in my view, of a doubt that, in the concluding piece, it remained for the poet to effect a reconciliation between the contending interests and clashing emotions, somewhat after the fashion of which we possess a specimen in the Eumenides. By what agency of individuals or of arguments this was done, it is hopeless now to inquire; the fragmentary notices that remain are too meagre to justify a scientific restoration of the lost drama; they who wish to see what erudite imagination can do in this direction may consult Welcker and Schoemann—Welcker, in the shape of prose dissertation in his Trilogie, p. 28; and Schoemann, in the shape of a poetical restoration of the lost poem, in the Appendix to his very valuable edition of this play. About one thing only can we be certain, that, in the ultimate settlement of disputed claims, neither will Prometheus, on the one hand, be degraded from the high position on which the poet has planted him as a sort of umpire between gods and men, nor will Jove yield one whit of his supreme right to exact the bitterest penalties from man or god who presumes to act independently of, and even in opposition to his will. The tragic poet will duly exercise his grand function of keeping the powers of the celestial world—as he does the contending emotions of the human mind—in due equipoise and subordination.^f3

The plot of the Prometheus Unbound is the simplest possible, being not so much the dramatic progression of a course of events, as a single dramatic situation presented through the whole piece under different aspects. The theft of fire from Heaven, or (as the notice of Cicero seems to indicate) from the Lemnian volcano of Mosychlos,^f4 having been perpetrated in the previous piece, Might and Force, two allegorical personages, the ministers of Jove’s vengeance, are now introduced, along with Hephaestus, the forger of celestial chains, nailing the benevolent offender to a cold craggy rock in the wastes of European Scythia. In this condition when, after a long silence, he at length gives vent to his complaint, certain kindred divine persons—first, the Oceanides, or daughters of Ocean, and then their hoary sire himself, are brought on the scene, with words of solace and friendly exhortation to the sufferer.^f5 When all the arguments that these parties have to advance are exhausted in vain, another mythic personage, of a different character, and for a different purpose, appears. This is Io, the daughter of Inachus, the primeval king of Argos, who, having enjoyed the unblissful distinction of stirring the heart of Jove with love, is, by the jealous wrath of Hera, transmuted into the likeness of a cow^f6 and sent wandering to the ends of the Earth, fretted into restless distraction by the stings of a malignant insect. This character serves a threefold purpose. First, as a sufferer, tracing the origin of all her misery from Jove, she both sympathizes strongly with Prometheus, and exhibits the character of Jove in another unfavourable aspect; secondly, with her wild maniac cries and reinless fits of distraction, she presents a fine contrast to the calm self-possession with which the stout-hearted Titan endures the penalty of his pride; and, in the third place, as the progenitrix of the Argive Hercules, the destined instrument of the delivery of Prometheus, she connects the middle with the concluding piece of the trilogy. Last of all, when this strange apparition has vanished, appears on the scene the great Olympian negotiator, Hermes; who, with the eloquence peculiar to himself, and the threatened terrors of his supreme master, endeavours to break the pride and to bend the will of the lofty-minded offender. In vain. The threatened terrors of the Thunderer now suddenly start into reality; and, amid the roar of contending elements, the pealing Heaven and the quaking Earth, the Jove-defying son of Iapetus descends into Hell.

The superhuman grandeur and high tragic sublimity which belongs to the very conception of this subject, has suffered nothing in respect of treatment from the genius of the bard who dared to handle it. The Prometheus Bound, though inferior in point of lyric richness and variety to the Agamemnon, and though somewhat overloaded with narrative in one place, is nevertheless felt throughout to be one of the most powerful productions of one of the most powerful minds that the history of literature knows. No work of a similar lofty character certainly has ever been so extensively popular. The Prometheus Unbound of Shelley, and Lord Byron’s Manfred, bear ample witness, of which we may well be proud, to the relationship which exists between the severe Melpomene of ancient Greece, and the lofty British Muse.

PROMETHEUS BOUND

Enter Might and Force, leading in Prometheus; Hephaestus, with chains.

Might.

At length the utmost bound of Earth we’ve reached,

This Scythian soil, this wild untrodden waste.ⁿ¹

Hephaestus now Jove’s high behests demand

Thy care; to these steep cliffy rocks bind down

With close-linked chains of during adamant

This daring wretch.ⁿ² For he the bright-rayed fire,

Mother of arts, flower of thy potency,

Filched from the gods, and gave to mortals. Here,

Just guerdon of his sin shall find him; here

Let his pride learn to bow to Jove supreme,

And love men well, but love them not too much.

Hephaesthus.

Ye twain, rude Might and Force, have done your work

To the perfect end; but I—my heart shrinks back

From the harsh task to nail a kindred godⁿ³

To this storm-battered crag. Yet dare I must.

Where Jove commands, whoso neglects rebels,

And pays the traitor’s fine. High-counselled son

Of right-decreeing Themis,ⁿ⁴ I force myself

No less than thee, when to this friendless rock

With iron bonds I chain thee, where nor shape

Nor voice of wandering mortal shall relieve

Thy lonely watch; but the fierce-burning sun

Shall parch and bleach thy fresh complexion. Thou,

When motley-mantled Night^f7 hath hid the day,

Shalt greet the darkness, with how short a joy!

For the morn’s sun the nightly dew shall scatter,

And thou be pierced again with the same pricks

Of endless woe—and saviour shall be none.ⁿ⁵

Such fruits thy forward love to men hath wrought thee.

Thyself a god, the wrath of gods to thee

Seemed little, and to men thou didst dispense

Forbidden gifts. For this thou shalt keep watch

On this delightless rock, fixed and erect,

With lid unsleeping, and with knee unbent.

Alas! what groans and wails shalt thou pour forth,

Fruitless. Jove is not weak that he should bend;ⁿ⁶

For young authority must ever be

Harsh and severe.

Might.

Enough of words and tears.

This god, whom all the gods detest, wilt thou

Not hate, thou, whom his impious larceny

Did chiefly injure?

Hephaesthus.

But, my friend, my kinsman—

Might.

True, that respect; but the dread father’s word

Respect much more. Jove’s word respect and fear.

Hephaesthus.

Harsh is thy nature, and thy heart is full

Of pitiless daring.

Might.

Tears were wasted here,

And labour lost is all concern for him.

Hephaesthus.

O thrice-cursed trade, that e’er my hand should use it!

Might.

Curse not thy craft; the cunning of thy hand

Makes not his woes; he made them for himself.

Hephaesthus.

Would that some other hand had drawn the lot

To do this deed!

Might.

All things may be, but this

To dictate to the gods.ⁿ⁷ There’s one that’s free,

One only; Jove.

Hephaesthus.

I know it, and am dumb.

Might.

Then gird thee to the work, chain down the culprit,

Lest Jove thy laggard zeal behold, and blame.

Hephaesthus.

The irons here are ready.

Might.

Take them, and strike

Stout blows with the hammer; nail him to the rock.

Hephaesthus.

The work speeds well, and lingers not.

Might.

Strike! strike!

With ring, and clamp, and wedge make sure the work.

He hath a subtle wit will find itself

A way where way is none.

Hephaesthus.

This arm is fast.

Might.

Then clasp this other. Let the sophist know,

Against great Jove how dull a thing is wit.

Hephaesthus.

None but the victim can reprove my zeal.

Might.

Now take this adamantine bolt, and force

Its point resistless through his rebel breast.

Hephaesthus.

Alas! alas! Prometheus, but I pity thee!

Might.

Dost lag again, and for Jove’s enemies weep

Fond tears? Beware thou have no cause to weep

Tears for thyself.

Hephaesthus.

Thou see’st no sightly sight

For eyes to look on.

Might.

I behold a sower

Reaping what thing he sowed. But take these thongs,

And bind his sides withal.

Hephaesthus.

I must! I must!

Nor needs thy urging.

Might.

Nay, but I will urge,

Command, and bellow in thine ear! Proceed,

Lower—yet lower—and with these iron rings

Enclasp his legs.

Hephaesthus.

’Tis done, and quickly done.

Might.

Now pierce his feet through with these nails. Strike hard!

There’s one will sternly prove thy work, and thee.

Hephaesthus.

Harsh is thy tongue, and, like thy nature, hard.

Might.

Art thou a weakling, do not therefore blame

The firm harsh-fronted will that suits my office.

Hephaesthus.

Let us away. He’s fettered limb and thew.

Might.

There lie, and feed thy pride on this bare rock,

Filching gods’ gifts for mortal men. What man

Shall free thee from these woes? Thou hast been called

In vain the Provident:ⁿ⁸ had thy soul possessed

The virtue of thy name, thou hadst foreseen

These cunning toils, and hadst unwound thee from them.

[Exeunt all, except Prometheus, who is left chained.

Prometheus.ⁿ⁹

O divine ether, and swift-winged winds,

And river-fountains, and of ocean waves

The multitudinous laughter,ⁿ¹⁰ and thou Earth,

Boon mother of us all, and thou bright round

Of the all-seeing Sun, you I invoke!

Behold what ignominy of causeless wrongs

I suffer from the gods, myself a god.

See what piercing pains shall goad me

Through long ages myriad-numbered!

With such wrongful chains hath bound me

This new leader of the gods.

Ah me! present woes and future

I bemoan. O! when, O! when

Shall the just redemption dawn?

Yet why thus prate? I know what ills await me.

No unexpected torture can surprise

My soul prophetic; and with quiet mind

We all must bear our portioned fate, nor idly

Court battle with a strong necessity.

Alas! alas! ’tis hard to speak to the winds;

Still harder to be dumb! my well-deservings

To mortal men are all the offence that bowed me

Beneath this yoke. The secret fount of fire

I sought, and found, and in a reed concealed it;ⁿ¹¹

Whence arts have sprung to man, and life hath drawn

Rich store of comforts. For such deed I suffer

These bonds, in the broad eye of gracious day,

Here crucified. Ah me! ah me! who comes?ⁿ¹²

What sound, what viewless breath, thus taints the air,

God sent, or mortal, or of mingled kind?

What errant traveller ill-sped comes to view

This naked ridge of extreme Earth, and me?

Whoe’er thou art, a hapless god thou see’st

Nailed to this crag; the foe of Jove thou seest.

Him thou see’st, whom all the Immortals

Whoso tread the Olympian threshold,

Name with hatred; thou beholdest

Man’s best friend, and, therefore, hated

For excess of love.

Hark, again! I hear the whirring

As of winged birds approaching;

With the light strokes of their pinions

Ether pipes ill-boding whispers!—

Alas! alas! that I should fear

Each breath that nears me.

[The Oceanides approach, borne through the air in a winged car.

STROPHE I.
Chorus.

Fear nothing; for a friendly band approaches;

Fleet rivalry of wings

Oar’d us to this far height, with hard consent

Wrung from our careful sire

The winds swift-sweeping bore me: for I heard

The harsh hammer’s note deep deep in ocean caves,

And, throwing virgin shame aside, unshod

The winged car I mounted.

Prometheus.

Ah! ah!

Daughters of prolific Tethys,ⁿ¹³

And of ancient father Ocean,

With his sleepless current whirling

Round the firm ball of the globe.

Look! with rueful eyes behold me

Nailed by adamantine rivets,

Keeping weary watch unenvied

On this tempest-rifted rock!

ANTISTROPHE I.
Chorus.

I look, Prometheus; and a tearful cloud

My woeful sight bedims,

To see thy goodliest form with insult chained,

In adamantine bonds,

To this bare crag, where pinching airs shall blast thee

New gods now hold the helm of Heaven; new laws

Mark Jove’s unrighteous rule; the giant trace

Of Titan times hath vanished.ⁿ¹⁴

Prometheus.

Deep in death-receiving Hades

Had he bound me, had he whelmed me

In Tartarean pit, unfathomed,

Fettered with unyielding bonds!

Then nor god nor man had feasted

Eyes of triumph on my wrongs,

Nor I, thus swung in middle ether,^f8

Moved the laughter of my foes.

STROPHE II.
Chorus.

Which of the gods hath heart so hard

To mock thy woes? Who will withhold

The fellow-feeling and the tear,

Save only Jove. But he doth nurse

Strong wrath within his stubborn breast,

And holds all Heaven in awe.

Nor will he cease till his hot rage is glutted,

Or some new venture shakes his stable throne.

Prometheus.

By my Titan soul, I swear it!

Though with harsh chains now he mocks me,

Even now the hour is ripening,

When this haughty lord of Heaven

Shall embrace my knees, beseeching

Me to unveil the new-forged counsels

That shall hurl him from his throne.ⁿ¹⁵

But no honey-tongued persuasion,

No smooth words of artful charming,

No stout threats shall loose my tongue,

Till he loose these bonds of insult,

And himself make just atonement

For injustice done to me.

ANTISTROPHE II.
Chorus.

Thou art a bold man, and defiest

The keenest pangs to force thy will.

With a most unreined tongue thou speakest;

But me—sharp fear hath pierced my heart.

I fear for thee: and of thy woes

The distant, doubtful end

I see not. O, ’tis hard, most hard to reach

The heart of Jove!ⁿ¹⁶ prayer beats his ear in vain.

Prometheus.

Harsh is Jove, I know—he frameth

Justice for himself; but soon,

When the destined arm o’ertakes him,

He shall tremble as a child.

He shall smooth his bristling anger,

Courting friendship shunned before,

More importunate to unbind me

Than impatient I of bonds.

Chorus.

Speak now, and let us know the whole offence

Jove charges thee withal; for which he seized,

And with dishonor and dire insult loads thee.

Unfold the tale; unless, perhaps, such sorrow

Irks thee to tell.

Prometheus.

To tell or not to tell

Irks me the same; which way I turn is pain.

When first the gods their fatal strife began,

And insurrection raged in Heaven—some striving

To cast old Kronos from his hoary throne,

That Jove might reign, and others to crush i’ the bud

His swelling mastery—I wise counsel gave

To the Titans, sons of primal Heaven and Earth;

But gave in vain. Their dauntless stubborn souls

Spurned gentle ways, and patient-working wiles,

Weening swift triumph with a blow. But me,

My mother Themis, not once but oft, and Earth

(One shape of various names),ⁿ¹⁷ prophetic told

That violence and rude strength in such a strife

Were vain—craft haply might prevail. This lesson

I taught the haughty Titans, but they deigned

Scarce with contempt to hear my prudent words.

Thus baffled in my plans, I deemed it best,

As things then were, leagued with my mother Themis,

To accept Jove’s proffered friendship. By my counsels

From his primeval throne was Kronos^f9 hurled

Into the pit Tartarean, dark, profound,

With all his troop of friends. Such was the kindness

From me received by him who now doth hold

The masterdom of Heaven; these the rewards

Of my great zeal: for so it hath been ever.

Suspicion’s a disease that cleaves to tyrants,

And they who love most are the first suspected.ⁿ¹⁸

As for your question, for what present fault

I bear the wrong that now afflicts me, hear.

Soon as he sat on his ancestral throne

He called the gods together, and assigned

To each his fair allotment, and his sphere

Of sway supreme; but, ah! for wretched man!

To him nor part nor portion fell: Jove vowed

To blot his memory from the Earth, and mould

The race anew,^f10 I only of the gods

Thwarted his will;ⁿ¹⁹ and, but for my strong aid,

Hades had whelmed, and hopeless ruin swamped

All men that breathe. Such were my crimes: these pains

Grievous to suffer, pitiful to behold,

Were purchased thus; and mercy’s now denied

To him whose crime was mercy to mankind:

And here I lie, in cunning torment stretched,ⁿ²⁰

A spectacle inglorious to Jove.

Chorus.

An iron-heart were his, and flinty hard,

Who on thy woes could look without a tear,

Prometheus; I had liefer not so seen thee,

And seeing thee fain would call mine eyesight liar.

Prometheus.

Certes no sight am I for friends to look on.

Chorus.

Was this thy sole offence?

Prometheus.

I taught weak mortals

Not to foresee harm, and forestall the Fates.

Chorus.

A sore disease to anticipate mischance:

How didst thou cure it?

Prometheus.

Blind hopes of good I planted

In their dark breasts.ⁿ²¹

Chorus.

That was a boon indeed,

To ephemeral man.

Prometheus.

Nay more, I gave them fire.

Chorus.

And flame-faced fire is now enjoyed by mortals?ⁿ²²

Prometheus.

Enjoyed, and of all arts the destined mother.

Chorus.

And is this all the roll of thy offendings

That he should rage so fierce? Hath he not set

Bounds to his vengeance?

Prometheus.

None, but his own pleasure.

Chorus.

And when shall he please? Vain the hope; thou see’st

That thou hast erred; and that thou hast to us

No pleasure brings, to thee excess of pain.

Of this enough. Seek now to cure the evil.

Prometheus.

’Tis a light thing for him whose foot’s unwarped

By misadventure’s meshes to advise

And counsel the unfortunate. But I

Foreknew my fate, and if I erred, I erred

With conscious purpose, purchasing man’s weal

With mine own grief. I knew I should offend

The Thunderer, though deeming not that he

Would perch me thus to pine ’twixt Earth and Sky,

Of this wild wintry waste sole habitant.

But cease to weep for ills that weeping mends not;

Descend, and I’ll discourse to thee at length

Of chances yet to come. Nay, do not doubt;

But leave thy car, nor be ashamed to share

The afflictions of the afflicted; for Mishap,

Of things that lawless wander, wanders most;

With me to-day it is with you to-morrow.

Chorus.

Not to sluggish ears, Prometheus,

Hast thou spoken thy desire;

From our breeze-borne car descending,

With light foot we greet the ground.

Leaving ether chaste, smooth pathway

Of the gently-winnowing wing,

On this craggy rock I stand,

To hear the tale, while thou mayst tell it,

Of thy sorrows to the end.

Enter Ocean.ⁿ²³

Ocean.

From my distant caves ceruleanⁿ²⁴

This fleet-pinioned bird hath borne me;

Needed neither bit nor bridle,

Thought instinctive reined the creature;

Thus, to know thy griefs, Prometheus,

And to grieve with thee I come.

Soothly strong the tie of kindred

Binds the heart of man and god;

But, though no such tie had bound me,

I had wept for thee the same.

Well thou know’st not mine the cunning

To discourse with glozing phrase:

Tell me how I may relieve thee,

I am ready to relieve;

Friend thou boastest none than Ocean

Surer, in the hour of need.

Prometheus.

How now, old Ocean? thou too come to view

My dire disasters?—how shouldst thou have dared,

Leaving the billowy stream whose name thou bearest,

Thy rock-roofed halls, and self-built palaces,

To visit this Scythian land, stern mother of iron,

To know my sorrows, and to grieve with me?

Look on this sight—thy friend, the friend of Jove,

Who helped him to the sway which now he bears,

Crushed by the self-same god himself exalted.

Ocean.

I see, Prometheus; and I come to speak

A wise word to the wise; receive it wisely.

Know what thou art, and make thy manners new;

For a new king doth rule the subject gods.

Compose thy speech, nor cast such whetted words

’Gainst Jove, who, though he sits apart sublime,

Hath ears, and with new pains may smite his victim,

To which his present wrath shall seem a toy.

Listen to me; slack thy fierce ire, and seek

Speedy deliverance from these woes. Trite wisdom

Belike I speak, Prometheus; but thou knowest

A lofty-sounding tongue with passionate phrase

Buys its own ruin. Proud art thou, unyielding,

And heap’st new woes tenfold on thine own head.

Why should’st thou kick against the pricks? Jove reigns

A lord severe, and of his acts need give

Account to none, I go to plead for thee,

And, what I can, will try to save my kinsman;

But be thou calm the while; curb thy rash speech,

And let not fame report, that one so wise

Fell by the forfeit of a foolish tongue.

Prometheus.

Count thyself happy, Ocean, being free

From blame, who shared and dared with me. Be wise,

And what thy meddling aids not, let alone.

In vain thou plead’st with him; his ears are deaf.

Look to thyself: thy errand is not safe.

Ocean.

Wise art thou, passing wise, for others’ weal,

For thine own good most foolish. Prithee do not

So stretch thy stubborn whim to pull against

The friends that pull for thee. ’Tis no vain boast;

I know that Jove will hear me.

Prometheus.

Thou art kind;

And for thy kind intent and friendly feeling

Have my best thanks. But do not, I beseech thee,

Waste labour upon me. If thou wilt labour,

Seek a more hopeful subject. Thou wert wiser,

Being safe, to keep thee safe. I, when I suffer,

Wish not that all my friends should suffer with me.

Enough my brother Atlas’ miseries grieve me.ⁿ²⁵

Who in the extreme West stands, stoutly bearing

The pillars of Heaven and Earth upon his shoulders,ⁿ²⁶

No lightsome burden. Him too, I bewail,

That made his home in dark Cilician caverns.

The hostile portent, Earth-born, hundred-headed

Impetuous Typhon,ⁿ²⁷ quelled by force, who stood

Alone, against the embattled host of gods,

Hissing out murder from his monstrous jaws;

And from his eyes there flashed a Gorgon glare,

As he would smite the tyranny of great Jove

Clean down; but he, with sleepless thunder watching,

Hurl’d headlong a flame-breathing bolt, and laid

The big-mouthed vaunter low. Struck to the heart

With blasted strength, and shrunk to ashes, there

A huge and helpless hulk, outstretched he lies,

Beside the salt sea’s strait, pressed down beneath

The roots of Ætna, on whose peaks Hephaestus

Sits hammering the hot metal. Thence, one day,

Shall streams of liquid fire, swift passage forcing,

With savage jaws the wide-spread plains devour

Of the fair-fruited Sicily. Such hot shafts,

From the flame-breathing ferment of the deep,

Shall Typhon cast with sateless wrath, though now

All scorched and cindered by the Thunderer’s stroke,

Moveless he lies. But why should I teach thee?

Thou art a wise man, thine own wisdom use

To save thyself. For me, I’ll even endure

These pains, till Jove shall please to slack his ire.

Ocean.

Know’st thou not this, Prometheus, that mild words

Are medicines of fierce wrath?ⁿ²⁸

Prometheus.

They are, when spoken

In a mild hour; but the high-swelling heart

They do but fret the more.

Ocean.

But, in the attempt

To ward the threatened harm, what evil see’st thou?

Prometheus.

Most bootless toil, and folly most inane.

Ocean.

Be it so; but yet ’tis sometimes well, believe me,

That a wise man should seem to be a fool.

Prometheus.

Seem fool, seem wise, I, in the end, am blamed.

Ocean.

Thy reckless words reluctant send me home.

Prometheus.

Beware, lest love for me make thyself hated.

Ocean.

Of whom? Of him, who, on the all-powerful throne

Sits, a new lord?

Prometheus.

Even him. Beware thou vex not

Jove’s jealous heart.

Ocean.

In this, thy fate shall warn me.

Prometheus.

Away! farewell; and may the prudent thoughts,

That sway thy bosom now, direct thee ever.

Ocean.

I go, and quickly. My four-footed bird

Brushes the broad path of the limpid air

With forward wing: right gladly will he bend

The wearied knee on his familiar stall.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.

Thy dire disasters, unexampled wrongs,

I weep, Prometheus.

From its soft founts distilled the flowing tear

My cheek bedashes.

’Tis hard, most hard! By self-made laws Jove rules,

And ’gainst the host of primal gods he points

The lordly spear.

ANTISTROPHE I.

With echoing groans the ambient waste bewails

Thy fate, Prometheus;

The neighbouring tribes of holy Asia weep

For thee, Prometheus;ⁿ²⁹

For thee and thine! names mighty and revered

Of yore, now shamed, dishonoured, and cast down,

And chained with thee.

STROPHE II.

And Colchis, with her belted daughters, weeps

For thee, Prometheus;

And Scythian tribes, on Earth’s remotest verge,

Where lone MÆotis^f11 spreads her wintry waters,

Do weep for thee.

ANTISTROPHE II.

The flower of Araby’s wandering warriors weep

For thee, Prometheus;ⁿ³⁰

And they who high their airy holds have perched

On Caucasus’ ridge, with pointed lances bristling,

Do weep for thee.

EPODE.

One only vexed like thee, and even as thou,

In adamant bound,

A Titan, and a god scorned by the gods,

Atlas I knew.

He on his shoulders the surpassing weight

Of the celestial pole stoutly upbore,

And groaned beneath.

Roars billowy Ocean, and the Deep sucks back

Its waters when he sobs; from Earth’s dark caves

Deep hell resounds;

The fountains of the holy-streaming rivers

Do moan with him.

Prometheus.

Deem me not self-willed, nor with pride high-strung,

That I am dumb; my heart is gnawed to see

Myself thus mocked and jeered. These gods, to whom

Owe they their green advancement but to me?

But this ye know; and, not to teach the taught,

I’ll speak of it no more. Of human kind,

My great offence in aiding them, in teaching

The babe to speak, and rousing torpid mind

To take the grasp of itself—of this I’ll talk;

Meaning to mortal men no blame, but only

The true recital of mine own deserts.

For, soothly, having eyes to see they saw not,ⁿ³¹

And hearing heard not; but like dreamy phantoms,

A random life they led from year to year,

All blindly floundering on. No craft they knew

With woven brick or jointed beam to pile

The sunward porch; but in the dark earth burrowed

And housed, like tiny ants in sunless caves.

No signs they knew to mark the wintry year:

The flower-strewn Spring, and the fruit-laden Summer,

Uncalendared, unregistered, returned—

Till I the difficult art of the stars revealed,

Their risings and their settings. Numbers, too,

I taught them (a most choice device)ⁿ³² and how

By marshalled signs to fix their shifting thoughts,

That Memory, mother of Muses, might achieve

Her wondrous works. I first slaved to the yoke

Both ox and ass. I, the rein-loving steeds

(Of wealth’s gay-flaunting pomp the chiefest pride)

Joined to the car; and bade them ease the toils

Of labouring men vicarious. I the first

Upon the lint-winged car of mariner

Was launched, sea-wandering. Such wise arts I found

To soothe the ills of man’s ephemeral life;

But for myself, plunged in this depth of woe,

No prop I find.

Chorus.

Sad chance! Thy wit hath slipt

From its firm footing then when needed most,

Like some unlearned leech who many healed,

But being sick himself, from all his store,

Cannot cull out one medicinal drug.

Prometheus.

Hear me yet farther; and in hearing marvel,

What arts and curious shifts my wit devised.

Chiefest of all, the cure of dire disease

Men owe to me. Nor healing food, nor drink,

Nor unguent knew they, but did slowly wither

And waste away for lack of pharmacy,

Till taught by me to mix the soothing drug,

And check corruption’s march. I fixed the art

Of divination with its various phase

Of dim revealings, making dreams speak truth,

Stray voices, and encounters by the way

Significant; the flight of taloned birds

On right and left I marked—these fraught with ban,

With blissful augury those; their way of life,

Their mutual loves and enmities, their flocks,

And friendly gatherings; the entrails’ smoothness,

The hue best liked by the gods, the gall, the liver

With all its just proportions. I first wrapped

In the smooth fat the thighs; first burnt the loins,

And from the flickering flame taught men to spell

No easy lore, and cleared the fire-faced signsⁿ³³

Obscure before. Yet more: I probed the Earth,

To yield its hidden wealth to help man’s weakness—

Iron, copper, silver, gold. None but a fool,

A prating fool, will stint me of this praise.

And thus, with one short word to sum the tale,

Prometheus taught all arts to mortal men.

Chorus.

Do good to men, but do it with discretion.

Why shouldst thou harm thyself? Good hope I nurse

To see thee soon from these harsh chains unbound,

As free, as mighty, as great Jove himself.

Prometheus.

This may not be; the destined course of things

Fate must accomplish; I must bend me yet

’Neath wrongs on wrongs, ere I may ’scape these bonds.

Though Art be strong, Necessity is stronger.

Chorus.

And who is lord of strong Necessity?ⁿ³⁴

Prometheus.

The triform Fates, and the sure-memoried Furies.

Chorus.

And mighty Jove himself must yield to them?

Prometheus.

No more than others Jove can ’scape his doom.ⁿ³⁵

Chorus.

What doom?—No doom hath he but endless sway.

Prometheus.

’Tis not for thee to know: tempt not the question.

Chorus.

There’s some dread mystery in thy chary speech,

Close-veiled.

Prometheus.

Urge this no more: the truth thou’lt know

In fitting season; now it lies concealed

In deepest darkness! for relenting Jove

Himself must woo this secret from my breast.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.

Never, O never may Jove,

Who in Olympus reigns omnipotent lord,

Plant his high will against my weak opinion!ⁿ³⁶

Let me approach the gods

With blood of oxen and with holy feasts,

By father Ocean’s quenchless stream, and pay

No backward vows:

Nor let my tongue offend; but in my heart

Be lowly wisdom graven.

ANTISTROPHE I.

For thus old Wisdom speaks:

Thy life ’tis sweet to cherish, and while the length

Of years is thine, thy heart with cheerful hopes

And lightsome joys to feed.

But thee—ah me! my blood runs cold to see thee,

Pierced to the marrow with a thousand pains.

Not fearing Jove,

Self-willed thou hast respect to man, Prometheus,

Much more than man deserveth.

STROPHE II.

For what is man?^f12 behold!

Can he requite thy love—child of a day—

Or help thy extreme need? Hast thou not seen

The blind and aimless strivings,

The barren blank endeavour,

The pithless deeds, of the fleeting dreamlike race?

Never, O nevermore,

May mortal wit Jove’s ordered plan deceive.

ANTISTROPHE II.

This lore my heart hath learned

From sight of thee, and thy sharp pains, Prometheus.

Alas! what diverse strain I sang thee then,

Around the bridal chamber,

And around the bridal bath,

When thou my sister fair, Hesione,

Won by rich gifts didst leadⁿ³⁷

From Ocean’s caves thy spousal bed to share.

Enter Io.ⁿ³⁸

Io.

What land is this?—what race of mortals

Owns this desert? who art thou,

Rock-bound with these wintry fetters,

And for what crime tortured thus?

Worn and weary with far travel,

Tell me where my feet have borne me!

O pain! pain! pain! it stings and goads me again,

The fateful brize!—save me, O Earth!ⁿ³⁹—Avaunt

Thou horrible shadow of the Earth-born Argus!

Could not the grave close up thy hundred eyes,

But thou must come,

Haunting my path with thy suspicious look,

Unhoused from Hades?

Avaunt! avaunt!—why wilt thou hound my track,

The famished wanderer on the waste sea-shore?

STROPHE.

Pipe not thy sounding wax-compacted reed

With drowsy drone at me! Ah wretched me!

Wandering, still wandering o’er wide Earth, and driven

Where? where? O tell me where?

O Son of Kronos, in what damned sin

Being caught hast thou to misery yoked me thus,

Pricked me to desperation, and my heart

Pierced with thy furious goads?

Blast me with lightnings! bury me in Earth! To the gape

Of greedy sea-monsters give me! Hear, O hear

My prayer, O King!

Enough, enough, these errant toils have tried me;

And yet no rest I find: nor when, nor where

These woes shall cease may know.

Chorus.ⁿ⁴⁰

Dost hear the plaint of the ox-horned maid?

Prometheus.

How should I not? the Inachian maid who knows not,

Stung by the god-sent brize? the maid who smote

Jove’s lustful heart with love: and his harsh spouse

Hounds her o’er Earth with chase interminable.

ANTISTROPHE.
Io.

My father’s name thou know’st, and my descent!

Who art thou? god or mortal? Speak! what charm

Gives wretch like thee, the certain clue to know

My lamentable fate?

Aye, and the god-sent plague thou know’st; the sting

That spurs me o’er the far-stretched Earth; the goad

That mads me sheer, wastes, withers, and consumes,

A worn and famished maid,

Whipt by the scourge of jealous Hera’s wrath!

Ah me! ah me! Misery has many shapes,

But none like mine.

O thou, who named my Argive home, declare

What ills await me yet; what end; what hope?

If hope there be for Io.

Chorus.

I pray thee speak to the weary way-worn maid.

Prometheus.

I’ll tell thee all thy wish, not in enigmas

Tangled and dark, but in plain phrase, as friend

Should speak to friend. Thou see’st Prometheus, who

To mortal men gifted immortal fire.

Io.

O thou, to man a common blessing given,

What crime hath bound thee to this wintry rock?

Prometheus.

I have but ceased rehearsing all my wrongs.

Io.

And dost thou then refuse the boon I ask?

Prometheus.

What boon? ask what thou wilt, and I will answer.

Io.

Say, then, who bound thee to this ragged cliff?

Prometheus.

Stern Jove’s decree, and harsh Hephaestus’ hand.

Io.

And for what crime?

Prometheus.

Let what I’ve said suffice.

Io.

This, too, I ask—what bound hath fate appointed

To my far-wandering toils?

Prometheus.

This not to know

Were better than to learn.

Io.

Nay, do not hide

This thing from me!

Prometheus.

If ’tis a boon, believe me,

I grudge it not.

Io.

Then why so slow to answer?

Prometheus.

I would not crush thee with the cruel truth.

Io.

Fear not; I choose to hear it.

Prometheus.

Listen then.

Chorus.

Nay, hear me rather. With her own mouth this maid

Shall first her bygone woes rehearse; next thou

What yet remains shalt tell.

Prometheus.

Even so. [To Io.] Speak thou;

They are the sisters of thy father, Io;ⁿ⁴¹

And to wail out our griefs, when they who listen

Our troubles with a willing tear requite,

Is not without its use.

Io.

I will obey,

And in plain speech my chanceful story tell;

Though much it grieves me to retrace the source,

Whence sprung this god-sent pest, and of my shape

Disfigurement abhorred. Night after night

Strange dreams around my maiden pillow hovering

Whispered soft temptings. “O thrice-blessed maid,

Why pin’st thou thus in virgin loneliness,

When highest wedlock courts thee? Struck by the shaft

Of fond desire for thee Jove burns, and pants

To twine his loves with thine. Spurn not, O maid,

The proffered bed of Jove; but hie thee straight

To Lerne’s bosomed mead,ⁿ⁴² where are the sheep-folds

And ox-stalls of thy sire, that so the eye

Of Jove, being filled with thee, may cease from craving.”

Such nightly dreams my restless couch possessed

Till I, all tears, did force me to unfold

The portent to my father. He to Pytho^f13

Sent frequent messengers, and to Dodona,

Searching the pleasure of the gods; but they

With various-woven phrase came back, and answers

More doubtful than the quest. At length, a clear

And unambiguous voice came to my father,

Enjoining, with most strict command, to send me

Far from my home, and from my country far,

To the extreme bounds of Earth an outcast wanderer,

Else that the fire-faced bolt of Jove should smite

Our universal race. By such responses,

Moved of oracular Loxias, my father

Reluctant me reluctant drove from home,

And shut the door against me. What he did

He did perforce; Jove’s bit was in his mouth.

Forthwith my wit was frenzied, and my form

Assumed the brute. With maniac bound I rushed,

Horned as thou see’st, and with the sharp-mouthed sting

Of gad-fly pricked infuriate to the cliff

Of Lerne, and CenchrÉa’s limpid wave;

While Argus, Earth-born cow-herd, hundred-eyed,

Followed the winding traces of my path

With sharp observance. Him swift-swooping Fate

Snatched unexpected from his sleepless guard;

But I from land to land still wander on,

Scourged by the wrath of Heaven’s relentless Queen.

Thou hast my tale; the sequel, if thou know’st it,

Is thine to tell; but do not seek, I pray thee,

In pity for me, to drop soft lies; for nothing

Is worse than the smooth craft of practised phrase.

Chorus.

Enough, enough! Woe’s me that ever

Such voices of strange grief should rend my ear!

That such a tale of woe,

Insults, and wrongs, and horrors, should freeze me through,

As with a two-edged sword!

O destiny! destiny! woes most hard to see,

More hard to bear! Alas! poor maid for thee!

Prometheus.

Thy wails anticipate her woes; restrain

Thy trembling tears till thou hast heard the whole.

Chorus.

Proceed: to know the worst some solace brings

To the vexed heart.

Prometheus.

Your first request I granted,

And lightly; from her own mouth, ye have heard

The spring of harm, the stream expect from me,

How Hera shall draw out her slow revenge.

Meanwhile, thou seed of Inachus, lend an ear

And learn thy future travel. First to the eastⁿ⁴³

Turn thee, and traverse the unploughed Scythian fields,

Whose wandering tribes their wattled homes transport

Aloft on well-wheeled wains, themselves well slung

With the far-darting bow. These pass, and, holding

Thy course by the salt sea’s sounding surge, pass through

The land; next, on thy left, thou’lt reach the Chalybs,

Workers in iron. These too avoid—for they

Are savage, and harsh to strangers. Thence proceeding,

Thou to a stream shalt come, not falsely named

Hubristes: but the fierce ill-forded wave

Pass not till Caucasus, hugest hill, receives thee,

There where the flood its gushing strength foams forth

Fresh from the rocky brow. Cross then the peaks

That neighbour with the stars, and thence direct

Southward thy path to where the Amazons

Dwell, husband-hated, who shall one day people

ThermÓdon’s bank, and Themiscyre, and where

Harsh Salmydessus whets his ravening jaws,

The sailor’s foe, stepmother to the ships.

These maids shall give thee escort. Next thou’lt reach

The narrow Cimmerian isthmus, skirting bleak

The waters of MÆotis. Here delay not,

But with bold breast cross thou the strait. Thy passage

Linked with the storied name of Bosphorus

Shall live through endless time. Here, leaving Europe,

The Asian soil receives thee. Now, answer me,

Daughters of Ocean, doth not Jove in all things

Prove his despotic will?—In lawless love

Longing to mingle with this mortal maid,

He heaps her with these woes. A bitter suitor,

Poor maid, was thine, and I have told thee scarce

The prelude of thy griefs.

Io.

Ah! wretched me!

Prometheus.

Alas, thy cries and groans!—What wilt thou do,

When the full measure of thy woes is told thee?

Chorus.

What! more? her cup of woes not full?

Prometheus.

’Twill flow

And overflow, a sea of whelming woes.

Io.

Why do I live? Why not embrace the gain

That, with one cast, this toppling cliff secures,

And dash me headlong on the ground, to end

Life and life’s sorrows? Once to die is better

Than thus to drag sick life.

Prometheus.

Thou’rt happy, Io,

That death from all thy living wrongs may free thee;

But I, whom Fate hath made immortal, see

No end to my long-lingering pains appointed,

Till Jove from his usurping sway be hurled.

Io.

Jove from his tyranny hurled—can such thing be?

Prometheus.

Doubtless ’twould feast thine eyes to see’t?

Io.

Ay, truly,

Wronged as I am by him.

Prometheus.

Then, learn from me

That he is doomed to fall.

Io.

What hand shall wrest

Jove’s sceptre?

Prometheus.

Jove’s own empty wit.

Io.

How so?

Prometheus.

From evil marriage reaping evil fruit.

Io.

Marriage! of mortal lineage or divine?

Prometheus.

Ask me no further. This I may not answer.

Io.

Shall his spouse thrust him from his ancient throne?

Prometheus.

The son that she brings forth shall wound his father.

Io.

And hath he no redemption from this doom?

Prometheus.

None, till he loose me from these hated bonds.

Io.

But who, in Jove’s despite, shall loose thee?

Prometheus.

One

From thine own womb descended.

Io.

How? My Son?

One born of me shall be thy Saviour!—When?

Prometheus.

When generations ten have passed, the third.ⁿ⁴⁴

Io.

Thou speak’st ambiguous oracles.

Prometheus.

I have spoken

Enough for thee. Pry not into the Fates.

Io.

Wilt thou hold forth a hope to cheat my grasp?

Prometheus.

I give thee choice of two things: choose thou one.

Io.

What things? Speak, and I’ll choose.

Prometheus.

Thou hast the choice

To hear thy toils to the end, or learn his name

Who comes to save me.

Chorus.

Nay, divide the choice;

One half to her concede, to me the other,

Thus doubly gracious: to the maid her toils,

To me thy destined Saviour tell.

Prometheus.

So be it!

Being thus whetted in desire, I would not

Oppose your wills. First Io, what remains

Of thy far-sweeping wanderings hear, and grave

My words on the sure tablets of thy mind.

When thou hast crossed the narrow stream that partsⁿ⁴⁵

The continents, to the far flame-faced East

Thou shalt proceed, the highway of the Sun;

Then cross the sounding Ocean, till thou reach

CisthenÉ and the Gorgon plains, where dwell

Phorcys’ three daughters, maids with frosty eld

Hoar as the swan, with one eye and one tooth

Shared by the three; them Phoebus beamy-bright

Beholds not, nor the nightly Moon. Near them

Their winged sisters dwell, the Gorgons dire,

Man-hating monsters, snaky-locked, whom eye

Of mortal ne’er might look upon and live.

This for thy warning. One more sight remains,

That fills the eye with horror: mark me well;

The sharp-beaked Griffins, hounds of Jove, avoid.

Fell dogs that bark not; and the one-eyed host

Of Arimaspian horsemen with swift hoofs

Beating the banks of golden-rolling Pluto.

A distant land, a swarthy people next

Receives thee: near the fountains of the Sun

They dwell by Aethiops’ wave. This river trace

Until thy weary feet shall reach the pass

Whence from the Bybline heights the sacred Nile

Pours his salubrious flood.ⁿ⁴⁶ The winding wave

Thence to triangled Egypt guides thee, where

A distant home awaits thee, fated mother

Of no unstoried race. And now, if aught

That I have spoken doubtful seem or dark,

Repeat the question, and in plainer speech

Expect reply. I feel no lack of leisure.

Chorus.

If thou hast more to speak to her, speak on;

Or aught omitted to supply, supply it;

But if her tale is finished, as thou say’st,

Remember our request.

Prometheus.

Her tale is told,

But for the more assurance of my words

The path of toils through which her feet had struggled

Before she reached this coast I will declare;

Lightly, and with no cumbrous comment, touching

Thy latest travel only, wandering Io.

When thou hadst trod the Molossian plains, and reached

Steep-ridged Dodona, where Thesprotian Jove

In council sits, and from the articulate oaks

(Strange wonder!) speaks prophetic, there thine ears

This salutation with no doubtful phrase

Received: “All hail, great spouse of mighty Jove

That shall be!”—say, was it a pleasing sound?

Thence by the sting of jealous Hera goaded,

Along the coast of Rhea’s bosomed sea^f14

Thy steps were driven: thence with mazy course

Tossed hither;ⁿ⁴⁷ gaining, if a gain, this solace,

That future times, by famous Io’s name,

Shall know that sea.^f15 These things may be a sign

That I, beyond the outward show, can pierce

To the heart of truth. What yet remains, I tell

To thee and them in common, tracing back

My speech to whence it came. There is a city

In extreme Egypt, where with outspread loam

Nile breasts the sea, its name Canopus. There

Jove to thy sober sense shall bring thee back,

Soft with no fearful touch, and thou shalt bear

A son, dark Epaphus, whose name shall tell

The wonder of his birth;ⁿ⁴⁸ he shall possess

What fruitful fields fat Nile broad-streaming laves.

Four generations then shall pass; the fifth

In fifty daughters^f16 glorying shall return

To ancient Argos, fatal wedlock shunning

With fathers’ brothers’ sons; these, their wild hearts

Fooled with blind lust, as hawks the gentle doves,

Shall track the fugitive virgins; but a god

Shall disappoint their chase, and the fair prey

Save from their lawless touch; the Apian soil

Shall welcome them to death, and woman’s hands

Shall dare the deed amid the nuptial watches.

Each bride shall rob her lord of life, and dip

The sharp steel in his throat. Such nuptial bliss

May all my enemies know! Only one maid

Of all the fifty, with a blunted will,

Shall own the charm of love, and spare her mate,

And of two adverse reputations choose

The coward, not the murderess. She shall be

The mother of a royal race in Argos.

To tell what follows, with minute remark,

Were irksome; but from this same root shall spring

A hero, strong in the archer’s craft, whose hand

Shall free me from these bonds. Such oracle spake

Titanian Themis, my time-honoured mother,

But how and why were a long tale to tell,

Nor being told would boot thine ear to hear it.

Io.

Ah me! pain! pain! ah me!

Again the fevered spasm hath seized me,

And the stroke of madness smites!

Again that fiery sting torments me,

And my heart doth knock my ribs!

My aching eyes in dizziness roll,

And my helmless feet are driven

Whither gusty frenzy blows!

And my tongue with thick words struggling

Like a sinking swimmer plashes

’Gainst the whelming waves of woe! [Exit.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE.

Wise was the man, most wise,

Who in deep-thoughted mood conceived, and first

In pictured speech and pregnant phrase declared

That marriage, if the Fates shall bless the bond,

Must be of like with like;

And that the daughters of an humble house

Shun tempting union with the pomp of wealth

And with the pride of birth.

ANTISTROPHE.

Never, O! never may Fate,

All-powerful Fate which rules both gods and men,

See me approaching the dread Thunderer’s bed,

And sharing marriage with the Olympian king,

An humble Ocean-maid!

May wretched Io, chased by Hera’s wrath,

Unhusbanded, unfriended, fill my sense

With profitable fear.

EPODE.

Me may an equal bond

Bind with my equal: never may the eye

Of a celestial suitor fix the gaze

Of forceful love on me.

This were against all odds of war to war,

And in such strife entangled I were lost;

For how should humble maid resist the embrace,

Against great Jove’s decree?

Prometheus.

Nay, but this Jove, though insolent now, shall soon

Be humbled low. Such wedlock even now

He blindly broods, as shall uptear his kingdom,

And leave no trace behind; then shall the curse,

Which Kronos heaped upon his ingrate son,

When hurled unjustly from his hoary throne,

Be all fulfilled. What remedy remains

For that dread ruin I alone can tell;

I only know. Then let him sit aloft,

Rolling his thunder, his fire-breathing bolt

Far-brandishing; his arts are vain; his fall,

Unless my aid prevent, his shameful fall,

Is doomed. Against himself to life he brings

A champion fierce, a portent of grim war,

Who shall invent a fiercer flame than lightning,

And peals to outpeal the thunder, who shall shiver

The trident mace that stirs the sea, and shakes

The solid Earth, the spear of strong Poseidon.

Thus shall the tyrant learn how much to serve

Is different from to sway.

Chorus.

Thou dost but make

Thy wishes father to thy slanderous phrase.

Prometheus.

I both speak truth and wish the truth to be.

Chorus.

But who can think that Jove shall find a master?

Prometheus.

He shall be mastered! Ay, and worse endure.

Chorus.

Dost thou not blench to cast such words about thee?

Prometheus.

How should I fear, being a god and deathless?

Chorus.

But he can scourge with something worse than death.

Prometheus.

Even let him scourge! I’m armed for all conclusions.

Chorus.

Yet they are wise who worship AdrastÉa.ⁿ⁴⁹

Prometheus.

Worship, and pray; fawn on the powers that be;

But Jove to me is less than very nothing.

Let him command, and rule his little hour

To please himself; long time he cannot sway.

But lo! where comes the courier of this Jove,

The obsequious minion of this upstart King,

Doubtless the bearer of some weighty news.

Enter Hermes.

Hermes.

Thee, cunning sophist, dealing bitter words

Most bitterly against the gods, the friend

Of ephemeral man, the thief of sacred fire,

Thee, Father Jove commands to curb thy boasts,

And say what marriage threats his stable throne.

Answer this question in plain phrase, no dark

Tangled enigmas; do not add, Prometheus,

A second journey to my first: and, mark me!

Thy obduracy cannot soften Jove.

Prometheus.

This solemn mouthing, this proud pomp of phrase

Beseems the lackey of the gods. New gods

Ye are, and, being new, ye ween to hold

Unshaken citadels. Have I not seen

Two Monarchs ousted from that throne? the third

I yet shall see precipitate hurled from Heaven

With baser, speedier, ruin. Do I seem

To quail before this new-forged dynasty?

Fear is my farthest thought. I pray thee go

Turn up the dust again upon the road

Thou cam’st. Reply from me thou shalt have none.

Hermes.

This haughty tone hath been thy sin before:

Thy pride will strand thee on a worser woe.

Prometheus.

And were my woe tenfold what now it is,

I would not barter it for thy sweet chains;

For liefer would I lackey this bare rock

Than trip the messages of Father Jove.

The insolent thus with insolence I repay.

Hermes.

Thou dost delight in miseries; thou art wanton.

Prometheus.

Wanton! delighted! would my worst enemies

Might wanton in these bonds, thyself the first!

Hermes.

Must I, too, share the blame of thy distress?

Prometheus.

In one round sentence, every god I hate

That injures me who never injured him.

Hermes.

Thou’rt mad, clean mad; thy wit’s diseased, Prometheus.

Prometheus.

Most mad! if madness ’tis to hate our foes.

Hermes.

Prosperity’s too good for thee: thy temper

Could not endure’t.

Prometheus.

Alas! this piercing pang!

Hermes.

“Alas!”—this word Jove does not understand.

Prometheus.

As Time grows old he teaches many things.

Hermes.

Yet Time that teaches all leaves thee untaught.

Prometheus.

Untaught in sooth, thus parleying with a slave!

Hermes.

It seems thou wilt not grant great Jove’s demand.

Prometheus.

Such love as his to me should be repaid

With like!

Hermes.

Dost beard me like a boy? Beware.

Prometheus.

Art not a boy, and something yet more witless,

If thou expectest answer from my mouth?

Nor insult harsh, nor cunning craft of Jove

Shall force this tale from me, till he unloose

These bonds. Yea! let him dart his levin bolts,

With white-winged snows and subterranean thunders

Mix and confound the elements of things!

No threat, no fear, shall move me to reveal

The hand that hurls him from his tyrant’s throne.

Hermes.

Bethink thee well: thy vaunts can help thee nothing.

Prometheus.

I speak not rashly: what I said I said.

Hermes.

If thou art not the bought and sold of folly,

Dare to learn wisdom from thy present ills.

Prometheus.

Speak to the waves: thou speak’st to me as vainly!

Deem not that I, to win a smile from Jove,

Will spread a maiden smoothness o’er my soul,

And importune the foe whom most I hate

With womanish upliftings of the hands.

Thou’lt see the deathless die first!

Hermes.

I have said

Much, but that much is vain: thy rigid nature

To thaw with prayer is hopeless. A young colt

That frets the bit, and fights against the reins,

Art thou, fierce-champing with most impotent rage;

For wilful strength that hath no wisdom in it

Is less than nothing.ⁿ⁵⁰ But bethink thee well;

If thou despise my words of timely warning,

What wintry storm, what threefold surge of woes

Whelms thee inevitable. Jove shall split

These craggy cliffs with his cloud-bosomed bolt,

And sink thee deep: the cold rock shall embrace thee;

There thou shalt lie, till he shall please to bring thee

Back to the day, to find new pains prepared:

For he will send his Eagle-messenger,

His winged hound,^f17 in crimson food delighting,

To tear thy rags of flesh with bloody beak,

And daily come an uninvited guest

To banquet on thy gory liver. This,

And worse expect, unless some god endure

Vicarious thy tortures,ⁿ⁵¹ and exchange

His sunny ether for the rayless homes

Of gloomy Hades, and deep Tartarus.

Consider well. No empty boast I speak,

But weighty words well weighed: the mouth of Jove

Hath never known a lie, and speech with him

Is prophet of its deed. Ponder and weigh,

Close not thy stubborn ears to good advice.

Chorus.

If we may speak, what Hermes says is wise,

And fitting the occasion. He advises

That stubborn will should yield to prudent counsel.

Obey: thy wisdom should not league with folly.

Prometheus.

Nothing new this preacher preaches:

Seems it strange that foe should suffer

From the vengeance of his foe?

I am ready. Let him wreathe

Curls of scorching flame around me;

Let him fret the air with thunder,

And the savage-blustering winds!

Let the deep abysmal tempest

Wrench the firm roots of the Earth!

Let the sea upheave her billows,

Mingling the fierce rush of waters

With the pathway of the stars!

Let the harsh-winged hurricane sweep me

In its whirls, and fling me down

To black Tartarus: there to lie

Bound in the iron folds of Fate.

I will bear: but cannot die.

Hermes.

Whom the nymphs have struck with madness

Raves as this loud blusterer raves;

Seems he not a willing madman,

Let him reap the fruits he sowed!ⁿ⁵²

But ye maids, who share his sorrows,

Not his crimes, with quick removal

Hie from this devoted spot,

Lest with idiocy the thunder

Harshly blast your maundering wits.

Chorus.

Wouldst thou with thy words persuade us,

Use a more persuasive speech;

Urge no reasons to convince me

That an honest heart must hate.

With his sorrows I will sorrow:

I will hate a traitor’s name;

Earth has plagues, but none more noisome

Than a faithless friend in need.

Hermes.

Ponder well my prudent counsel,

Nor, when evil hunts thee out,

Blame great Jove that he doth smite thee

With an unexpected stroke.

Not the gods; thy proper folly

Is the parent of thy woes.^f18

Jove hath laid no trap to snare thee,

But the scapeless net of ruin

Thou hast woven for thyself.

Prometheus.

Now his threats walk forth in action,

And the firm Earth quakes indeed.

Deep and loud the ambient Thunder

Bellows, and the flaring Lightning

Wreathes his fiery curls around me,

And the Whirlwind rolls his dust;

And the Winds from rival regions

Rush in elemental strife,

And the Ocean’s storm-vexed billows

Mingle with the startled stars!

Doubtless now the tyrant gathers

All his hoarded wrath to whelm me.

Mighty Mother, worshipped Themis,

Circling Ether that diffusest

Light, a common joy to all,

Thou beholdest these my wrongs!

[The End]