Decoration A MASK IN THE
GREEK MANNER Decoration
ARGUMENT PROMETHEUS COMING ON EARTH TO GIVE FIRE TO MEN APPEARS BEFORE THE PALACE OF INACHUS IN ARGOS ON A FESTIVAL OF ZEUS · HE INTERRUPTS THE CEREMONY BY ANNOUNCING FIRE AND PERSUADES INACHUS TO DARE THE ANGER OF ZEUS AND ACCEPT THE GIFT · INACHUS FETCHING ARGEIA HIS WIFE FROM THE PALACE HAS IN TURN TO QUIET HER FEARS · HE ASKS A PROPHECY OF PROMETHEUS WHO FORETELLS THE FATE OF IO THEIR DAUGHTER · PROMETHEUS THEN SETTING FLAME TO THE ALTAR AND WRITING HIS OWN NAME THEREON IN THE PLACE OF ZEUS DISAPPEARS THE CHORUS SING (1) A HYMN TO ZEUS WITH THE STORIES OF THE BIRTH OF ZEUS AND THE MARRIAGE OF HERA WITH THE DANCES OF THE CURETES AND THE HESPERIDES (2) THEIR ANTICIPATION OF FIRE WITH AN ODE ON WONDER (3) A TRAGIC HYMN ON THE LOT OF MAN (4) A FIRE-CHORUS (5) A FINAL CHORUS IN PRAISE OF PROMETHEUS ALL THE CHARACTERS ARE GOOD · PROMETHEUS PROLOGIZES · HE CARRIES A LONG REED
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ PROMETHEUS.
INACHUS.
ARGEIA.
SERVANT.
IO (persona muta).
CHORUS: Youths and maidens of the house of
Inachus. The SCENE is in ARGOS before the palace of Inachus.
An altar inscribed to Zeus is at the
centre of the stage.
PROMETHEUS
THE FIREGIVER Decoration PROMETHEUS. From high Olympus and the Ætherial courts, Where mighty Zeus our angry king confirms The Fates’ decrees and bends the wills of the gods, I come: and on the earth step with glad foot. This variegated ocean-floor of the air, The changeful circle of fair land, that lies Heaven’s dial, sisterly mirror of night and day: The wide o’er-wandered plain, this nether world My truant haunt is, when from jealous eyes I steal, for hither ’tis I steal, and here 10 Unseen repair my joy: yet not unseen Methinks, nor seen unguessed of him I seek. Rather by swath or furrow, or where the path Is walled with corn I am found, by trellised vine Or olive set in banks or orchard trim: I watch all toil and tilth, farm, field and fold, And taste the mortal joy; since not in heaven Among our easeful gods hath facile time A touch so keen, to wake such love of life As stirs the frail and careful being, who here, 20 The king of sorrows, melancholy man, Bows at his labour, but in heart erect A god stands, nor for any gift of god Would barter his immortal-hearted prime. Could I but win this world from Zeus for mine, With not a god to vex my happy rule, I would inhabit here and leave high heaven: So much I love it and its race of men, Even as he hates them, hates both them, and me For loving what he hates, and would destroy me, Outcast in the scorn of all his cringing crew, For daring but to save what he would slay: And me must first destroy. Thus he denieth My heart’s wish, thus my counsel sets at naught, Which him saved once, when all at stake he stood Uprisen in rebellion to overthrow The elderseated Titans, for I that day Gave him the counsels which his foes despised. Unhappy they, who had still their blissful seats Preserved and their Olympian majesty, 40 Had they been one with me. Alas, my kin! But he, when he had taken the throne and chained His foes in wasteful Tartarus, said no more Where is Prometheus our wise counsellor? What saith Prometheus? tell us, O Prometheus, What Fate requires! but waxing confident And wanton, as a youth first tasting power, He wrecked the timeless monuments of heaven, The witness of the wisdom of the gods, And making all about him new, beyond 50 Determined to destroy the race of men, And that create afresh or else have none. Then his vain mind imagined a device, And at his bidding all the opposÈd winds Blew, and the scattered clouds and furlÈd snows, From every part of heaven together flying, He with brute hands in huge disorder heaped: They with the winds’ weight and his angry breath Were thawed: in cataracts they fell, and earth In darkness deep and whelmÈd tempest lay, 60 Drowned’neath the waters. Yet on the mountain-tops Some few escaped, and some, thus warned by me, Made shift to live in vessels which outrode The season and the fury of the flood. And when his rain was spent and from clear skies Zeus looking down upon the watery world, Beheld these few, the remnant of mankind, Who yet stood up and breathed; he next withdrew The seeds of fire, that else had still lain hid In withered branch and the blue flakes of flint 70 For man to exact and use, but these withdrawn, Man with the brutes degraded would be man No more; and so the tyrant was content. But I, despised again, again upheld The weak, and pitying them sent sweet Hope, Bearer of dreams, enchantress fond and kind, From heaven descending on the unhindered rays Of every star, to cheer with visions fair Their unamending pains. And now this day Behold I come bearing the seal of all 80 Which Hope had promised: for within this reed A prisoner I bring them stolen from heaven, The flash of mastering fire, and it have borne So swift to earth, that when yon noontide sun Rose from the sea at morning I was by, And unperceived of HÊlios plunged the point I’ the burning axle, and withdrew a tongue Of breathing flame, which lives to leap on earth For man the father of all fire to come. And hither have I brought it even to Argos 90 Unto king Inachus, him having chosen Above all mortals to receive my gift: For he is hopeful, careful, wise, and brave. He first, when first the floods left bare the land, Grew warm with enterprise, and gathered men Together, and disposed their various tasks For common weal combined; for soon were seen The long straight channels dwindling on the plain, Which slow from stagnant pool and wide morass The pestilent waters to the rivers bore: 100 Then in the ruined dwellings and old tombs He dug, unbedding from the wormÈd ooze Vessels and tools of trade and husbandry; Wherewith, all seasonable works restored, Oil made he and wine anew, and taught mankind To live not brutally though without fire, Tending their flocks and herds and weaving wool, Living on fruit and milk and shepherds’ fare, Till time should bring back flame to smithy and hearth, Or Zeus relent. Now at these gates I stand, 110 At this mid hour, when Inachus comes forth To offer sacrifice unto his foe. For never hath his faithful zeal forborne To pay the power, though hard, that rules the world The smokeless sacrifice; which first today Shall smoke, and rise at heaven in flame to brave The baffled god. See here a servant bears For the cold altar ceremonial wood: My shepherd’s cloak will serve me for disguise. SERVANT. With much toil have I hewn these sapless logs. 120 Pr. But toil brings health, and health is happiness. Serv. Here’s one I know not—nay, how came he here Unseen by me? I pray thee, stranger, tell me What would’st thou at the house of Inachus? Pr. Intruders, friend, and travellers have glib tongues, Silence will question such. Serv. If ’tis a message, To-day is not thy day—who sent thee hither? Pr. The business of my leisure was well guessed: But he that sent me hither is I that come. Serv. I smell the matter—thou would’st serve the house? 130 Pr. ’Twas for that very cause I fled my own. Serv. From cruelty or fear of punishment? Pr. Cruel was my master, for he slew his father. His punishments thou speakest of are crimes. Serv. Thou dost well flying one that slew his father. Pr. Thy lord, they say, is kind. Serv. Well, thou wilt see. Thou may’st at once begin—come, give a hand. Pr. A day of freedom is a day of pleasure; And what thou doest have I never done, And understanding not might mar thy work. 140 Serv. Ay true—there is a right way and a wrong In laying wood. Pr. Then let me see thee lay it: The sight of a skill’d hand will teach an art. Serv. Thou seest this faggot which I now unbind, How it is packed within. Pr. I see the cones And needles of the fir, which by the wind In melancholy places ceaselessly Sighing are strewn upon the tufted floor. Serv. These took I from a sheltered bank, whereon The sun looks down at noon; for there is need The things be dry. These first I spread; and then Small sticks that snap i’ the hand. Pr. Such are enough To burden the slow flight of labouring rooks, When on the leafless tree-tops in young March Their glossy herds assembling soothe the air 155 With cries of solemn joy and cawings loud. And such the long-necked herons will bear to mend Their airy platform, when the loving spring Bids them take thought for their expected young. Serv. See even so I cross them and cross them so: Larger and by degrees a steady stack 161 Have built, whereon the heaviest logs may lie: And all of sun-dried wood: and now ’tis done. Pr. And now ’tis done, what means it now ’tis done? Serv. Well, thus ’tis rightly done: but why ’tis so I cannot tell, nor any man here knows; Save that our master when he sacrificeth, As thou wilt hear anon, speaketh of fire; And fire he saith is good for gods and men; And the gods have it and men have it not: 170 And then he prays the gods to send us fire; And we, against they send it, must have wood Laid ready thus as I have shewn thee here. Pr. To-day he sacrificeth? Serv. Ay, this noon. Hark! hear’st thou not? they come. The solemn flutes Warn us away; we must not here be seen In these our soilÈd habits, yet may stand Where we may hear and see and not be seen. [Exeunt R. Enter CHORUS, and from the palace Inachus bearing cakes: he comes to stand behind the altar. CHORUS. God of Heaven! We praise thee, Zeus most high, 180 To whom by eternal Fate was given The range and rule of the sky; When thy lot, first of three Leapt out, as sages tell, And won Olympus for thee, Therein for ever to dwell: But the next with the barren sea To grave PoseidÔn fell, And left fierce Hades his doom, to be The lord and terror of hell. 190 (2) Thou sittest for aye Encircled in azure bright, Regarding the path of the sun by day, And the changeful moon by night: Attending with tireless ears To the song of adoring love, With which the separate spheres Are voicÈd that turn above: And all that is hidden under The clouds thy footing has furl’d 200 Fears the hand that holdeth the thunder, The eye that looks on the world. Semichorus of youths. Of all the isles of the sea Is Crete most famed in story: Above all mountains famous to me Is Ida and crowned with glory. There guarded of Heaven and Earth Came Rhea at fall of night To hide a wondrous birth From the Sire’s unfathering sight. 210 The halls of Cronos rang With omens of coming ill, And the mad CurÊtes danced and sang Adown the slopes of the hill. Then all the peaks of Gnossus kindled red Beckoning afar unto the sinking sun, He thro’ the vaporous west plunged to his bed, Sunk, and the day was done. But they, though he was fled, Such light still held, as oft 220 Hanging in air aloft, At eve from shadowed ship The Egyptian sailor sees: Or like the twofold tip That o’er the topmost trees Flares on Parnassus, and the Theban dames Quake at the ghostly flames. Then friendly night arose To succour Earth, and spread Her mantle o’er the snows 230 And quenched their rosy red; But in the east upsprings Another light on them, SelÊnÉ with white wings And hueless diadem. Little could she befriend Her father’s house and state, Nor her weak beams defend HypÉrion from his fate. Only where’er she shines, 240 In terror looking forth, She sees the wailing pines Stoop to the bitter North: Or searching twice or thrice Along the rocky walls, She marks the columned ice Of frozen waterfalls: But still the darkened cave Grew darker as she shone, Wherein was Rhea gone 250 Her child to bear and save. [They dance. Then danced the Dactyls and CurÊtes wild, And drowned with yells the cries of mother and child; Big-armed DamnÁmeneus gan prance and shout: And burly Acmon struck the echoes out: And Kermis leaped and howled: and Titias pranced: And broad Cyllenus tore the air and danced: While deep within the shadowed cave at rest Lay Rhea, with her babe upon her breast. INACHUS. If any here there be whose impure hands 260 Among pure hands, or guilty heart among Our guiltless hearts be stained with blood or wrong, Let him depart! If there be any here in whom high Zeus Seeing impiety might turn away, Now from our sacrifice and from his sin Let him depart! Semichorus of maidens. I have chosen to praise HÊra the wife, and bring A hymn for the feast on marriage days To the wife of the gods’ king. 271 How on her festival The gods had loving strife, Which should give of them all The fairest gift to the wife. But Earth said, Fair to see Is mine and yields to none, I have grown for her joy a sacred tree, With apples of gold thereon. Then HÊra, when she heard what Earth had given, Smiled for her joy, and longed and came to see: On dovewings flying from the height of heaven, Down to the golden tree: As tired birds at even Come flying straight to house 285 On their accustomed boughs. ’Twas where, on tortured hands Bearing the mighty pole, Devoted Atlas stands: And round his bowed head roll Day-light and night, and stars unmingled dance, Nor can he raise his glance. She saw the rocky coast Whereon the azured waves Are laced in foam, or lost In water-lighted caves; The olive island where, Amid the purple seas Night unto Darkness bare The four Hesperides: 300 And came into the shade Of Atlas, where she found The garden Earth had made And fenced with groves around. And in the midst it grew Alone, the priceless stem, As careful, clear and true As graving on a gem. Nature had kissÈd Art And borne a child to stir 310 With jealousy the heart Of heaven’s Artificer. From crown to swelling root It mocked the goddess’ praise, The green enamelled sprays The emblazoned golden fruit. [They dance. And ’neath the tree, with hair and zone unbound, The fair Hesperides aye danced around, And Ægle danced and sang ‘O welcome, Queen!’ And Erytheia sang ‘The tree is green!’ 320 And Hestia danced and sang ‘The fruit is gold!’ And Arethusa sang ‘Fair Queen, behold!’ And all joined hands and danced about the tree, And sang ‘O Queen, we dance and sing for thee!’ In. If there be any here who has complaint Against our rule or claim or supplication, Now in the name of Zeus let it appear, Now let him speak! Prometheus reenters. Pr. All hail, most worthy king, such claim have I. In. May grace be with thee, stranger; speak thy mind. 330 Pr. To Argos, king of Argos, at thy house I bring long journeying to an end this hour, Bearing no idle message for thine ears. For know that far thy fame has reached, and men That ne’er have seen thee tell that thou art set Upon the throne of virtue, that good-will And love thy servants are, that in thy land Joy, honour, trust and modesty abide And drink the air of peace, that kings must see Thy city, would they know their peoples’ good 340 And stablish them therein by wholesome laws. But one thing mars the tale, for o’er thy lands Travelling I have not seen from morn till eve, Either from house or farm or labourer’s cot, In any village, nor this town of Argos A blue-wreathed smoke arise: the hearths are cold, This altar cold: I see the wood and cakes Unbaken—O king, where is the fire? In. If hither, stranger, thou wert come to find That which thou findest wanting, join with us Now in our sacrifice, take food within, 351 And having learnt our simple way of life Return unto thy country whence thou camest. But hast thou skill or knowledge of this thing, How best it may be sought, or by what means Hope to be reached, O speak! I wait to hear. Pr. There is, O king, fire on the earth this day. In. On earth there is fire thou sayest! Pr. There is fire on earth this day. In. This is a sacred place, a solemn hour, Thy speech is earnest: yet even if thou speak truth, O welcome messenger of happy tidings, And though I hear aright, yet to believe Is hard: thou canst not know what words thou speakest Into what ears: they never heard before 365 This sound but in old tales of happier times, In sighs of prayer and faint unhearted hope: Maybe they heard not rightly, speak again! Pr. There is, O king, fire on the earth this day. In. Yes, yes, again. Now let sweet Music blab Her secret and give o’er; here is a trumpet 371 That mocks her method. Yet ’tis but the word. Maybe thy fire is not the fire I seek; Maybe though thou didst see it, now ’tis quenched, Or guarded out of reach: speak yet again And swear by heaven’s truth is there fire or no; And if there be, what means may make it mine. Pr. There is, O king, fire on the earth this day: But not as thou dost seek it to be found. In. How seeking wrongly shall I seek aright? Pr. Thou prayest here to Zeus, and him thou callest 381 Almighty, knowing he could grant thy prayer: That if ’twere but his will, the journeying sun Might drop a spark into thine outstretched hand: That at his breath the splashing mountain brooks That fall from OrneÆ, and cold LernÈ’s pool Would change their element, and their chill streams Bend in their burning banks a molten flood: That at his word so many messengers Would bring thee fire from heaven, that not a hearth In all thy land but straight would have a god 391 To kneel and fan the flame: and yet to him, It is to him thou prayest. Pr. Is this thy wisdom, king, to sow thy seed Year after year in this unsprouting soil? Hast thou not proved and found the will of Zeus A barren rock for man with prayer to plough? In. His anger be averted! we judge not god Evil, because our wishes please him not. Oft our shortsighted prayers to heaven ascending Ask there our ruin, and are then denied 401 In kindness above granting: were’t not so, Scarce could we pray for fear to pluck our doom Out of the merciful withholding hands. Pr. Why then provokest thou such great goodwill In long denial and kind silence shown? In. Fie, fie! Thou lackest piety: the god’s denial Being nought but kindness, there is hope that he Will make that good which is not:—or if indeed Good be withheld in punishment, ’tis well Still to seek on and pray that god relent. 411 Pr. O Sire of Argos, Zeus will not relent. In. Yet fire thou sayst is on the earth this day. Pr. Not of his knowledge nor his gift, O king. In. By kindness of what god then has man fire? Pr. I say but on the earth unknown to Zeus. In. How boastest thou to know, not of his knowledge? Pr. I boast not: he that knoweth not may boast. In. Thy daring words bewilder sense with sound. Pr. I thought to find thee ripe for daring deeds. In. And what the deed for which I prove unripe? Pr. To take of heaven’s fire. In. And were I ripe, What should I dare, beseech you? In. Madman, pretending in one hand to hold The wrath of god and in the other fire. 425 Pr. Thou meanest rather holding both in one. In. Both impious art thou and incredible. Pr. Yet impious only till thou dost believe. In. And what believe? Ah, if I could believe! It was but now thou saidst that there was fire, And I was near believing; I believed: Now to believe were to be mad as thou. Chorus. He may be mad and yet say true—maybe The heat of prophecy like a strong wine Shameth his reason with exultant speech. 435 Pr. Thou say’st I am mad, and of my sober words Hast called those impious which thou fearest true, Those which thou knowest good, incredible. Consider ere thou judge: be first assured All is not good for man that seems god’s will. See, on thy farming skill, thy country toil 441 Which bends to aid the willing fruits of earth, And would promote the seasonable year, The face of nature is not always kind: And if thou search the sum of visible being To find thy blessing featured, ’tis not there: Her best gifts cannot brim the golden cup Of expectation which thine eager arms Lift to her mouthÈd horn—what then is this Whose wide capacity outbids the scale 450 Of prodigal beauty, so that the seeing eye And hearing ear, retiring unamazed Within their quiet chambers, sit to feast With dear imagination, nor look forth As once they did upon the varying air? Whence is the fathering of this desire Which mocks at fated circumstance? nay though Obstruction lie as cumbrous as the mountains, Nor thy particular hap hath armed desire Against the brunt of evil,—yet not for this 460 Faints man’s desire: it is the unquenchable Original cause, the immortal breath of being: Nor is there any spirit on Earth astir, Nor ’neath the airy vault, nor yet beyond In any dweller in far-reaching space, Nobler or dearer than the spirit of man: That spirit which lives in each and will not die, That wooeth beauty, and for all good things Urgeth a voice, or in still passion sigheth, And where he loveth draweth the heart with him. Hast thou not heard him speaking oft and oft, Prompting thy secret musing and now shooting His feathered fancies, or in cloudy sleep 473 Piling his painted dreams? O hark to him! For else if folly shut his joyous strength To mope in her dark prison without praise, The hidden tears with which he wails his wrong Will sour the fount of life. O hark to him! Him mayst thou trust beyond the things thou seest. For many things there be upon this earth Unblest and fallen from beauty, to mislead Man’s mind, and in a shadow justify The evil thoughts and deeds that work his ill; Fear, hatred, lust and strife, which, if man question The heavenborn spirit within him, are not there. Yet are they bold of face, and Zeus himself, 486 Seeing that Mischief held her head on high, Lest she should go beyond his power to quell And draw the inevitable Fate that waits On utmost ill, himself preventing Fate Hasted to drown the world, and now would crush Thy little remnant: but among the gods 492 Is one whose love and courage stir for thee; Who being of manlike spirit, by many shifts Has stayed the hand of the enemy, who crieth Thy world is not destroyed, thy good shall live: Thou hast more power for good than Zeus for ill, More courage, justice, more abundant art, More love, more joy, more reason: though around thee Rank-rooting evil bloom with poisonous crown, Though wan and dolorous and crooked things 501 Have made their home with thee, thy good shall live. Know thy desire: and know that if thou seek it, And seek, and seek, and fear not, thou shalt find. Sem. (youths). Is this a god that speaketh thus? Sem. (maidens). He speaketh as a man In love or great affliction yields his soul. In. Thou, whencesoe’er thou comest, whoe’er thou art, Who breakest on our solemn sacrifice With solemn words, I pray thee not depart Till thou hast told me more. This fire I seek 510 Not for myself, whose thin and silvery hair Tells that my toilsome age nears to its end, But for my children and the aftertime, For great the need thereof, wretched our state; Nay, set by what has been, our happiness Is very want, so that what now is not Is but the measure of what yet may be. And first are barest needs, which well I know Fire would supply, but I have hope beyond, That Nature in recovering her right 520 Would kinder prove to man who seeks to learn Her secrets and unfold the cause of life. So tell me, if thou knowest, what is fire? Doth earth contain it? or, since from the sun Fire reaches us, since in the glimmering stars And pallid moon, in lightning, and the glance Of tracking meteors that at nightfall show How in the air a thousand sightless things Travel, and ever on their windswift course Flame when they list and into darkness go,—530 Since in all these a fiery nature dwells, Is fire an airy essence, a thing of heaven, That, could we poise it, were an alien power To make our wisdom less, our wonder more? Pr. Thy wish to know is good, and happy is he Who thus from chance and change has launched his mind To dwell for ever with undisturbÈd truth. This high ambition doth not prompt his hand To crime, his right and pleasure are not wronged By folly of his fellows, nor his eye 540 Dimmed by the griefs that move the tears of men. Son of the earth, and citizen may be Of Argos or of Athens and her laws, But still the eternal nature, where he looks, O’errules him with the laws which laws obey, And in her heavenly city enrols his heart. In. Thus ever have I held of happiness, The child of heavenly truth, and thus have found it In prayer and meditation and still thought, And thus my peace of mind based on a floor 550 That doth not quaver like the joys of sense: Those I possess enough in seeing my slaves And citizens enjoy, having myself Tasted for once and put their sweets away. But of that heavenly city, of which thou sayest Her laws o’errule us, have I little learnt, For when my wandering spirit hath dared alone The unearthly terror of her voiceless halls, She hath fallen from delight, and without guide Turned back, and from her errand fled for fear. 560 Pr. Think not that thou canst all things know, nor deem Such knowledge happiness: the all-knowing Fates No pleasure have, who sit eternally Spinning the unnumbered threads that Time hath woven, And weaves, upgathering in his furthest house To store from sight; but what ’tis joy to learn Or use to know, that may’st thou ask of right. In. Then tell me, for thou knowest, what is fire? Pr. Know then, O king, that this fair earth of men, The Olympus of the gods, and all the heavens Are lesser kingdoms of the boundless space 571 Wherein Fate rules; they have their several times, Their seasons and the limit of their thrones, And from the nature of eternal things Springing, themselves are changed; even as the trees Or birds or beasts of earth, which now arise To being, now in turn decay and die. The heaven and earth thou seest, for long were held By Fire, a raging power, to whom the Fates Decreed a slow diminishing old age, 580 But to his daughter, who is that gentle goddess, Queen of the clear and azure firmament, In heaven called Hygra, but by mortals Air, To her, the child of his slow doting years, Was given a beauteous youth, not long to outlast His life, but be the pride of his decay, And win to gentler sway his lost domains. And when the day of time arrived, when Air Took o’er from her decrepit sire the third Of the Sun’s kingdoms, the one-moonÈd earth, Straight came she down to her inheritance. 591 Gaze on the sun with thine unshaded eye And shrink from what she saw. Forests of fire Whose waving trunks, sucking their fuel, reared In branched flame roaring, and their torrid shades Aye underlit with fire. The mountains lifted And fell and followed like a running sea, And from their swelling flanks spumed froth of fire; Or, like awakening monsters, mighty mounds Rose on the plain awhile. Sem. (maidens). He discovers a foe. 600 Sem. (youths). An enemy he paints. Pr. These all she quenched, Or charmed their fury into the dens and bowels Of earth to smoulder, there the vital heat To hold for her creation, which then—to her aid Summoning high Reason from his home in heaven,— She wrought anew upon the temperate lands. Sem. (maidens). ’Twas well Air won this kingdom of her sire. Sem. (youths). Now say how made she green this home of fire. Pr. The waters first she brought, that in their streams And pools and seas innumerable things 610 Brought forth, from whence she drew the fertile seeds Of trees and plants, and last of footed life, That wandered forth, and roaming to and fro, The rejoicing earth peopled with living sound. Reason advised, and Reason praised her toil; Which when she had done she gave him thanks, and said, ‘Fair comrade, since thou praisest what is done, Grant me this favour ere thou part from me: Make thou one fair thing for me, which shall suit With what is made, and be the best of all.’ 620 ’Twas evening, and that night Reason made man. Sem. (maidens). Children of Air are we, and live by fire. Sem. (youths). The sons of Reason dwelling on the earth. Sem. (maidens). Folk of a pleasant kingdom held between Fire’s reign of terror and the latter day When dying, soon in turn his child must die. Sem. (youths). Having a wise creator, above time Or youth or change, from whom our kind inherit The grace and pleasure of the eternal gods. In. But how came gods to rule this earth of Air? Pr. They also were her children who first ruled, Cronos, Iapetus, HypÉrion, 632 Theia and Rhea, and other mighty names That are but names—whom Zeus drave out from heaven, And with his tribe sits on their injured thrones. In. There is no greater god in heaven than he. Pr. Nor none more cruel nor more tyrannous. In. But what can man against the power of god? Pr. Doth not man strive with him? thyself dost pray. In. That he may pardon our contrarious deeds. Pr. Alas! alas! what more contrarious deed, What greater miracle of wrong than this, 642 That man should know his good and take it not? To what god wilt thou pray to pardon this? In vain was reason given, if man therewith Shame truth, and name it wisdom to cry down The unschooled promptings of his best desire. The beasts that have no speech nor argument Confute him, and the wild hog in the wood That feels his longing, hurries straight thereto, 650 And will not turn his head. In. How mean’st thou this? Pr. Thou hast desired the good, and now canst feel How hard it is to kill the heart’s desire. In. Shall Inachus rise against Zeus, as he Rose against Cronos and made war in heaven? Pr. I say not so, yet, if thou didst rebel, The tongue that counselled Zeus should counsel thee. Sem. (maidens). This is strange counsel. Sem. (youths). He is not A counsellor for gods or men. In. O that I knew where I might counsel find, That one were sent, nay, were’t the least of all The myriad messengers of heaven, to me! 662 One that should say ’This morn I stood with Zeus, He hath heard thy prayer and sent me: ask a boon, What thing thou wilt, it shall be given thee.’ Pr. What wouldst thou say to such a messenger? In. No need to ask then what I now might ask, How ’tis the gods, if they have care for mortals, Slubber our worst necessities—and the boon, No need to tell him that. Pr. Now, king, thou seest Zeus sends no messenger, but I am here. In. Thy speech is hard, and even thy kindest words Unkind. If fire thou hast, in thee ’tis kind To proffer it: but thou art more unkind Yoking heaven’s wrath therewith. Nay, and how knowest thou 675 Zeus will be angry if I take of it? Thou art a prophet: ay, but of the prophets Some have been taken in error, and honest time Has honoured many with forgetfulness. I’ll make this proof of thee; Show me thy fire— Nay, give’t me now—if thou be true at all, Be true so far: for the rest there’s none will lose, Nor blame thee being false—where is thy fire? Pr. O rather, had it thus been mine to give, I would have given it thus: not adding aught Of danger or diminishment or loss; 686 So strong is my goodwill; nor less than this My knowledge, but in knowledge all my power. Yet since wise guidance with a little means Can more than force unminded, I have skill To conjure evil and outcompass strength. Now give I thee my best, a little gift To work a world of wonder; ’tis thine own Of long desire, and with it I will give The cunning of invention and all arts 695 In which thy hand instructed may command, Interpret, comfort, or ennoble nature; With all provision that in wisdom is, And what prevention in foreknowledge lies. Pr. O king, the gain is thine, The penalty I more than share.
In. Ay, blessed be this day. Where is thy fire? Or is aught else to do, ere I may take? Pr. This was my message, speak and there is fire. In. There shall be fire. Await me here awhile. I go to acquaint my house, and bring them forth. [Exit. Chorus. Hearken, O Argos, hearken! 783 There will be fire. And thou, O Earth, give ear! There will be fire. Sem. (maidens). Who shall be sent to fetch this fire for the king? Sem. (youths). Shall we put forth in boats to reap, And shall the waves for harvest yield The rootless flames that nimbly leap 790 Upon their ever-shifting field? Sem. (maidens). Or we in olive-groves go shake And beat the fruiting sprays, till all The silv’ry glitter which they make Beneath into our baskets fall? Sem. (youths). To bind in sheaves and bear away The white unshafted darts of day? Sem. (maidens). And from the shadow one by one Pick up the playful oes of sun?
Sem. (youths). Or wouldst thou mine a passage deep Until the darksome fire is found, 801 Which prisoned long in seething sleep Vexes the caverns underground? Sem. (maidens). Or bid us join our palms perchance, To cup the slant and chinkÈd beam, Which mounting morn hath sent to dance Across our chamber while we dream? Sem. (youths). Say whence and how shall we fetch this fire for the king? Our hope is impatient of vain debating. Sem. (maidens). My heart is stirred at the name of the wondrous thing,810 And trembles awaiting. ODE. A coy inquisitive spirit, the spirit of wonder, Possesses the child in his cradle, when mortal things Are new, yet a varied surface and nothing under. It busies the mind on trifles and toys and brings Her grasp from nearer to further, from smaller to greater, And slowly teaches flight to her fledgeling wings. Where’er she flutters and falls surprises await her: She soars, and beauty’s miracles open in sight, The flowers and trees and beasts of the earth; and later 820 The skies of day, the moon and the stars of night; ’Neath which she scarcely venturing goes demurely, With mystery clad, in the awe of depth and height. O happy for still unconscious, for ah! how surely, How soon and surely will disenchantment come, When first to herself she boasts to walk securely, And drives the master spirit away from his home; Seeing the marvellous things that make the morning Are marvels of every-day, familiar, and some Have lost with use, like earthly robes, their adorning, As earthly joys the charm of a first delight, 831 And some are fallen from awe to neglect and scorning; Until— O tarry not long, dear needed sprite! Till thou, though uninvited, with fancy returnest To hallow beauty and make the dull heart bright: To inhabit again thy gladdened kingdom in earnest; Wherein— from the smile of beauty afar forecasting The pleasure of god, thou livest at peace and yearnest With wonder everlasting.
SECOND PART Reenter from the palace Inachus, with Argeia and Io. INACHUS. That but a small and easy thing now seems, Which from my house when I came forth at noon A dream was and beyond the reach of man. ’Tis now a fancy of the will, a word, Liberty’s lightest prize. Yet still as one Who loiters on the threshold of delight, Delaying pleasure for the love of pleasure, I dally—Come, Argeia, and share my triumph! And set our daughter by thee; though her eyes Are young, there are no eyes this day so young As shall forget this day—while one thing more I ask of thee; this evil, will it light 851 On me or on my house or on mankind? Pr. Scarce on mankind, O Inachus, for Zeus A second time failing will not again Measure his spite against their better fate. And now the terror, which awhile o’er Earth Its black wings spread, shall up to Heaven ascend And gnaw the tyrant’s heart: for there is whispered A word gone forth to scare the mighty gods; How one must soon be born, and born of men, 860 Who shall drive out their impious host from heaven, And from their skyey dwellings rule mankind In truth and love. So scarce on man will fall This evil, nay, nor on thyself, O king; Thy name shall live an honoured name in Greece. In. Then on my house ’twill be. Know’st thou no more? Pr. Know I no more? Ay, if my purpose fail ’Tis not for lack of knowing: if I suffer, ’Tis not that poisonous fear hath slurred her task, Or let brave resolution walk unarmed. 870 My ears are callous to the threats of Zeus, The direful penalties his oath hath laid On every good that I in heart and hand Am sworn to accomplish, and for all his threats, Lest their accomplishment should outrun mine, Am bound the more. Nay, nor his evil minions, Nor force, nor strength, shall bend me to his will. ARGEIA. Alas, alas, what heavy words are these, That in the place of joy forbid your tongue, That cloud and change his face, while desperate sorrow 880 Sighs in his heart? I came to share a triumph: All is dismay and terror. What is this? In. True, wife, I spake of triumph, and I told thee The winter-withering hope of my whole life Has flower’d to-day in amaranth: what the hope Thou knowest, who hast shared; but the condition I told thee not and thou hast heard: this prophet, Who comes to bring us fire, hath said that Zeus Wills not the gift he brings, and will be wroth With us that take it. Ar. O doleful change, I came In pious purpose, nay, I heard within 891 The hymn to glorious Zeus: I rose and said, The mighty god now bends, he thrusts aside His heavenly supplicants to hear the prayer Of Inachus his servant; let him hear. O let him turn away now lest he hear. Nay, frown not on me; though a woman’s voice That counsels is but heard impatiently, Yet by thy love, and by the sons I bare thee, By this our daughter, our last ripening fruit, 900 By our long happiness and hope of more, Hear me and let me speak. In. Well, wife, speak on. Ar. Thy voice forbids more than thy words invite: Yet say whence comes this stranger. Know’st thou not? Yet whencesoe’er, if he but wish us well, He will not bound his kindness in a day. Do nought in haste. Send now to Sicyon And fetch thy son PhorÔneus, for his stake In this is more than thine, and he is wise. ’Twere well PhorÔneus and Ægialeus 910 Were both here: maybe they would both refuse The strange conditions which this stranger brings. Were we not happy too before he came? Doth he not offer us unhappiness? Bid him depart, and at some other time, When you have well considered, then return. In. ’Tis his conditions that we now shall hear. Ar. O hide them yet! Are there not tales enough Of what the wrathful gods have wrought on men? Nay, ’twas this very fire thou now would’st take, Which vain Salmoneus, son of Æolus, 921 Made boast to have, and from his rattling car Threw up at heaven to mock the lightning. Him The thunderer stayed not to deride, but sent One blinding fork, that in the vacant sky Shook like a serpent’s tongue, which is but seen In memory, and he was not, or for burial Rode with the ashes of his royal city Upon the whirlwind of the riven air. And after him his brother Athamas, King of Orchomenos, in frenzy fell For Hera’s wrath, and raving killed his son; And would have killed fair Ino, but that she fled Into the sea, preferring there to woo 934 The choking waters, rather than that the arm Which had so oft embraced should do her wrong. For which old crimes the gods yet unappeased Demand a sacrifice, and the king’s son Dreads the priest’s knife, and all the city mourns. Or shall I say what shameful fury it was With which Poseidon smote PasiphaË, But for neglect of a recorded vow: Or how ActÆon fared of Artemis When he surprised her, most himself surprised: And even while he looked his boasted bow Fell from his hands, and through his veins there ran A strange oblivious trouble, darkening sense Till he knew nothing but a hideous fear Which bade him fly, and faster, as behind He heard his hounds give tongue, that through the wood 950 Were following, closing, caught him and tore him down. And many more thus perished in their prime; Lycaon and his fifty sons, whom Zeus In their own house spied on, and unawares Watching at hand, from his disguise arose, And overset the table where they sat Around their impious feast and slew them all: AlcyonÈ and Ceyx, queen and king, Who for their arrogance were changed to birds: And Cadmus now a serpent, once a king: 960 And saddest Niobe, whom not the love Of Leto aught availed, when once her boast Went out, though all her crime was too much pride Of heaven’s most precious gift, her children fair. Six daughters had she, and six stalwart sons; But Leto bade her two destroy the twelve. And somewhere now, among lone mountain rocks On Sipylus, where couch the nymphs at night Who dance all day by Achelous’ stream, The once proud mother lies, herself a rock, 970 And in cold breast broods o’er the goddess’ wrong. In. Now hush thy fear. See how thou tremblest still. Or if thou fear, fear passion; for the freshes Of tenderness and motherly love will drown The eye of judgment: yet, since even excess Of the soft quality fits woman well, I praise thee; nor would ask thee less to aid With counsel, than in love to share my choice. Tho’ weak thy hands to poise, thine eye may mark This balance, how the good of all outweighs 980 The good of one or two, though these be us. Let not reluctance shame the sacrifice Which in another thou wert first to praise. Ar. Alas for me, for thee and for our children, Who, being our being, having all our having, If they fare ill, our pride lies in the dust. In. O deem not a man’s children are but those Out of his loins engendered—our spirit’s love Hath such prolific consequence, that Virtue Cometh of ancestry more pure than blood, 990 And counts her seed as sand upon the shore. Happy is he whose body’s sons proclaim Their father’s honour, but more blest to whom The world is dutiful, whose children spring Out of all nations, and whose pride the proud Rise to regenerate when they call him sire. Ar. Thus, husband, ever have I bought and buy Nobleness cheaply being linked with thee. Forgive my weakness; see, I now am bold; Tell me the worst, I’ll hear and wish ’twere more. In. Retire—thy tears perchance may stir again. Ar. Nay, I am full of wonder and would hear. Pr. Bid me not tell if ye have fear to hear; But have no fear. Knowledge of future things 1004 Can nothing change man’s spirit: and though he seem To aim his passion darkly, like a shaft Shot toward some fearful sound in thickest night, He hath an owl’s eye, and must blink at day. The springs of memory, that feed alike His thought and action, draw from furthest time Their constant source, and hardly brook constraint Of actual circumstance, far less attend On glassed futurity; nay, death itself, His fate unquestioned, his foretasted pain, The certainty foreknown of things unknown, Cannot discourage his habitual being 1016 In its appointed motions, to make waver His eager hand, nor loosen the desire Of the most feeble melancholy heart Even from the unhopefullest of all her dreams. In. Since then I long to know, now something say Of what will come to mine when I am gone. Pr. And let the maid too hear, for ’tis of her I speak, to tell her whither she should turn The day ye drive her forth from hearth and home. In. What sayst thou? drive her out? and we? from home? 1026 Banish the comfort of our eyes? Nay rather Believe that these obedient hands will tear The heart out of my breast, ere it do this. Pr. When her wild cries arouse the house at night, And, running to her bed, ye see her set 1031 Upright in trancÈd sleep, her starting hair With deathly sweat bedewed, in horror shaking, Her eyeballs fixed upon the unbodied dark, Through which a draping mist of luminous gloom Drifts from her couch away,—when, if asleep, She walks as if awake, and if awake Dreams, and as one who nothing hears or sees, Lives in a sick and frantic mood, whose cause She understands not or is loth to tell— Ar. Ah, ah, my child, my child!—Dost thou feel aught? 1041 Speak to me—nay, ’tis nothing—hearken not. Pr. Ye then distraught with sorrow, neither knowing Whether to save were best or lose, will seek Apollo’s oracle. In. And what the answer? Will it discover nought to avert this sorrow? Pr. Or else thy whole race perish root and branch. Pr. Yet shall she live though lost; from human form Changed, that thou wilt not know thy daughter more. In. Woe, woe! my thought was praying for her death. 1051
Pr. In Hera’s temple shall her prison be At high MycenÆ, till from heaven be sent Hermes, with song to soothe and sword to slay The beast whose hundred eyes devour the door. In. Enough, enough is told, unless indeed, The beast once slain, thou canst restore our child. Pr. Nay, with her freedom will her wanderings Begin. Come hither, child—nay, let her come: What words remain to speak will not offend her, And shall in memory quicken, when she looks To learn where she should go;—for go she must, Stung by the venomous fly, whose angry flight She still will hear about her, till she come 1064 To lay her sevenfold-carried burden down Upon the Æthiop shore where he shall reign. In. But say—say first, what form— Pr. In snow-white hide Of those that feel the goad and wear the yoke. In. Round-hoofed, or such as tread with cloven foot? Pr. Wide-horned, large-eyed, broad-fronted, and the feet 1070 Cloven which carry her to her far goal. In. Will that of all these evils be the term? Pr. Ay, but the journey first which she must learn. Hear now, my child; the day when thou art free, Leaving the lion-gate, descend and strike The TrÊtan road to Nemea, skirting wide The unhunted forest o’er the watered plain To walled CleÔnÆ, whence the traversed stream To Corinth guides: there enter not, but pass To narrow Isthmus, where Poseidon won 1080 A country from Apollo, and through the town Of Crommyon, till along the robber’s road Pacing, thy left eye meet the westering sun O’er Geraneia, and thou reach the hill Of Megara, where Car thy brother’s babe In time shall rule; next past Eleusis climb Stony Panactum and the pine-clad slopes Of Phyle; shun the left-hand way, and keep The rocks; the second day thy feet shall tread The plains of GrÆa, whence the roadway serves Aulis and Mycalessus to the point 1091 Of vext Euripus: fear not then the stream, Nor scenting think to taste, but plunging in Breast its salt current to the further shore. For on this island mayst thou lose awhile Thy maddening pest, and rest and pasture find, And from the heafs of bold Macistus see The country left and sought: but when thou feel Thy torment urge, move down, recross the flood, And west by Harma’s fencÈd gap arrive At seven-gated Thebes: thy friendly goddess Ongan AthenÈ has her seat without. 1102 Chor. Now if she may not stay thy toilsome destined steps, I pray that she may slay for thee the maddening fly. Pr. Keep not her sanctuary long, but seek Boeotian Ascra, where the Muses’ fount, Famed AganippÈ, wells: Ocalea Pass, and Tilphusa’s northern steeps descend By AlalcomenÆ, the goddess’ town. Guard now the lake’s low shore, till thou have crossed Hyrcana and Cephissus, the last streams 1111 Which feed its reedy pools, when thou shalt come Between two mountains that enclose the way By peakÈd AbÆ to Hyampolis. The right-hand path that thither parts the vale Opes to CyrtonÈ and the Locrian lands; Toward Elateia thou, where o’er the marsh A path with stones is laid; and thence beyond To Thronium, TarphÈ, and ThermopylÆ, Where rocky Lamia views the Maliac gulf. Chor. If further she should go, will she not see That other Argos, the Dodonian land? 1122 Pr. Crossing the Phthian hills thou next shalt reach Pharsalus, and Olympus’ peakÈd snows Shall guide thee o’er the green Pelasgic plains For many a day, but to Argissa come Let old Peneius thy slow pilot be Through TempÈ, till they turn upon his left Crowning the wooded slopes with splendours bare. Thence issuing forth on the Pierian shore Northward of Ossa thou shalt touch the lands Of Macedon. Chor. Alas, we wish thee speed, 1132 But bid thee here farewell; for out of Greece Thou goest ’mongst the folk whose chattering speech Is like the voice of birds, nor home again Wilt thou return. Pr. Thy way along the coast Lies till it southward turn, when thou shalt seek Where wide on Strymon’s plain the hindered flood Spreads like a lake; thy course to his oppose And face him to the mountain whence he comes: Which doubled, Thrace receives thee: barbarous names 1141 Of mountain, town and river, and a people Strange to thine eyes and ears, the Agathyrsi, Of pictured skins, who owe no marriage law, And o’er whose gay-spun garments sprent with gold Their hanging hair is blue. Their torrent swim That measures Europe in two parts, and go Eastward along the sea, to mount the lands Beyond man’s dwelling, and the rising steeps That face the sun untrodden and unnamed.—1150 Know to earth’s verge remote thou then art come, The Scythian tract and wilderness forlorn, Through whose rude rocks and frosty silences No path shall guide thee then, nor my words now. There as thou toilest o’er the treacherous snows, A sound then thou shalt hear to stop thy breath, And prick thy trembling ears; a far-off cry, Whose throat seems the white mountain and its passion The woe of earth. Flee not, nor turn not back: Let thine ears drink and guide thine eyes to see That sight whose terrors shall assuage thy terror, Whose pain shall kill thy pain. Stretched on the rock, Naked to scorching sun, to pinching frost, 1163 To wind and storm and beaks of wingÈd fiends From year to year he lies. Refrain to ask His name and crime—nay, haply when thou see him Thou wilt remember—’tis thy tyrant’s foe, Man’s friend, who pays his chosen penalty. Draw near, my child, for he will know thy need, And point from land to land thy further path. Chorus O miserable man, hear now the worst. O weak and tearful race, Born to unhappiness, see now thy cause 1173 Doomed and accurst! It surely were enough, the bad and good Together mingled, against chance and ill To strive, and prospering by turns, Now these, now those, now folly and now skill, Alike by means well understood Or ’gainst all likelihood; Loveliness slaving to the unlovely will That overrides the right and laughs at law. But always all in awe 1183 And imminent dread: Because there is no mischief thought or said, Imaginable or unguessed, But it may come to be; nor home of rest, Nor hour secure: but anywhere, At any moment; in the air, Or on the earth or sea, Or in the fair And tender body itself it lurks, creeps in, Or seizes suddenly, 1193 Torturing, burning, withering, devouring, Shaking, destroying; till tormented life Sides with the slayer, not to be, And from the cruel strife Falls to fate overpowering. Or if some patient heart, In toilsome steps of duty tread apart, 1200 Thinking to win her peace within herself, And thus awhile succeed: She must see others bleed, At others’ misery moan, And learn the common suffering is her own, From which it is no freedom to be freed: Nay, Nature, her best nurse, Is tender but to breed a finer sense, Which she may easier wound, with smart the worse And torture more intense. 1210 And no strength for thee but the thought of duty, Nor any solace but the love of beauty. O Right’s toil unrewarded! O Love’s prize unaccorded! I say this might suffice, O tearful and unstable And miserable man, Were’t but from day to day Thy miserable lot, This might suffice, I say, 1220 To term thee miserable. But thou of all thine ills too must take thought, Must grow familiar till no curse astound thee, With tears recall the past, With tears the times forecast; With tears, with tears thou hast The scapeless net spread in thy sight around thee. How then support thy fate, O miserable man, if this befall, That he who loves thee and would aid thee, daring To raise an arm for thy deliverance, 1231 Must for his courage suffer worse than all? In. Bravest deliverer, for thy prophecy Has torn the veil which hid thee from my eyes, If thyself art that spirit, of whom some things Were darkly spoken,—nor can I doubt thou art, Being that the heaven its fire withholds not from thee Nor time his secrets,—tell me now thy name, That I may praise thee rightly; and my late Unwitting words pardon thou, and these who still In blinded wonder kneel not to thy love. 1241 Pr. Speak not of love. See, I am moved with hate, And fiercest anger, which will sometimes spur The heart to extremity, till it forget That there is any joy save furious war. Nay, were there now another deed to do, Which more could hurt our enemy than this, Which here I stand to venture, here would I leave thee Conspiring at his altar, and fly off To plunge the branding terror in his soul. But now the rising passion of my will 1251 Already jars his reaching sense, already From heaven he bids his minion Hermes forth To bring his only rebel to his feet. Therefore no more delay, the time is short. In. I take, I take. ’Tis but for thee to give. Pr. O heavenly fire, life’s life, the eye of day, Whose nimble waves upon the starry night Of boundless ether love to play, Carrying commands to every gliding sprite To feed all things with colour, from the ray Of thy bright-glancing, white 1162 And silver-spinning light: Unweaving its thin tissue for the bow Of Iris, separating countless hues Of various splendour for the grateful flowers To crown the hasting hours, Changing their special garlands as they choose. O spirit of rage and might, Who canst unchain the links of winter stark, And bid earth’s stubborn metals flow like oil, Her porphyrous heart-veins boil; 1272 Whose arrows pierce the cloudy shields of dark; Let now this flame, which did to life awaken Beyond the cold dew-gathering veils of morn, And thence by me was taken, And in this reed was borne, A smothered theft and gift to man below, Here with my breath revive, Restore thy lapsÈd realm, and be the sire Of many an earthly fire. 1281 O flame, flame bright and live, Appear upon the altar as I blow. Chor. ’Twas in the marish reed. See to his mouth he sets its hollow flute And breathes therein with heed, As one who from a pipe with breathings mute Will music’s voice evoke.— See, the curl of a cloud. In. The smoke, the smoke! 1290 Semichorus. Thin clouds mounting higher. In. ’Tis smoke, the smoke of fire. Semichorus. Thick they come and thicker, Quick arise and quicker, Higher still and higher. Their wreaths the wood enfold. —I see a spot of gold. They spring from a spot of gold, Red gold, deep among The leaves: a golden tongue. 1300 O behold, behold, Dancing tongues of gold, That leaping aloft flicker, Higher still and higher. In. ’Tis fire, the flame of fire! Semichorus. The blue smoke overhead Is turned to angry red. The fire, the fire, it stirs. Hark, a crackling sound, As when all around 1310 Ripened pods of furze Split in the parching sun Their dry caps one by one, And shed their seeds on the ground. —Ah! what clouds arise. Away! O come away. The wind-wafted smoke, Blowing all astray,
[Prometheus, after
writing his name
on the altar, goes
out unobserved.] Blinds and pricks my eyes. Ah! I choke, I choke. —All the midst is rent: See the twigs are all By the flaming spent White and gold, and fall. How they writhe, resist, Blacken, flake, and twist, Snap in gold and fall. —See the stars that mount, Momentary bright Flitting specks of light 1330 More than eye can count. Insects of the air, As in summer night Show a fire in flying Flickering here and there, Waving past and dying. —Look, a common cone Of the mountain pine Solid gold is grown; Till its scales outshine, 1340 Standing each alone In the spiral rows Of their fair design, All the brightest shows Of the sun’s decline. —Hark, there came a hiss, Like a startled snake Sliding through the brake. Oh, and what is this? Smaller flames that flee 1350 Sidelong from the tree, Hark, they hiss, they hiss. —How the gay flames flicker, Spurting, dancing, leaping Quicker yet and quicker, Higher yet and higher, —Flaming, flaring, fuming, Cracking, crackling, creeping, Hissing and consuming: Mighty is the fire. 1360 In. Stay, stay, cease your rejoicings. Where is he, The prophet,—nay, what say I,—the god, the giver? Chor. He is not here—he is gone. In. Search, search around. Search all, search well. Chor. He is gone,—he is not here. In. The palace gate lies open: go, Argeia, Maybe he went within: go seek him there. [Exit Ar. Look down the sea road, down the country road: Follow him if ye see him. In. Strain, strain your eyes: look well: search everywhere. Look townwards—is he there? Part of Chorus returning. He is not there.— Other part returning. He is not there. Ar. re-entering. He is not there. 1371 Chor. See on the altar—see! Chor. What see ye on the altar? Chor. Here in front Words newly writ. In. Ay true— There is the name. How like a child was I, That I must wait till these dumb letters gave The shape and soul to knowledge: when the god Stood here so self-revealed to ears and eyes That, ’tis a god I said, yet wavering still, Doubting what god,—and now, who else but he? I knew him, yet not well; I knew him not: Prometheus—ay, Prometheus. Know ye, my children, 1382 This name we see was writ by him we seek. ’Tis his own name, his own heart-stirring name, Feared and revered among the immortal gods; Divine Prometheus: see how here the large Cadmeian characters run, scoring out The hated title of his ancient foe,— To Zeus ’twas made,—and now ’tis to Prometheus— Writ with the charrÈd reed—theft upon theft. He hath stolen from Zeus his altar, and with his fire Hath lit our sacrifice unto himself. 1392 IÓ Prometheus, friend and firegiver, For good or ill thy thefts and gifts are ours. We worshipped thee unknowing. Chor. But now where is he? In. No need to search—we shall not see him more. We look in vain. The high gods when they choose Put on and off the solid visible shape Which more deceives our hasty sense, than when Seeing them not we judge they stand aloof. And he, he now is gone; his work is done: ’Tis ours to see it be not done in vain. 1402 Chor. What is to do? speak, bid, command, we fly. In. Go some and fetch more wood to feed the fire; And some into the city to proclaim That fire is ours: and send out messengers To Corinth, Sicyon, Megara and Athens And to MycenÆ, telling we have fire: And bid that in the temples they prepare Their altars, and send hither careful men To learn of me what things the time requires. [Exit part of Chorus. The rest remain to end our feast; and now Seeing this altar is no more to Zeus, 1413 But shall for ever be with smouldering heat Fed for the god who first set fire thereon, Change ye your hymns, which in the praise of Zeus Ye came to sing, and change the prayer for fire Which ye were wont to raise, to high thanksgiving, Praising aloud the giver and his gift. Part of Chorus. Now our happy feast hath ending, While the sun in heaven descending Sees us gathered round a light Born to cheer his vacant night. 1423 Praising him to-day who came Bearing far his heavenly flame: Came to crown our king’s desire With his gift of golden fire. Semichorus. My heart, my heart is freed. Now can I sing. I loose a shaft from my bow, A song from my heart to heaven, and watch it speed. It revels in the air, and straight to its goal doth go. I have no fear: I praise distinguishing duly: I praise the love that I love and I worship truly. Goodness I praise, not might, Nor more will I speak of wrong, 1435 But of lovingkindness and right; And the god of my love shall rejoice at the sound of my song. I praise him whom I have seen: As a man he is beautiful, blending prime and youth, Of gentle and lovely mien, With the step and the eyes of truth, As a god,—O were I a god, but thus to be man! As a god, I set him above The rest of the gods; for his gifts are pledges of love, The words of his mouth rare and precious, His eyes’ glance and the smile of his lips are love. He is the one 1447 Alone of all the gods, Of righteous Themis the lofty-spirited son, Who hates the wrongs they have done. He is the one I adore. For if there be love in heaven with evil to cope,— And he promised us more and more,— For what may we not hope? ODE My soul is drunk with joy, her new desire In far forbidden places wanders away. Her hopes with free bright-coloured wings of fire Upon the gloom of thought Are sailing out. Awhile they rise, awhile to rest they softly fall, Like butterflies, that flit 1461 Across the mountains, or upon a wall Winking their idle fans at pleasure sit. O my vague desires! Ye lambent flames of the soul, her offspring fires: That are my soul herself in pangs sublime Rising and flying to heaven before her time: What doth tempt you forth To melt in the south or shiver in the frosty north? What seek ye or find ye in your random flying, For ever soaring aloft, soaring and dying? Joy, the joy of flight; 1472 They hide in the sun, they flare and dance in the night. Gone up, gone out of sight—and ever again Follow fresh tongues of fire, fresh pangs of pain. Ah! could I control These vague desires, these leaping flames of the soul: Could I but quench the fire, ah! could I stay My soul that flieth, alas, and dieth away! [Enter other part of Chorus.
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