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 god[n3]
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 cerulean[n24]
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 signs[n33]
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 lead[n37]
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 east[n43]
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 parts[n45]
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 Phœbus 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]