'Tis piteous tale, in Grecian numbers told,—
Prometheus chain'd by Vulcan to a rock;
Expos'd aloft to ev'ry tempest's shock,
To burning sun, and winter's shiv'ring cold:
And all his woe, as minstrel doth unfold,
From love to man, whom other gods would mock.
For man his hands Jove's treasury unlock;
The stolen fire he breathes on man's dull mould.
O, could this Bard have liv'd in Christian days,
And seen our blessed Lord nail'd to the tree,