Part 28 (1/2)

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

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

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

CHORUS

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

PROMETHEUS

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

CHORUS

But what hand rules the helm of destiny?

PROMETHEUS

The triform Fates, and Furies unforgiving.

CHORUS

Then is the power of Zeus more weak than theirs?

PROMETHEUS

He may not shun the fate ordained for him.

CHORUS

What is ordained for him, save endless rule?

PROMETHEUS

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

CHORUS

Surely thy silence hides some solemn thing.

PROMETHEUS

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

CHORUS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Enter IO, horned like a cow.]

IO

Alack! what land, what folk are here?

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

for what thing done Dost thou in agony atone?

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