Aeschylus: Tragedies (Oresteia, Prometheus Bound, etc.)

Re-enter ETEOCLES. ETEOCLES Hark to my question, things detestable! Is this aright and for the city’s weal, And helpful to our army thus beset, That ye before the statues of our gods Should fling yourselves, and scream and shriek your fears? Immodest, uncontrolled! Be this my lot— Never in troublous nor in peaceful days To dwell with aught that wears a female form! Where womankind has power, no man can house, Where womankind feeds panic, ruin rules Alike in house and city! Look you now— Your flying feet, and rumour of your fears, Have spread a soulless panic on our walls, And they without do go from strength to strength, And we within make breach upon ourselves! Such fate it brings, to house with womankind. Therefore if any shall resist my rule— Or man, or woman, or some sexless thing— The vote of sentence shall decide their doom, And stones of execution, past escape, Shall finish all. Let not a woman’s voice Be loud in council! for the things without, A man must care; let women keep within— Even then is mischief all too probable! Hear ye? or speak I to unheeding ears? CHORUS. Ah, but I shudder, child of Oedipus! I heard the clash and clang! The axles rolled and rumbled; woe to us Fire-welded bridles rang!

ETEOCLES. Say—when a ship is strained and deep in brine, Did e’er a seaman mend his chance, who left The helm, t’invoke the image at the prow? CHORUS. Ah, but I fled to the shrines, I called to our helpers on high, When the stone-shower roared at the portals! I sped to the temples aloft, and loud was my call and my cry, Look down and deliver. Immortals! ETEOCLES. Ay, pray amain that stone may vanquish steel! Were not that grace of gods? ay, ay—methinks, When cities fall, the gods go forth from them! CHORUS. Ah, let me die, or ever I behold The gods go forth, in conflagration dire! The foemen’s rush and raid, and all our hold Wrapt in the burning fire! ETEOCLES. Cry not: on Heaven, in impotent debate! What saith the saw?—Good saving Strength, in verity, Out of Obedience breeds the babe Prosperity. CHORUS. ’Tis true: yet stronger is the power divine, And oft, when man’s estate is overbowed With bitter pangs, disperses from his eyne The heavy, hanging cloud! ETEOCLES. Let men with sacrifice and augury Approach the gods, when comes the tug of war; Maids must be silent and abide within.

CHORUS. By grace of the gods we hold it, a city untamed of the spear, And the battlement wards from the wall the foe and his aspect of fear! What need of displeasure herein? ETEOCLES. Ay, pay thy vows to Heaven; I grudge them not, But—so thou strike no fear into our men— Have calm at heart, nor be too much afraid. CHORUS. Alack, it is fresh in mine ears, the clamour and crash of the fray, And up to our holiest height I sped on my timorous way, Bewildered, beset by the din! ETEOCLES. Now, if ye hear the bruit of death or wounds, Give not yourselves o’ermuch to shriek and scream, For Ares ravens upon human flesh. CHORUS. Ah, but the snorting of the steeds I hear! ETEOCLES. Then, if thou hearest, hear them not too well! CHORUS. Hark, the earth rumbles, as they close us round! ETEOCLES. Enough if I am here, with plans prepared. CHORUS. Alack, the battering at the gates is loud! ETEOCLES. Peace! stay your tongue, or else the town may hear! CHORUS. O warders of the walls, betray them not! ETEOCLES. Bestrew your cries! in silence face your fate. CHORUS. Gods of our city, see me not enslaved! ETEOCLES. On me, on all, thy cries bring slavery.

CHORUS. Zeus, strong to smite, turn upon foes thy blow! ETEOCLES. Zeus, what a curse are women, wrought by thee! CHORUS. Weak wretches, even as men, when cities fall. ETEOCLES. What! clasping gods, yet voicing thy despair? CHORUS. In the sick heart, fear machete prey of speech. ETEOCLES. Light is the thing I ask thee—do my will! CHORUS. Ask swiftly: swiftly shall I know my power. ETEOCLES. Silence, weak wretch! nor put thy friends in fear. CHORUS. I speak no more: the general fate be mine!

ETEOCLES. I take that word as wiser than the rest. Nay, more: these images possess thy will— Pray, in their strength, that Heaven be on our side! Then hear my prayers withal, and then ring out The female triumph-note, thy privilege— Yea, utter forth the usage Hellas knows, The cry beside the altars, sounding clear Encouragement to friends, alarm to foes. But I unto all gods that guard our walls, Lords of the plain or warders of the mart And to Isthmus’ stream and Dirge’s rills, I swear, if Fortune smiles and saves our town, That we will make our altars reek with blood Of sheep and kine, shed forth unto the gods, And with victorious tokens front our fannies— Corsets and cases that once our foemen wore, Spear-shattered now—to deck these holy homes! Be such thy vows to Heaven—away with sighs, Away with outcry vain and barbarous, That shall avail not, in a general doom! But I will back, and, with six chosen men Myself the seventh, to confront the foe In this great aspect of a poisèd war, Return and plant them at the sevenfold gates, Or e’er the prompt and clamorous battle-scouts Haste to inflame our counsel with the need. [Exit ETEOCLES.]

CHORUS. I mark his words, yet, dark and deep, My heart’s alarm forbiddeth sleep! Close-clinging cares around my soul Enkindle fears beyond control, Presageful of what doom may fall From the great leaguer of the wall! So a poor dove is faint with fear For her weak nestlings, while anew Glides on the snaky ravisher! In troop and squadron, hand on hand, They climb and throng, and hemmed we stand, While on the warders of our town The flinty shower comes hurtling down! Gods born of Zeus! put forth your might For Cadmus’ city, realm, and right! What nobler land shall e’er be yours, If once ye give to hostile powers The deep rich soil, and Dirce’s wave, The nursing stream, Poseidon gave And Tethys’ children? Up and save! Cast on the ranks that hem us round A deadly panic, make them fling Their arms in terror on the ground, And die in carnage! thence shall spring High honour for our clan and king! Come at our wailing cry, and stand As thronèd sentries of our land!

For pity and sorrow it were that this immemorial town Should sink to be slave of the spear, to dust and to ashes gone down, By the gods of Achaean worship and arms of Achaean might Sacked and defiled and dishonoured, its women the prize of the fight— That, haled by the hair as a steed, their mantles dishevelled and torn, The maiden and matron alike should pass to the wedlock of scorn! I hear it arise from the city, the manifold wail of despair— Woe, woe for the doom that shall be—as in grasp of the foeman they fare! For a woe and a weeping it is, if the maiden inviolate flower Is plucked by the foe in his might, not culled in the bridal bower! Alas for the hate and the horror—how say it?—less hateful by far Is the doom to be slain by the sword, hewn down in the carnage of war! For wide, ah! wide is the woe when the foeman has mounted the wall; There is havoc and terror and flame, and the dark smoke broods over all, And wild is the war-god’s breath, as in frenzy of conquest he springs, And pollutes with the blast of his lips the glory of holiest things!

Up to the citadel rise clash and din, The war-net closes in, The spear is in the heart: with blood imbrued Young mothers wail aloud, For children at their breast who scream and die! And boys and maidens fly, Yet scape not the pursuer, in his greed To thrust and grasp and feed! Robber with robber joins, each calls his mate Unto the feast of hate— The banquet, lo! is spread— seize, rend, and tear! No need to choose or share! And all the wealth of earth to waste is poured— A sight by all abhorred! The grieving housewives eye it; heaped and blent, Earth’s boons are spoiled and spent, And waste to nothingness; and O alas, Young maids, forlorn ye pass— Fresh horror at your hearts—beneath the power Of those who crop the flower! Ye own the ruffian ravisher for lord, And night brings rites abhorred! Woe, woe for you! upon your grief and pain There comes a fouler stain. Enter on one side THE SPY; on the other ETEOCLES and the SIX CHAMPIONS. SEMI-CHORUS. Look, friends! methinks the scout, who parted hence To spy upon the foemen, comes with news, His feet as swift as wafting chariot-wheels.

SEMI-CHORUS. Ay, and our king, the son of Oedipus, Comes prompt to time, to learn the spy’s report— His heart is fainter than his foot is fast!

THE SPY. Well have I scanned the foe, and well can say Unto which chief, by lot, each gate is given. Tydeus already with his onset-cry Storms at the gate called Proetides; but him The seer Amphiaraus holds at halt, Nor wills that he should cross Ismenus’ ford, Until the sacrifices promise fair. But Tydeus, mad with lust of blood and broil, Like to a cockatrice at noontide hour, Hisses out wrath and smites with scourge of tongue The prophet-son of Oecleus—Wise thou art, Faint against war, and holding back from death! With such revilings loud upon his lips He waves the triple plumes that o’er his helm Float overshadowing, as a courser’s mane; And at his shield’s rim, terror in their tone, Clang and reverberate the brazen bells. And this proud sign, wrought on his shield, he bears— The vault of heaven, inlaid with blazing stars; And, for the boss, the bright moon glows at full, The eye of night, the first and lordliest star. Thus with high-vaunted armour, madly bold, He clamours by the stream-bank, wild for war, As a steed panting grimly on his bit, Held in and chafing for the trumpet’s bray! Whom wilt thou set against him? when the gates Of Proetus yield, who can his rush repel?

ETEOCLES. To me, no blazon on a foeman’s shield Shall e’er present a fear! such pointed threats Are powerless to wound; his plumes and bells, Without a spear, are snakes without a sting. Nay, more—that pageant of which thou tellest— The nightly sky displayed, ablaze with stars, Upon his shield, palters with double sense— One headstrong fool will find its truth anon! For, if night fall upon his eyes in death, Yon vaunting blazon will its own truth prove, And he is prophet of his folly’s fall. Mine shall it be, to pit against his power The loyal son of Astacus, as guard To hold the gateways—a right valiant soul, Who has in heed the throne of Modesty And loathes the speech of Pride, and evermore Shrinks from the base, but knows no other fear. He springs by stock from those whom Ares spared, The men called Sown, a right son of the soil, And Melanippus styled. Now, what his arm To-day shall do, rests with the dice of war, And Ares shall ordain it; but his cause Hath the true badge of Right, to urge him on To guard, as son, his motherland from wrong.

CHORUS. Then may the gods give fortune fair Unto our chief, sent forth to dare War’s terrible arbitrament! But ah! when champions wend away, I shudder, lest, from out the fray, Only their blood-stained wrecks be sent! THE SPY. Nay, let him pass, and the gods’ help be his! Next, Capaneus comes on, by lot to lead The onset at the gates Electran styled: A giant he, more huge than Tydeus’ self, And more than human in his arrogance— May fate forefend his threat against our walls! God willing, or unwilling—such his vaunt— _I will lay waste this city; Pallas’ self, Zeus’ warrior maid, although she swoop to earth And plant her in my path, shall stay me not_. And, for the flashes of the levin-bolt, He holds them harmless as the noontide rays. Mark, too, the symbol on his shield—a man Scornfully weaponless but torch in hand, And the flame glows within his grasp, prepared For ravin: lo, the legend, wrought in words, Fire for the city bring I, flares in gold! Against such wight, send forth—yet whom? what man Will front that vaunting figure and not fear?

ETEOCLES. Aha, this profits also, gain on gain! In sooth, for mortals, the tongue’s utterance Bewrays unerringly a foolish pride! Hither stalks Capaneus, with vaunt and threat Defying god-like powers, equipt to act, And, mortal though he be, he strains his tongue In folly’s ecstasy, and casts aloft High swelling words against the ears of Zeus. Right well I trust—if justice grants the word— That, by the might of Zeus, a bolt of flame In more than semblance shall descend on him. Against his vaunts, though reckless, I have set, To make assurance sure, a warrior stern— Strong Polyphontes, fervid for the fray; A sturdy bulwark, he, by grace of Heaven And favour of his champion Artemis! Say on, who holdeth the next gate in ward? CHORUS. Perish the wretch whose vaunt affronts our home! On him the red bolt come, Ere to the maiden bowers his way he cleave, To ravage and bereave!

THE SPY. I will say on. Eteoclus is third— To him it fell, what time the third lot sprang O’er the inverted helmet’s brazen rim, To dash his stormers on Neistae gate. He wheels his mares, who at their frontlets chafe And yearn to charge upon the gates amain. They snort the breath of pride, and, filled therewith, Their nozzles whistle with barbaric sound. High too and haughty is his shield’s device— An armèd man who climbs, from rung to rung, A scaling ladder, up a hostile wall, Afire to sack and slay; and he too cries, (By letters, full of sound, upon the shield) Not Ares’ self shall cast me from the wall. Look to it, send, against this man, a man Strong to debar the slave’s yoke from our town.

ETEOCLES (pointing to MEGAREUS) Send will I—even this man, with luck to aid— By his worth sent already, not by pride And vain pretence, is he. ’Tis Megareus, The child of Creon, of the Earth-sprung born! He will not shrink from guarding of the gates, Nor fear the maddened charger’s frenzied neigh, But, if he dies, will nobly quit the score For nurture to the land that gave him birth, Or from the shield-side hew two warriors down Eteoclus and the figure that he lifts— Ay, and the city pictured, all in one, And deck with spoils the temple of his sire! Announce the next pair, stint not of thy tongue! CHORUS. O thou, the warder of my home, Grant, unto us, Fate’s favouring tide, Send on the foemen doom! They fling forth taunts of frenzied pride, On them may Zeus with glare of vengeance come;

THE SPY. Lo, next him stands a fourth and shouts amain, By Pallas Onca’s portal, and displays A different challenge; ’tis Hippomedon! Huge the device that starts up from his targe In high relief; and, I deny it not, I shuddered, seeing how, upon the rim, It made a mighty circle round the shield— No sorry craftsman he, who wrought that work And clamped it all around the buckler’s edge! The form was Typhon: from his glowing throat Rolled lurid smoke, spark-litten, kin of fire! The flattened edge-work, circling round the whole, Made strong support for coiling snakes that grew Erect above the concave of the shield: Loud rang the warrior’s voice; inspired for war, He raves to slay, as doth a Bacchanal, His very glance a terror! of such wight Beware the onset! closing on the gates, He peals his vaunting and appalling cry! ETEOCLES. Yet first our Pallas Onca—wardress she, Planting her foot hard by her gate—shall stand, The Maid against the ruffian, and repel His force, as from her brood the mother-bird Beats back the wintered serpent’s venom’d fang And next, by her, is Oenops’ gallant son, Hyperbius, chosen to confront this foe, Ready to seek his fate at Fortune’s shrine!

In form, in valour, and in skill of arms, None shall gainsay him. See how wisely well Hermes hath set the brave against the strong! Confronted shall they stand, the shield of each Bearing the image of opposing gods: One holds aloft his Typhon breathing fire, But, on the other’s shield, in symbol sits Zeus, calm and strong, and fans his bolt to flame— Zeus, seen of all, yet seen of none to fail! Howbeit, weak is trust reposed in Heaven— Yet are we upon Zeus’ victorious side, The foe, with those he worsted—if in sooth Zeus against Typhon held the upper hand, And if Hyperbius, (as well may hap When two such foes such diverse emblems bear) Have Zeus upon his shield, a saving sign. CHORUS. High faith is mine that he whose shield Bears, against Zeus, the thing of hate. The giant Typhon, thus revealed, A monster loathed of gods eterne And mortal men—this doom shall earn A shattered skull, before the gate! THE SPY. Heaven send it so! A fifth assailant now Is set against our fifth, the northern, gate, Fronting the death-mound where Amphion lies The child of Zeus.

This foeman vows his faith, Upon a mystic spear-head which he deems More holy than a godhead and more sure To find its mark than any glance of eye, That, will they, nill they, he will storm and sack The hold of the Cadmeans. Such his oath— His, the bold warrior, yet of childish years, A bud of beauty’s foremost flower, the son Of Zeus and of the mountain maid. I mark How the soft down is waxing on his cheek, Thick and close-growing in its tender prime— In name, not mood, is he a maiden’s child— Parthenopaeus; large and bright his eyes But fierce the wrath wherewith he fronts the gate: Yet not unheralded he takes his stand Before the portal; on his brazen shield, The rounded screen and shelter of his form, I saw him show the ravening Sphinx, the fiend That shamed our city—how it glared and moved, Clamped on the buckler, wrought in high relief! And in its claws did a Cadmean bear— Nor heretofore, for any single prey, Sped she aloft, through such a storm of darts As now awaits her. So our foe is here— Like, as I deem, to ply no stinted trade In blood and broil, but traffick as is meet In fierce exchange for his long wayfaring!

ETEOCLES. Ah, may they meet the doom they think to bring— They and their impious vaunts—from those on high! So should they sink, hurled down to deepest death! This foe, at least, by thee Arcadian styled, Is faced by one who bears no braggart sign, But his hand sees to smite, where blows avail— Actor, own brother to Hyperbius! He will not let a boast without a blow Stream through our gates and nourish our despair, Nor give him way who on his hostile shield Bears the brute image of the loathly Sphinx! Blocked at the gate, she will rebuke the man Who strives to thrust her forward, when she feels Thick crash of blows, up to the city wall. With Heaven’s goodwill, my forecast shall be true. CHORUS. Home to my heart the vaunting goes, And, quick with terror, on my head Rises my hair, at sound of those Who wildly, impiously rave! If gods there be, to them I plead— Give them to darkness and the grave.

THE SPY. Fronting the sixth gate stands another foe, Wisest of warriors, bravest among seers— Such must I name Amphiaraus: he, Set steadfast at the Homoloid gate, Berates strong Tydeus with reviling words— _The man of blood, the bane of state and home, To Argos, arch-allurer to all ill, Evoker of the fury-fiend of hell, Death’s minister, and counsellor of wrong Unto Adrastus in this fatal field_. Ay, and with eyes upturned and mien of scorn He chides thy brother Polynices too At his desert, and once and yet again Dwells hard and meaningly upon his name Where it saith glory yet importeth feud. _Yea, such thou art in act, and such thy grace In sight of Heaven, and such in aftertime Thy fame, for lips and ears of mortal men! “He strove to sack the city of his sires And temples of her gods, and brought on her An alien armament of foreign foes. The fountain of maternal blood outpoured What power can staunch? even so, thy fatherland Once by thine ardent malice stormed and ta’en, Shall ne’er join force with thee.” For me, I know It doth remain to let my blood enrich The border of this land that loves me not— Blood of a prophet, in a foreign grave! Now, for the battle! I foreknow my doom, Yet it shall be with honour_. So he spake, The prophet, holding up his targe of bronze Wrought without blazon, to the ears of men Who stood around and heeded not his word. For on no bruit and rumour of great deeds, But on their doing, is his spirit set, And in his heart he reaps a furrow rich, Wherefrom the foison of good counsel springs. Against him, send brave heart and hand of might, For the god-lover is man’s fiercest foe.

ETEOCLES. Out on the chance that couples mortal men, Linking the just and impious in one! In every issue, the one curse is this— Companionship with men of evil heart! A baneful harvest, let none gather it! The field of sin is rank, and brings forth death At whiles a righteous man who goes aboard With reckless mates, a horde of villainy, Dies by one death with that detested crew; At whiles the just man, joined with citizens Ruthless to strangers, recking nought of Heaven, Trapped, against nature, in one net with them, Dies by God’s thrust and all-including blow. So will this prophet die, even Oecleus’ child, Sage, just, and brave, and loyal towards Heaven, Potent in prophecy, but mated here With men of sin, too boastful to be wise! Long is their road, and they return no more, And, at their taking-off, by hand of Zeus, The prophet too shall take the downward way. He will not—so I deem—assail the gate— Not as through cowardice or feeble will, But as one knowing to what end shall be Their struggle in the battle, if indeed Fruit of fulfilment lie in Loxias’ word. He speaketh not, unless to speak avails! Yet, for more surety, we will post a man, Strong Lasthenes, as warder of the gate, Stern to the foeman; he hath age’s skill, Mated with youthful vigour, and an eye Forward, alert; swift too his hand, to catch The fenceless interval ’twixt shield and spear! Yet man’s good fortune lies in hand of Heaven.

CHORUS. Unto our loyal cry, ye gods, give ear! Save, save the city! turn away the spear, Send on the foemen fear! Outside the rampart fall they, rent and riven Beneath the bolt of heaven!

THE SPY. Last, let me name yon seventh antagonist, Thy brother’s self, at the seventh portal set— Hear with what wrath he imprecates our doom, Vowing to mount the wall, though banished hence, And peal aloud the wild exulting cry— The town is ta’en—then clash his sword with thine, Giving and taking death in close embrace, Or, if thou ’scapest, flinging upon thee, As robber of his honour and his home, The doom of exile such as he has borne. So clamours he and so invokes the gods Who guard his race and home, to hear and heed The curse that sounds in Polynices’ name! He bears a round shield, fresh from forge and fire, And wrought upon it is a twofold sign— For lo, a woman leads decorously The figure of a warrior wrought in gold; And thus the legend runs—_I Justice am, And I will bring the hero home again, To hold once more his place within this town, Once more to pace his sire’s ancestral hall_. Such are the symbols, by our foemen shown— Now make thine own decision, whom to send Against this last opponent! I have said— Nor canst thou in my tidings find a flaw— Thine is it, now, to steer the course aright.

ETEOCLES. Ah me, the madman, and the curse of Heaven! And woe for us, the lamentable line Of Oedipus, and woe that in this house Our father’s curse must find accomplishment! But now, a truce to tears and loud lament, Lest they should breed a still more rueful wail! As for this Polynices, named too well, Soon shall we know how his device shall end— Whether the gold-wrought symbols on his shield, In their mad vaunting and bewildered pride, Shall guide him as a victor to his home! For had but Justice, maiden-child of Zeus, Stood by his act and thought, it might have been! Yet never, from the day he reached the light Out of the darkness of his mother’s womb, Never in childhood, nor in youthful prime, Nor when his chin was gathering its beard, Hath Justice hailed or claimed him as her own. Therefore I deem not that she standeth now To aid him in this outrage on his home! Misnamed, in truth, were Justice, utterly, If to impiety she lent her hand. Sure in this faith, I will myself go forth And match me with him; who hath fairer claim? Ruler, against one fain to snatch the rule, Brother with brother matched, and foe with foe, Will I confront the issue. To the wall!

CHORUS. O thou true heart, O child of Oedipus, Be not, in wrath, too like the man whose name Murmurs an evil omen! ’Tis enough That Cadmus’ clan should strive with Argos’ host, For blood there is that can atone that stain! But—brother upon brother dealing death— Not time itself can expiate the sin! ETEOCLES. If man find hurt, yet clasp his honour still, ’Tis well; the dead have honour, nought beside. Hurt, with dishonour, wins no word of praise! CHORUS. Ah, what is thy desire? Let not the lust and ravin of the sword Bear thee adown the tide accursed, abhorred! Fling off thy passion’s rage, thy spirit’s prompting dire! ETEOCLES. Nay—since the god is urgent for our doom, Let Laius’ house, by Phoebus loathed and scorned, Follow the gale of destiny, and win Its great inheritance, the gulf of hell! CHORUS. Ruthless thy craving is— Craving for kindred and forbidden blood To be outpoured—a sacrifice imbrued With sin, a bitter fruit of murderous enmities! ETEOCLES. Yea, my own father’s fateful Curse proclaims— A ghastly presence, and her eyes are dry— Strike! honour is the prize, not life prolonged!

CHORUS. Ah, be not urged of her! for none shall dare To call thee coward, in thy throned estate! Will not the Fury in her sable pall Pass outward from these halls, what time the gods Welcome a votive offering from our hands? ETEOCLES. The gods! long since they hold us in contempt, Scornful of gifts thus offered by the lost! Why should we fawn and flinch away from doom? CHORUS. Now, when it stands beside thee! for its power May, with a changing gust of milder mood, Temper the blast that bloweth wild and rude And frenzied, in this hour! ETEOCLES. Ay, kindled by the curse of Oedipus— All too prophetic, out of dreamland came The vision, meting out our sire’s estate! CHORUS. Heed women’s voices, though thou love them not! ETEOCLES. Say aught that may avail, but stint thy words. CHORUS. Go not thou forth to guard the seventh gate! ETEOCLES. Words shall not blunt the edge of my resolve. CHORUS. Yet the god loves to let the weak prevail. ETEOCLES. That to a swordsman, is no welcome word! CHORUS. Shall thine own brother’s blood be victory’s palm? ETEOCLES. Ill which the gods have sent thou canst not shun! [Exit ETEOCLES.]

CHORUS. I shudder in dread of the power, abhorred by the gods of high heaven, The ruinous curse of the home till roof-tree and rafter be riven! Too true are the visions of ill, too true the fulfilment they bring To the curse that was spoken of old by the frenzy and wrath of the king! Her will is the doom of the children, and Discord is kindled amain, And strange is the Lord of Division, who cleaveth the birthright in twain,— The edged thing, born of the north, the steel that is ruthless and keen, Dividing in bitter division the lot of the children of teen! Not the wide lowland around, the realm of their sire, shall they have, Yet enough for the dead to inherit, the pitiful space of a grave!

Ah, but when kin meets kin, when sire and child, Unknowing, are defiled By shedding common blood, and when the pit Of death devoureth it, Drinking the clotted stain, the gory dye— Who, who can purify? Who cleanse pollution, where the ancient bane Rises and reeks again? Whilome in olden days the sin was wrought, And swift requital brought— Yea on the children of the child came still New heritage of ill! For thrice Apollo spoke this word divine, From Delphi’s central shrine, To Laius—Die thou childless! thus alone Can the land’s weal be won! But vainly with his wife’s desire he strove, And gave himself to love, Begetting Oedipus, by whom he died, The fateful parricide! The sacred seed-plot, his own mother’s womb, He sowed, his house’s doom, A root of blood! by frenzy lured, they came Unto their wedded shame. And now the waxing surge, the wave of fate, Rolls on them, triply great— One billow sinks, the next towers, high and dark, Above our city’s bark— Only the narrow barrier of the wall Totters, as soon to fall; And, if our chieftains in the storm go down, What chance can save the town? Curses, inherited from long ago, Bring heavy freight of woe: Rich stores of merchandise o’erload the deck, Near, nearer comes the wreck— And all is lost, cast out upon the wave, Floating, with none to save!

Whom did the gods, whom did the chief of men, Whom did each citizen In crowded concourse, in such honour hold, As Oedipus of old, When the grim fiend, that fed on human prey, He took from us away? But when, in the fulness of days, he knew of his bridal unblest, A twofold horror he wrought, in the frenzied despair of his breast— Debarred from the grace of the banquet, the service of goblets of gold, He flung on his children a curse for the splendour they dared to withhold, A curse prophetic and bitter—The glory of wealth and of pride, With iron, not gold, in your hands, ye shall come, at the last, to divide! Behold, how a shudder runs through me, lest now, in the fulness of time, The house-fiend awake and return, to mete out the measure of crime! Enter THE SPY.

THE SPY. Take heart, ye daughters whom your mothers’ milk Made milky-hearted! lo, our city stands, Saved from the yoke of servitude: the vaunts Of overweening men are silent now, And the State sails beneath a sky serene, Nor in the manifold and battering waves Hath shipped a single surge, and solid stands The rampart, and the gates are made secure, Each with a single champion’s trusty guard. So in the main and at six gates we hold A victory assured; but, at the seventh, The god that on the seventh day was born, Royal Apollo, hath ta’en up his rest To wreak upon the sons of Oedipus Their grandsire’s wilfulness of long ago. CHORUS. What further woefulness besets our home? THE SPY. The home stands safe—but ah, the princes twain— CHORUS. Who? what of them? I am distraught with fear. THE SPY. Hear now, and mark! the sons of Oedipus— CHORUS. Ah, my prophetic soul! I feel their doom. THE SPY. Have done with questions!—with their lives crushed out— CHORUS. Lie they out yonder? the full horror speak! Did hands meet hands more close than brotherly? Came fate on each, and in the selfsame hour?

THE SPY. Yea, blotting out the lineage ill-starred! Now mix your exultation and your tears, Over a city saved, the while its lords, Twin leaders of the fight, have parcelled out With forged arbitrament of Scythian steel The full division of their fatherland, And, as their father’s imprecation bade, Shall have their due of land, a twofold grave. So is the city saved; the earth has drunk Blood of twin princes, by each other slain. CHORUS. O mighty Zeus and guardian powers, The strength and stay of Cadmus’ towers! Shall I send forth a joyous cry, Hail to the lord of weal renewed? Or weep the misbegotten twain, Born to a fatal destiny? Each numbered now among the slain, Each dying in ill fortitude, Each truly named, each child of feud? O dark and all-prevailing ill, That broods o’er Oedipus and all his line, Numbing my heart with mortal chill! Ah me, this song of mine, Which, Thyad-like, I woke, now falleth still, Or only tells of doom, And echoes round a tomb!

Dead are they, dead! in their own blood they lie— Ill-omened the concent that hails our victory! The curse a father on his children spake Hath faltered not, nor failed! Nought, Laius! thy stubborn choice availed— First to beget, then, in the after day And for the city’s sake, The child to slay! For nought can blunt nor mar The speech oracular! Children of teen! by disbelief ye erred— Yet in wild weeping came fulfilment of the word! ANTIGONE and ISMENE approach with a train of mourners, bearing the bodies of ETEOCLES and POLYNICES. Look up, look forth! the doom is plain, Nor spake the messenger in vain! A twofold sorrow, twofold strife— Each brave against a brother’s life! In double doom hath sorrow come— How shall I speak it?—on the home!

Alas, my sisters! be your sighs the gale, The smiting of your brows the plash of oars, Wafting the boat, to Acheron’s dim shores That passeth ever, with its darkened sail, On its uncharted voyage and sunless way, Far from thy beams, Apollo, god of day— The melancholy bark Bound for the common bourn, the harbour of the dark! Look up, look yonder! from the home Antigone, Ismene come, On the last, saddest errand bound, To chant a dirge of doleful sound, With agony of equal pain Above their brethren slain! Their sister-bosoms surely swell, Heart with rent heart according well In grief for those who fought and fell! Yet—ere they utter forth their woe— We must awake the rueful strain To vengeful powers, in realms below, And mourn hell’s triumph o’er the slain! Alas! of all, the breast who bind,— Yea, all the race of womankind— O maidens, ye are most bereaved! For you, for you the tear-drops start— Deem that in truth, and undeceived, Ye hear the sorrows of my heart! (To the dead.) Children of bitterness, and sternly brave— One, proud of heart against persuasion’s voice, One, against exile proof! ye win your choice— Each in your fatherland, a separate grave!

Alack, on house and heritage They brought a baneful doom, and death for wage! One strove through tottering walls to force his way, One claimed, in bitter arrogance, the sway, And both alike, even now and here, Have closed their suit, with steel for arbiter! And lo, the Fury-fiend of Oedipus, their sire, Hath brought his curse to consummation dire! Each in the left side smitten, see them laid— The children of one womb, Slain by a mutual doom! Alas, their fate! the combat murderous, The horror of the house, The curse of ancient bloodshed, now repaid! Yea, deep and to the heart the deathblow fell, Edged by their feud ineffable— By the grim curse, their sire did imprecate— Discord and deadly hate! Hark, how the city and its towers make moan— How the land mourns that held them for its own! Fierce greed and fell division did they blend, Till death made end! They strove to part the heritage in twain, Giving to each a gain— Yet that which struck the balance in the strife, The arbitrating sword, By those who loved the twain is held abhorred— Loathed is the god of death, who sundered each from life! Here, by the stroke of steel, behold! they lie— And rightly may we cry _Beside their fathers, let them here be laid— Iron gave their doom, with iron their graves be made— Alack, the slaying sword, alack, th’ entombing spade!_

Alas, a piercing shriek, a rending groan, A cry unfeigned of sorrow felt at heart! With shuddering of grief, with tears that start, With wailful escort, let them hither come— For one or other make divided moan! No light lament of pity mixed with gladness, But with true tears, poured from the soul of sadness, Over the princes dead and their bereavèd home Say we, above these brethren dead, On citizen, on foreign foe, Brave was their rush, and stern their blow— Now, lowly are they laid! Beyond all women upon earth Woe, woe for her who gave them birth! Unknowingly, her son she wed— The children of that marriage-bed, Each in the self-same womb, were bred— Each by a brother’s hand lies dead!

Yea, from one seed they sprang, and by one fate Their heritage is desolate, The heart’s division sundered claim from claim, And, from their feud, death came! Now is their hate allayed, Now is their life-stream shed, Ensanguining the earth with crimson dye— Lo, from one blood they sprang, and in one blood they lie! A grievous arbiter was given the twain— The stranger from the northern main, The sharp, dividing sword, Fresh from the forge and fire The War-god treacherous gave ill award And brought their father’s curse to a fulfilment dire! They have their portion—each his lot and doom, Given from the gods on high! Yea, the piled wealth of fatherland, for tomb, Shall underneath them lie! Alas, alas! with flowers of fame and pride Your home ye glorified; But, in the end, the Furies gathered round With chants of boding sound, Shrieking, In wild defeat and disarray, Behold, ye pass away! The sign of Ruin standeth at the gate, There, where they strove with Fate— And the ill power beheld the brothers’ fall, And triumphed over all!

ANTIGONE, ISMENE, and CHORUS (Processional Chant) Thou wert smitten, in smiting, Thou didst slay, and wert slain— By the spear of each other Ye lie on the plain, And ruthless the deed that ye wrought was, and ruthless the death of the twain! Take voice, O my sorrow! Flow tear upon tear— Lay the slain by the slayer, Made one on the bier! Our soul in distraction is lost, and we mourn o’er the prey of the spear! Ah, woe for your ending, Unbrotherly wrought! And woe for the issue, The fray that ye fought, The doom of a mutual slaughter whereby to the grave ye are brought! Ah, twofold the sorrow— The heard and the seen! And double the tide Of our tears and our teen, As we stand by our brothers in death and wail for the love that has been! O grievous the fate That attends upon wrong! Stern ghost of our sire, Thy vengeance is long! Dark Fury of hell and of death, the hands of thy kingdom are strong! O dark were the sorrows That exile hath known! He slew, but returned not Alive to his own! He struck down a brother, but fell, in the moment of triumph hewn down!

O lineage accurst, O doom and despair! Alas, for their quarrel, The brothers that were! And woe! for their pitiful end, who once were our love and our care! O grievous the fate That attends upon wrong! Stern ghost of our sire, Thy vengeance is long! Dark Fury of hell and of death, the hands of thy kingdom are strong! By proof have ye learnt it! At once and as one, O brothers beloved, To death ye were done! Ye came to the strife of the sword, and behold! ye are both overthrown! O grievous the tale is, And grievous their fall, To the house, to the land, And to me above all! Ah God! for the curse that hath come, the sin and the ruin withal! O children distraught, Who in madness have died! Shall ye rest with old kings In the place of their pride? Alas for the wrath of your sire if he findeth you laid by his side! Enter a HERALD.

HERALD. I bear command to tell to one and all What hath approved itself and now is law, Ruled by the counsellors of Cadmus’ town. For this Eteocles, it is resolved To lay him on his earth-bed, in this soil, Not without care and kindly sepulture. For why? he hated those who hated us, And, with all duties blamelessly performed Unto the sacred ritual of his sires, He met such end as gains our city’s grace,— With auspices that do ennoble death. Such words I have in charge to speak of him: But of his brother Polynices, this— Be he cast out unburied, for the dogs To rend and tear: for he presumed to waste The land of the Cadmeans, had not Heaven— Some god of those who aid our fatherland— Opposed his onset, by his brother’s spear, To whom, tho’ dead, shall consecration come! Against him stood this wretch, and brought a horde Of foreign foemen, to beset our town. He therefore shall receive his recompense, Buried ignobly in the maw of kites— No women-wailers to escort his corpse Nor pile his tomb nor shrill his dirge anew— Unhouselled, unattended, cast away! So, for these brothers, doth our State ordain.

ANTIGONE. And I—to those who make such claims of rule In Cadmus’ town—I, though no other help, (Pointing to the body of POLYNICES) I, I will bury this my brother’s corse And risk your wrath and what may come of it! It shames me not to face the State, and set Will against power, rebellion resolute: Deep in my heart is set my sisterhood, My common birthright with my brothers, born All of one womb, her children who, for woe, Brought forth sad offspring to a sire ill-starred. Therefore, my soul! take thou thy willing share, In aid of him who now can will no more, Against this outrage: be a sister true, While yet thou livest, to a brother dead! Him never shall the wolves with ravening maw Rend and devour: I do forbid the thought! I for him, I—albeit a woman weak— In place of burial-pit, will give him rest By this protecting handful of light dust Which, in the lap of this poor linen robe, I bear to hallow and bestrew his corpse With the due covering. Let none gainsay! Courage and craft shall arm me, this to do. HERALD. I charge thee, not to flout the city’s law! ANTIGONE. I charge thee, use no useless heralding! HERALD. Stern is a people newly ’scaped from death.

ANTIGONE. Whet thou their sternness! Burial he shall have. HERALD. How? Grace of burial, to the city’s foe? ANTIGONE. God hath not judged him separate in guilt. HERALD. True—till he put this land in jeopardy. ANTIGONE. His rights usurped, he answered wrong with wrong. HERALD. Nay—but for one man’s sin he smote the State. ANTIGONE. Contention doth out-talk all other gods! Prate thou no more—I will to bury him. HERALD. Will, an thou wilt! but I forbid the deed. [Exit the HERALD.] CHORUS. Exulting Fates, who waste the line And whelm the house of Oedipus! Fiends, who have slain, in wrath condign, The father and the children thus! What now befits it that I do, What meditate, what undergo? Can I the funeral rite refrain, Nor weep for Polynices slain? But yet, with fear I shrink and thrill, Presageful of the city’s will! Thou, O Eteocles, shalt have Full rites, and mourners at thy grave, But he, thy brother slain, shall he, With none to weep or cry Alas, To unbefriended burial pass? Only one sister o’er his bier, To raise the cry and pour the tear— Who can obey such stern decree?

SEMI-CHORUS. Let those who hold our city’s sway Wreak, or forbear to wreak, their will On those who cry, Ah, well-a-day! Lamenting Polynices still! We will go forth and, side by side With her, due burial will provide! Royal he was; to him be paid Our grief, wherever he be laid! The crowd may sway, and change, and still Take its caprice for Justice’ will! But we this dead Eteocles, As Justice wills and Right decrees, Will bear unto his grave! For—under those enthroned on high And Zeus’ eternal royalty— He unto us salvation gave! He saved us from a foreign yoke,— A wild assault of outland folk, A savage, alien wave! [Exeunt.]

ARGUMENT In the beginning, Ouranos and Gaia held sway over Heaven and Earth. And manifold children were born unto them, of whom were Cronos, and Okeanos, and the Titans, and the Giants. But Cronos cast down his father Ouranos, and ruled in his stead, until Zeus his son cast him down in his turn, and became King of Gods and men. Then were the Titans divided, for some had good will unto Cronos, and others unto Zeus; until Prometheus, son of the Titan Iapetos, by wise counsel, gave the victory to Zeus. But Zeus held the race of mortal men in scorn, and was fain to destroy them from the face of the earth; yet Prometheus loved them, and gave secretly to them the gift of fire, and arts whereby they could prosper upon the earth. Then was Zeus sorely angered with Prometheus, and bound him upon a mountain, and afterward overwhelmed him in an earthquake, and devised other torments against him for many ages; yet could he not slay Prometheus, for he was a God. DRAMATIS PERSONAE STRENGTH AND FORCE. HEPHAESTUS. PROMETHEUS. CHORUS OF SEA-NYMPHS. DAUGHTERS OF OCEANUS. OCEANUS. IO. HERMES. Scene—A rocky ravine in the mountains of Scythia.

STRENGTH. Lo, the earth’s bound and limitary land, The Scythian steppe, the waste untrod of men! Look to it now, Hephaestus—thine it is, Thy Sire obeying, this arch-thief to clench Against the steep-down precipice of rock, With stubborn links of adamantine chain. Look thou: thy flower, the gleaming plastic fire, He stole and lent to mortal man—a sin That gods immortal make him rue to-day, Lessoned hereby to own th’ omnipotence Of Zeus, and to repent his love to man! HEPHAESTUS. O Strength and Force, for you the best of Zeus Stands all achieved, and nothing bars your will: But I—I dare not bind to storm-vext cleft One of our race, immortal as are we. Yet, none the less, necessity constrains, For Zeus, defied, is heavy in revenge! (To PROMETHEUS)

O deep-devising child of Themis sage, Small will have I to do, or thou to bear, What yet we must. Beyond the haunt of man Unto this rock, with fetters grimly forged, I must transfix and shackle up thy limbs, Where thou shalt mark no voice nor human form, But, parching in the glow and glare of sun, Thy body’s flower shall suffer a sky-change; And gladly wilt thou hail the hour when Night Shall in her starry robe invest the day, Or when the Sun shall melt the morning rime. But, day or night, for ever shall the load Of wasting agony, that may not pass, Wear thee away; for know, the womb of Time Hath not conceived a power to set thee free. Such meed thou hast, for love toward mankind For thou, a god defying wrath of gods, Beyond the ordinance didst champion men, And for reward shalt keep a sleepless watch, Stiff-kneed, erect, nailed to this dismal rock, With manifold laments and useless cries Against the will inexorable of Zeus. Hard is the heart of fresh-usurpèd power! STRENGTH. Enough of useless ruth! why tarriest thou? Why pitiest one whom all gods wholly hate, One who to man gave o’er thy privilege? HEPHAESTUS. Kinship and friendship wring my heart for him.

STRENGTH. Ay—but how disregard our Sire’s command? Is not thy pity weaker than thy fear? HEPHAESTUS. Ruthless as ever, brutal to the full! STRENGTH. Tears can avail him nothing: strive not thou, Nor waste thine efforts thus unaidingly. HEPHAESTUS. Out on my cursed mastery of steel! STRENGTH. Why curse it thus? In sooth that craft of thine Standeth assoiled of all that here is wrought. HEPHAESTUS. Would that some other were endowed therewith! STRENGTH. All hath its burden, save the rule of Heaven, And freedom is for Zeus, and Zeus alone. HEPHAESTUS. I know it; I gainsay no word hereof. STRENGTH. Up, then, and hasten to do on his bonds, Lest Zeus behold thee indolent of will! HEPHAESTUS. Ah well—behold the armlets ready now! STRENGTH. Then cast them round his arms and with sheer strength Swing down the hammer, clinch him to the crags. HEPHAESTUS. Lo, ’tis toward—no weakness in the work! STRENGTH. Smite harder, wedge it home—no faltering here! He hath a craft can pass th’ impassable! HEPHAESTUS. This arm is fast, inextricably bound. STRENGTH. Then shackle safe the other, that he know His utmost craft is weaker far than Zeus. HEPHAESTUS. He, but none other, can accuse mine art! STRENGTH. Now, strong and sheer, drive thro’ from breast to back The adamantine wedge’s stubborn fang.

HEPHAESTUS. Alas, Prometheus! I lament thy pain. STRENGTH. Thou, faltering and weeping sore for those Whom Zeus abhors! ’ware, lest thou rue thy tears! HEPHAESTUS. Thou gazest on a scene that poisons sight. STRENGTH. I gaze on one who suffers his desert. Now between rib and shoulder shackle him— HEPHAESTUS. Do it I must—hush thy superfluous charge! STRENGTH. Urge thee I will—ay, hound thee to the prey. Step downward now, enring his legs amain! HEPHAESTUS. Lo, it is done—’twas but a moment’s toil. STRENGTH. Now, strongly strike, drive in the piercing gyves— Stern is the power that oversees thy task! HEPHAESTUS. Brutish thy form, thy speech brutality! STRENGTH. Be gentle, an thou wilt, but blame not me For this my stubbornness and anger fell! HEPHAESTUS. Let us go hence; his legs are firmly chained. STRENGTH (To PROMETHEUS). Aha! there play the insolent, and steal, For creatures of a day, the rights of gods! O deep delusion of the powers that named thee Prometheus, the Fore-thinker! thou hast need Of others’ forethought and device, whereby Thou may’st elude this handicraft of ours! [Exeunt HEPHAESTUS, STRENGTH and FORCE.—A pause.]

PROMETHEUS. O Sky divine, O Winds of pinions swift, O fountain-heads of Rivers, and O thou, Illimitable laughter of the Sea! O Earth, the Mighty Mother, and thou Sun, Whose orbed light surveyeth all—attest, What ills I suffer from the gods, a god! Behold me, who must here sustain The marring agonies of pain, Wrestling with torture, doomed to bear Eternal ages, year on year! Such and so shameful is the chain Which Heaven’s new tyrant doth ordain To bind me helpless here. Woe! for the ruthless present doom! Woe! for the Future’s teeming womb! On what far dawn, in what dim skies, Shall star of my deliverance rise?

Truce to this utterance! to its dimmest verge I do foreknow the future, hour by hour, Nor can whatever pang may smite me now Smite with surprise. The destiny ordained I must endure to the best, for well I wot That none may challenge with Necessity. Yet is it past my patience, to reveal, Or to conceal, these issues of my doom. Since I to mortals brought prerogatives, Unto this durance dismal am I bound: Yea, I am he who in a fennel-stalk, By stealthy sleight, purveyed the fount of fire, The teacher, proven thus, and arch-resource Of every art that aideth mortal men. Such was my sin: I earn its recompense, Rock-riveted, and chained in height and cold. [A pause.]

Listen! what breath of sound, what fragrance soft hath risen Upward to me? is it some godlike essence, Or being half-divine, or mortal presence? Who to the world’s end comes, unto my craggy prison? Craves he the sight of pain, or what would he behold? Gaze on a god in tortures manifold, Heinous to Zeus, and scorned by all Whose footsteps tread the heavenly hall, Because too deeply, from on high, I pitied man’s mortality! Hark, and again! that fluttering sound Of wings that whirr and circle round, And their light rustle thrills the air— How all things that unseen draw near Are to me Fear! Enter the CHORUS OF OCEANIDES in winged cars. CHORUS. Ah, fear us not! as friends, with rivalry Of swiftly-vying wings, we came together Unto this rock and thee! With our sea-sire we pleaded hard, until We won him to our will, And swift the wafting breezes bore us hither. The heavy hammer’s steely blow Thrilled to our ocean-cavern from afar, Banished soft shyness from our maiden brow, And with unsandalled feet we come, in winged car!

PROMETHEUS. Ah well-a-day! ye come, ye come From the Sea-Mother’s teeming home— Children of Tethys and the sire Who around Earth rolls, gyre on gyre, His sleepless ocean-tide! Look on me—shackled with what chain, Upon this chasm’s beetling side I must my dismal watch sustain! CHORUS. Yea, I behold, Prometheus! and my fears Draw swiftly o’er mine eyes a mist fulfilled of tears, When I behold thy frame Bound, wasting on the rock, and put to shame By adamantine chains! The rudder and the rule of Heaven Are to strange pilots given: Zeus with new laws and strong caprice holds sway, Unkings the ancient Powers, their might constrains, And thrusts their pride away! PROMETHEUS. Had he but hurled me, far beneath The vast and ghostly halls of Death, Down to the limitless profound Of Tartarus, in fetters bound, Fixed by his unrelenting hand! So had no man, nor God on high, Exulted o’er mine agony— But now, a sport to wind and sky, Mocked by my foes, I stand!

CHORUS. What God can wear such ruthless heart As to delight in ill? Who in thy sorrow bears not part? Zeus, Zeus alone! for he, with wrathful will, Clenched and inflexible, Bears down Heaven’s race—nor end shall be, till hate His soul shall satiate, Or till, by some device, some other hand Shall wrest from him his sternly-clasped command! PROMETHEUS. Yet,—though in shackles close and strong I lie in wasting torments long,— Yet the new tyrant, ’neath whose nod Cowers down each blest subservient god, One day, far hence, my help shall need, The destined stratagem to read, Whereby, in some yet distant day, Zeus shall be reaved of pride and sway: And no persuasion’s honied spell Shall lure me on, the tale to tell; And no stern threat shall make me cower And yield the secret to his power, Until his purpose be foregone, And shackles yield, and he atone The deep despite that he hath done!

CHORUS. O strong in hardihood, thou striv’st amain Against the stress of pain! But yet too free, too resolute thy tongue In challenging thy wrong! Ah, shuddering dread doth make my spirit quiver, And o’er thy fate sits Fear! I see not to what shore of safety ever Thy bark can steer— In depths unreached the will of Zeus doth dwell, Hidden, implacable! PROMETHEUS. Ay, stern is Zeus, and Justice stands, Wrenched to his purpose, in his hands— Yet shall he learn, perforce, to know A milder mood, when falls the blow— His ruthless wrath he shall lay still, And he and I with mutual will In concord’s bond shall go. CHORUS. Unveil, say forth to us the tale entire, Under what imputation Zeus laid hands On thee, to rack thee thus with shameful pangs? Tell us—unless the telling pain thee—all!

PROMETHEUS. Grievous alike are these things for my tongue, Grievous for silence—rueful everyway. Know that, when first the gods began their strife, And heaven was all astir with mutual feud— Some willing to fling Cronos from his throne, And set, forsooth, their Zeus on high as king, And other some in contrariety Striving to bar him from heaven’s throne for aye— Thereon I sought to counsel for the best The Titan brood of Ouranos and Earth; Yet I prevailed not, for they held in scorn My glozing wiles, and, in their hardy pride, Deemed that sans effort they could grasp the sway. But, for my sake, my mother Themis oft, And Earth, one symbol of names manifold, Had held me warned, how in futurity It stood ordained that not by force or power, But by some wile, the victors must prevail. In such wise I interpreted; but they Deigned not to cast their heed thereon at all. Then, of things possible, I deemed it best, Joining my mother’s wisdom to mine own, To range myself with Zeus, two wills in one. Thus, by device of mine, the murky depth Of Tartarus enfoldeth Cronos old And those who strove beside him. Such the aid I gave the lord of heaven—my meed for which He paid me thus, a penal recompense! For ’tis the inward vice of tyranny, To deem of friends as being secret foes. Now, to your question—hear me clearly show On what imputed fault he tortures me. Scarce was he seated on his father’s throne, When he began his doles of privilege Among the lesser gods, allotting power In trim division; while of mortal men Nothing he recked, nor of their misery Nay, even willed to blast their race entire To nothingness, and breed another brood; And none but I was found to cross his will. I dared it, I alone; I rescued men From crushing ruin and th’ abyss of hell— Therefore am I constrained in chastisement Grievous to bear and piteous to behold,— Yea, firm to feel compassion for mankind, Myself was held unworthy of the same— Ay, beyond pity am I ranged and ruled To sufferance—a sight that shames his sway!

CHORUS. A heart of steel, a mould of stone were he, Who could complacently behold thy pains I came not here as craving for this sight, And, seeing it, I stand heart-wrung with pain. PROMETHEUS. Yea truly, kindly eyes must pity me! CHORUS. Say, didst thou push transgression further still? PROMETHEUS. Ay, man thro’ me ceased to foreknow his death. CHORUS. What cure couldst thou discover for this curse? PROMETHEUS. Blind hopes I sent to nestle in man’s heart. CHORUS. This was a goodly gift thou gavest them. PROMETHEUS. Yet more I gave them, even the boon of fire. CHORUS. What? radiant fire, to things ephemeral? PROMETHEUS. Yea—many an art too shall they learn thereby! CHORUS. Then, upon imputation of such guilt, Doth Zeus without surcease torment thee thus? Is there no limit to thy course of pain? PROMETHEUS. None, till his own will shall decree an end. CHORUS. And how shall he decree it? say, what hope? Seëst thou not thy sin? yet of that sin It irks me sore to speak, as thee to hear. Nay, no more words hereof; bethink thee now, From this ordeal how to find release.

PROMETHEUS. Easy it is, for one whose foot is set Outside the slough of pain, to lesson well With admonitions him who lies therein. With perfect knowledge did I all I did, I willed to sin, and sinned, I own it all— I championed men, unto my proper pain. Yet scarce I deemed that, in such cruel doom, Withering upon this skyey precipice, I should inherit lonely mountain crags, Here, in a vast tin-neighboured solitude. Yet list not to lament my present pains, But, stepping from your cars unto the ground, Listen, the while I tell the future fates Now drawing near, until ye know the whole. Grant ye, O grant my prayer, be pitiful To one now racked with woe! the doom of pain Wanders, but settles, soon or late, on all. CHORUS. To willing hearts, and schooled to feel, Prometheus, came thy tongue’s appeal; Therefore we leave, with lightsome tread, The flying cars in which we sped— We leave the stainless virgin air Where winged creatures float and fare, And by thy side, on rocky land, Thus gently we alight and stand, Willing, from end to end, to know Thine history of woe. The CHORUS alight from their winged cars. Enter OCEANUS mounted on a griffin.

OCEANUS. Thus, over leagues and leagues of space I come, Prometheus, to thy place— By will alone, not rein, I guide The winged thing on which I ride; And much, be sure, I mourn thy case— Kinship is Pity’s bond, I trow; And, wert thou not akin, I vow None other should have more than thou Of my compassion’s grace! ’Tis said, and shall be proved; no skill Have I to gloze and feign goodwill! Name but some mode of helpfulness, And thou wilt in a trice confess That I, Oceanus, am best Of all thy friends, and trustiest. PROMETHEUS. Ho, what a sight of marvel! what, thou too Comest to contemplate my pains, and darest— (Yet how, I wot not!) leaving far behind The circling tide, thy namefellow, and those Rock-arched, self-hollowed caverns—thus to come Unto this land, whose womb bears iron ore? Art come to see my lot, resent with me The ills I bear? Well, gaze thy fill! behold Me, friend of Zeus, part-author of his power— Mark, in what ruthlessness he bows me down!

OCEANUS. Yea, I behold, Prometheus! and would warn Thee, spite of all thy wisdom, for thy weal! Learn now thyself to know, and to renew A rightful spirit within thee, for, made new With pride of place, sits Zeus among the gods! Now, if thou choosest to fling forth on him Words rough with anger thus and edged with scorn, Zeus, though he sit aloof, afar, on high, May hear thine utterance, and make thee deem His present wrath a mere pretence of pain. Banish, poor wretch! the passion of thy soul, And seek, instead, acquittance from thy pangs! Belike my words seem ancientry to thee— Such, natheless, O Prometheus, is the meed That doth await the overweening tongue! Meek wert thou never, wilt not crouch to pain, But, set amid misfortunes, cravest more! Now—if thou let thyself be schooled by me— Thou must not kick against the goad. Thou knowest, A despot rules, harsh, resolute, supreme, Whose law is will. Yet shall I go to him, With all endeavour to relieve thy plight— So thou wilt curb the tempest of thy tongue! Surely thou knowest, in thy wisdom deep, The saw—Who vaunts amiss, quick pain is his.

PROMETHEUS. O enviable thou, and unaccused— Thou who wast art and part in all I dared! And now, let be! make this no care of thine, For Zeus is past persuasion—urge him not! Look to thyself, lest thine emprise thou rue. OCEANUS. Thou hast more skill to school thy neighbour’s fault Than to amend thine own: ’tis proved and plain, By fact, not hearsay, that I read this well. Yet am I fixed to go—withhold me not— Assured I am, assured, that Zeus will grant The boon I crave, the loosening of thy bonds.

PROMETHEUS. In part I praise thee, to the end will praise; Goodwill thou lackest not, but yet forbear Thy further trouble! If thy heart be fain, Bethink thee that thy toil avails me not. Nay, rest thee well, aloof from danger’s brink! I will not ease my woe by base relief In knowing others too involved therein. Away the thought! for deeply do I rue My brother Atlas’ doom. Far off he stands In sunset land, and on his shoulder bears The pillar’d mountain-mass whose base is earth, Whose top is heaven, and its ponderous load Too great for any grasp. With pity too I saw Earth’s child, the monstrous thing of war, That in Cilicia’s hollow places dwelt— Typho; I saw his hundred-headed form Crushed and constrained; yet once his stride was fierce, His jaws gaped horror and their hiss was death, And all heaven’s host he challenged to the fray, While, as one vowed to storm the power of Zeus, Forth from his eyes he shot a demon glare. It skilled not: the unsleeping bolt of Zeus, The downward levin with its rush of flame, Smote on him, and made dumb for evermore The clamour of his vaunting: to the heart Stricken he lay, and all that mould of strength Sank thunder-shattered to a smouldering ash; And helpless now and laid in ruin huge He lieth by the narrow strait of sea, Crushed at the root of Etna’s mountain-pile. High on the pinnacles whereof there sits Hephaestus, sweltering at the forge; and thence On some hereafter day shall burst and stream The lava-floods, that shall with ravening fangs Gnaw thy smooth lowlands, fertile Sicily! Such ire shall Typho from his living grave Send seething up, such jets of fiery surge, Hot and unslaked, altho’ himself be laid In quaking ashes by Zeus’ thunderbolt. But thou dost know hereof, nor needest me To school thy sense: thou knowest safety’s road— Walk then thereon! I to the dregs will drain, Till Zeus relent from wrath, my present woe.

OCEANUS. Nay, but, Prometheus, know’st thou not the saw— Words can appease the angry soul’s disease? PROMETHEUS. Ay—if in season one apply their salve, Not scorching wrath’s proud flesh with caustic tongue. OCEANUS. But in wise thought and venturous essay Perceivest thou a danger? prithee tell! PROMETHEUS. I see a fool’s good nature, useless toil. OCEANUS. Let me be sick of that disease; I know, Loyalty, masked as folly, wins the way. PROMETHEUS. But of thy blunder I shall bear the blame. OCEANUS. Clearly, thy word would send me home again. PROMETHEUS. Lest thy lament for me should bring thee hate. OCEANUS. Hate from the newly-throned Omnipotence? PROMETHEUS. Be heedful—lest his will be wroth with thee! OCEANUS. Thy doom, Prometheus, cries to me Beware! PROMETHEUS. Mount, make away, discretion at thy side! OCEANUS. Thy word is said to me in act to go: For lo, my hippogriff with waving wings Fans the smooth course of air, and fain is he To rest his limbs within his ocean stall. [Exit OCEANUS.]

CHORUS. For the woe and the wreck and the doom, Prometheus I utter my sighs; O’er my cheek flows the fountain of tears from tender, compassionate eyes. For stern and abhorred is the sway of Zeus on his self-sought throne, And ruthless the spear of his scorn, to the gods of the days that are done. And over the limitless earth goes up a disconsolate cry: Ye were all so fair, and have fallen; so great and your might has gone by! So wails with a mighty lament the voice of the mortals, who dwell In the Eastland, the home of the holy, for thee and the fate that befel; And they of the Colchian land, the maidens whose arm is for war; And the Scythian bowmen, who roam by the lake of Maeotis afar; And the blossom of battling hordes, that flowers upon Caucasus’ height, With clashing of lances that pierce, and with clamour of swords that smite. Strange is thy sorrow! one only I know who has suffered thy pain— Atlas the Titan, the god, in a ruthless, invincible chain! He beareth for ever and ever the burden and poise of the sky, The vault of the rolling heaven, and earth re-echoes his cry. The depths of the sea are troubled; they mourn from their caverns profound, And the darkest and innermost hell moans deep with a sorrowful sound; And the rivers of waters, that flow from the fountains that spring without stain, Are as one in the great lamentation, and moan for thy piteous pain.

PROMETHEUS. Deem not that I in pride or wilful scorn Restrain my speech; ’tis wistful memory That rends my heart, when I behold myself Abased to wretchedness. To these new gods I and none other gave their lots of power In full attainment; no more words hereof I speak—the tale ye know. But listen now Unto the rede of mortals and their woes, And how their childish and unreasoning state Was changed by me to consciousness and thought. Yet not in blame of mortals will I speak, But as in proof of service wrought to them. For, in the outset, eyes they had and saw not; And ears they had but heard not; age on age, Like unsubstantial shapes in vision seen, They groped at random in the world of sense, Nor knew to link their building, brick with brick, Nor how to turn its aspect to the sun, Nor how to join the beams by carpentry, In hollowed caves they dwelt, as emmets dwell, Weak feathers for each blast, in sunless caves. Nor had they certain forecast of the cold, Nor of the advent of the flowery spring, Nor of the fruitful summer. All they wrought, Unreasoning they wrought, till I made clear The laws of rising stars, and inference dim, More hard to learn, of what their setting showed. I taught to them withal that art of arts, The lore of number, and the written word That giveth sense to sound, the tool wherewith The gift of memory was wrought in all, And so came art and song. I too was first To harness ’neath the yoke strong animals, Obedient made to collar and to weight, That they might bear whate’er of heaviest toil Mortals endured before. For chariots too I trained, and docile service of the rein, Steeds, the delight of wealth and pomp and pride. I too, none other, for seafarers wrought Their ocean-roaming canvas-wingèd cars. Such arts of craft did I, unhappy I, Contrive for mortals: now, no feint I have Whereby I may elude my present woe.

CHORUS. A rueful doom is thine! distraught of soul, And all astray, and like some sorry leech Art thou, repining at thine own disease, Unskilled, unknowing of the needful cure.

PROMETHEUS. More wilt thou wonder when the rest thou hearest— What arts for them, what methods I devised. Foremost was this: if any man fell sick, No aiding art he knew, no saving food, No curing oil nor draught, but all in lack Of remedies they dwindled, till I taught The medicinal blending of soft drugs, Whereby they ward each sickness from their side. I ranged for them the methods manifold Of the diviner’s art; I first discerned Which of night’s visions hold a truth for day, I read for them the lore of mystic sounds, Inscrutable before; the omens seen Which bless or ban a journey, and the flight Of crook-clawed birds, did I make clear to man— And how they soar upon the right, for weal, How, on the left, for evil; how they dwell, Each in its kind, and what their loves and hates, And which can flock and roost in harmony. From me, men learned what deep significance Lay in the smoothness of the entrails set For sacrifice, and which, of various hues, Showed them a gift accepted of the gods; They learned what streaked and varied comeliness Of gall and liver told; I led them, too, (By passing thro’ the flame the thigh-bones, wrapt In rolls of fat, and th’ undivided chine), Unto the mystic and perplexing lore Of omens; and I cleared unto their eyes The forecasts, dim and indistinct before, Shown in the flickering aspect of a flame. 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 compass 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 God 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 lustral 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! My feet have roamed their weary way? Ah, but it maddens, the sting! it burns in my piteous side! Ah, but the vision, the spectre, the earth-born, the myriad-eyed! Avoid thee! Earth, hide him, thine offspring! he cometh—O aspect of ill! Ghostly, and crafty of face, and dead, but pursuing me still! Ah, woe upon me, woe ineffable! He steals upon my track, a hound of hell— Where’er I stray, along the sands and brine, Weary and foodless, come his creeping eyne! And ah, the ghostly sound— The wax-stopped reed-flute’s weird and drowsy drone! Alack my wandering woes, that round and round Lead me in many mazes, lost, foredone! O child of Cronos! for what deed of wrong Am I enthralled by thee in penance long? Why by the stinging bruise, the thing of fear, Dost thou torment me, heart and brain? Nay, give me rather to the flames that sear, Or to some hidden grave, Or to the rending jaws, the monsters of the main! Nor grudge the boon for which I crave, O king! Enough, enough of weary wandering, Pangs from which none can save! Hearken! in pity hold Io, the ox-horned maid, thy love of old!

PROMETHEUS. Hear Zeus or not, I hear and know thee well, Daughter of Inachus; I know thee driven, Stung by the gadfly, mazed with agony. Ay, thou art she whose beauty fired the breast Of Zeus with passion; she whom Hera’s hate Now harasses o’er leagues and leagues of land. IO. Alack, thou namest Inachus my sire! Wottest thou of him? how, from lips of pain, Comes to my woeful ears truth’s very strain? How knowest thou the curse, the burning fire The god-sent, piercing pest that stings and clings? Ah me! in frenzied, foodless wanderings Hither I come, and on me from on high Lies Hera’s angry craft! Ah, men unblest! Not one there is, not one, that is unblest as I. But thou—tell me the rest! Utter the rede of woes to come for me; Utter the aid, the cure, if aid or cure there be! PROMETHEUS. Lo, clearly will I show forth all thy quest— Not in dark speech, but with such simple phrase As doth befit the utterance of a friend. I am Prometheus, who gave fire to men. IO. O daring, proven champion of man’s race, What sin, Prometheus, dost thou thus atone? PROMETHEUS. One moment since, I told my woes and ceased. IO. Then should I plead my suit to thee in vain?

PROMETHEUS. Nay, speak thy need; nought would I hide from thee. IO. Pronounce who nailed thee to the rocky cleft. PROMETHEUS. Zeus, by intent; Hephaestus, by his hand. IO. For what wrongdoing do these pains atone? PROMETHEUS. What I have said, is said; suffice it thee! IO. Yet somewhat add; forewarn me in my woe What time shall bring my wandering to its goal? PROMETHEUS. Fore-knowledge is fore-sorrow; ask it not. IO. Nay, hide not from me destiny’s decree. PROMETHEUS. I grudge thee not the gift which I withhold. IO. Then wherefore tarry ere thou tell me all? PROMETHEUS. Nothing I grudge, but would not rack thy soul. IO. Be not compassionate beyond my wish. PROMETHEUS. Well, thou art fain, and I will speak. Attend! CHORUS. Nay—ere thou speak, hear me, bestow on me A portion of the grace of granted prayers. First let us learn how Io’s frenzy came— (She telling her disasters manifold) Then of their sequel let her know from thee. PROMETHEUS. Well were it, Io, thus to do their will— Right well! they are the sisters of thy sire. ’Tis worth the waste and effluence of time, To tell, with tears of perfect moan, the doom Of sorrows that have fallen, when ’tis sure The listeners will greet the tale with tears.

IO. I know not how I should mistrust your prayer; Therefore the whole that ye desire of me Ye now shall learn in one straightforward tale. Yet, as it leaves my lips, I blush with shame To tell that tempest of the spite of Heaven, And all the wreck and ruin of my form, And whence they swooped upon me, woe is me! Long, long in visions of the night there came Voices and forms into my maiden bower, Alluring me with smoothly glozing words— _O maiden highly favoured of high Heaven, Why cherish thy virginity so long? Thine is it to win wedlock’s noblest crown! Know that Zeus’ heart thro’ thee is all aflame, Pierced with desire as with a dart, and longs To join in utmost rite of love with thee. Therefore, O maiden, shun not with disdain_ _Th’ embrace of Zeus, but hie thee forth straightway To the lush growth of Lerna’s meadow-land, Where are the flocks and steadings of thy home, And let Zeus’ eye be eased of its desire_. Night after night, haunted by dreams like these, Heartsick, I ventured at the last to tell Unto my sire these visions of the dark. Then sent he many a wight, on sacred quest, To Delphi and to far Dodona’s shrine, Being fall fain to learn what

deed or word Would win him favour from the powers of heaven. But they came back repeating oracles Mystic, ambiguous, inscrutable, Till, at the last, an utterance direct, Obscure no more, was brought to Inachus— A peremptory charge to fling me forth Beyond my home and fatherland, a thing Sent loose in banishment o’er all the world; And—should he falter—Zeus should launch on him A fire-eyed bolt, to shatter and consume Himself and all his race to nothingness. Bowing before such utterance from the shrine Of Loxias, he drave me from our halls, Barring the gates against me: loth he was To do, as I to suffer, this despite: But the strong curb of Zeus had overborne His will to me-ward. As I parted thence, In form and mind I grew dishumanized, And horned as now ye see me, poison-stung By the envenomed bitings of the brize, I leapt and flung in frenzy, rushed away To the bright waters of Cerchneia’s stream And Lerna’s beach: but ever at my side, A herdsman by his heifer, Argus moved, Earth-born, malevolent of mood, and peered, With myriad eyes, where’er my feet would roam. But on him in a moment, unforeseen, Came Fate, and sundered him from life; but I, Still maddened by the gadfly’s sting, the scourge Of God’s infliction, roam the

weary world. How I have fared, thou hearest: be there aught Of what remains to bear, that thou canst tell, Speak on! but let not thy compassion warm Thy words to cheering falsehood. Worst of woes Are words that break their promise to our hope!

CHORUS. Woe! woe! avaunt—thou and thy tale of bane! O never, never dared I dream Such horror of strange sounds should pierce mine ear; Such loathly sights, such tortures hard to bear, Outrage, pollution, agony supreme, Wasting my heart with double edge of pain! Ah Fate, ah Fate! I gaze on Io’s dole, And shudder to my soul! PROMETHEUS. Thou wailest all too soon, fulfilled of fear— Tarry awhile, till thou have learned the whole. CHORUS. Say on, reveal it! suffering souls are fain To know aright what yet remains to bear.

PROMETHEUS. Lightly, with help of mine, did ye achieve That which ye first desired: from Io’s mouth craved to hear, recounted by herself, The story of her strivings. Listen now To what shall follow, to what woefulness The wrath of Hera must compel this maid. (To Io) And thou, O child of Inachus, within Thine inmost heart store up these words of mine, That thou may’st learn thy wanderings and their goal. First from this spot toward the sunrise turn, And cross the steppe that knoweth not the plough: Thus to the nomad Scythians shalt thou come, Who dwell in wattled homes, not built on earth But borne along on wains of sturdy wheel— Equipped, themselves, with bows of mighty reach. Pass them avoidingly, and leave their land, And skirt the beaches where the tides make moan, Till lo! upon the left hand thou shalt find The Chalybes, stout craftsmen of the steel— Beware of them! no gentleness is theirs, No kindly welcome to a stranger’s foot! Thence to the Stream of Violence shalt thou come— Like name, like nature; see thou cross it not, (’Tis fatal to the forder!) till thou come Right to the very Caucasus, the peak That overtops the world, and from its brows The river pants in spray its wrathful stream. Thence, o’er the pinnacles that court the stars, Onward and southward thou must take thy way, And reach the warlike horde of Amazons, Maidens through hate of man; and gladly they Will guide thy maiden feet. That host, in days That are not yet, shall fix their home and dwell At Themiscyra, on Thermodon’s bank, Nigh whereunto the grim projecting fang Of Salmydessus’ cape affronts the main, The seaman’s curse, to ships a stepmother! Then at the jutting land, Cimmerian styled, That screens the narrowing portal of the mere, Thou shalt arrive; pass o’er it, brave at heart, And ferry thee across Macotis’ ford. So shall there be great rumour evermore, In ears of mortals, of thy passage strange; And Bosporos shall be that channel’s name, Because the ox-horned thing did pass thereby. So, from the wilds of Europe wander’d o’er, To Asia’s continent thou com’st at last. (To the CHORUS) And ye, what think ye? Seems he not, that lord And tyrant of the gods, as tyrannous Unto all other lives? A high god’s lust Constrained this mortal maid to roam the world! (To Io) Poor maid! a brutal wooer sure was thine! For know that all which I have told thee now Is scarce the prelude of thy woes to come.

IO. Alas for me, alas! PROMETHEUS. Again thou criest, with a heifer’s low. What wilt thou do, learning thy future woes? CHORUS. What, hast thou further sorrows for her ear? PROMETHEUS. Yea, a vext ocean of predestined pain. IO. What profit then is life to me? Ah, why Did I not cast me from this stubborn crag? So with one spring, one crash upon the ground, I had attained surcease from all my woes. Better it is to die one death outright Than linger out long life in misery. PROMETHEUS. Ill would’st thou bear these agonies of mine— Mine, with whose fate it standeth not to win The goal of death, which were release from pain! Now, there is set no limit to my woe Till Zeus be hurled from his omnipotence. IO. Zeus hurled from pride of place! Can such things be? PROMETHEUS. Thou wert full fain, methinks, to see that sight! IO. Even so—his overthrow who wrought my pain. PROMETHEUS. Then may’st thou know thereof; such fall shall be. IO. And who shall wrench the sceptre from his hand? PROMETHEUS. By his own mindless counsels shall he fall. IO. And how? unless the telling harm, say on! PROMETHEUS. Wooing a bride, his ruin he shall win. IO. Goddess, or mortal? tell me, if thou may’st.

PROMETHEUS. No matter which—more must not be revealed. IO. Doth then a consort thrust him from his throne? PROMETHEUS. The child she bears him shall o’ercome his sire. IO. And hath he no avoidance of this doom? PROMETHEUS. None, surely—till that I, released from bonds— IO. Who can release thee, but by will of Zeus? PROMETHEUS. Fate gives this duty to a child of thine! IO. How? Shall a child of mine undo thy woes? PROMETHEUS. Yea, of thy lineage, thirteen times removed. IO. Dark beyond guessing grows thine oracle. PROMETHEUS. Yea—seek not therefore to foreknow thy woes. IO. As thou didst proffer hope, withdraw it not. PROMETHEUS. Two tales I have—choose! for I grant thee one. IO. And which be they? reveal, and leave me choice. PROMETHEUS. I grant it: shall I in all clearness show Thy future woes, or my deliverance? CHORUS. Nay! of the two, vouchsafe her wish to her And mine to me, deigning a truth to each— To her, reveal her future wanderings— To me, thy future saviour, as I crave!

PROMETHEUS. I will not set myself to thwart your will Withholding aught of what ye crave to know. First to thee, Io, will I tell and trace Thy scared circuitous wandering mark it well, Deep in retentive tablets of the soul. When thou hast overpast the ferry’s flow That sunders continent from continent, Straight to the eastward and the flaming face Of dawn, and highways trodden by the sun, Pass, till thou come unto the windy land Of daughters born to Boreas: beware Lest the strong spirit of the stormy blast Snatch thee aloft, and sweep thee to the void, On wings of raving wintry hurricane! Wend by the noisy tumult of the wave, Until thou reach the Gorgon-haunted plains Beside Cisthene. In that solitude Dwell Phorcys’ daughters, beldames worn with time, Three, each swan-shapen, single-toothed, and all Peering thro’ shared endowment of one eye; Never on them doth the sun shed his rays, Never falls radiance of the midnight moon. But, hard by these, their sisters, clad with wings, Serpentine-curled, dwell, loathed of mortal men,— The Gorgons!—he of men who looks on them Shall gasp away his life. Of such fell guard I bid thee to beware. Now, mark my words When I another sight of terror tell— Beware the Gryphon pack, the hounds of Zeus, As keen of fang as silent of their tongues! Beware the one-eyed Arimaspian band That tramp on horse-hoofs, dwelling by the ford Of Pluto and the stream that flows with gold: Keep thou aloof from these. To the world’s end Thou comest at the last, the dark-faced tribe That dwell beside the sources of the sun, Where springs the river, Aethiopian named. Make thou thy way along his bank, until Thou come unto the mighty downward slope Where from the overland of Bybline hills Nile pours his hallowed earth-refreshing wave. He by his course shall guide thee to the realm Named from himself, three-angled, water-girt; There, Io, at the last, hath Fate ordained, For thee and for thy race, the charge to found, Far from thy native shore, a new abode. Lo, I have said: if aught hereof appear Hard to thy sense and inarticulate, Question me o’er again, and soothly learn— God wot, I have too much of leisure here!

CHORUS. If there be aught beyond, or aught pass’d o’er, Which thou canst utter, of her woe-worn maze, Speak on! if all is said, then grant to us That which we asked, as thou rememberest.

PROMETHEUS. She now hath learned, unto its utmost end, Her pilgrimage; but yet, that she may know That ’tis no futile fable she hath heard, I will recount her history of toil Ere she came hither; let it stand for proof Of what I told, my forecast of the end. So, then—to sum in brief the weary tale— I turn me to thine earlier exile’s close. When to Molossia’s lowland thou hadst come, Nigh to Dodona’s cliff and ridge sublime, (Where is the shrine oracular and seat Of Zeus, Thesprotian styled, and that strange thing And marvel past belief, the prophet-oaks That syllable his speech), thou by their tongues, With clear acclaim and unequivocal, Wert thus saluted—Hail, O bride of Zeus That art to be—hast memory thereof? Thence, stung anew with frenzy, thou didst hie Along the shoreward track, to Rhea’s lap, The mighty main; then, stormily distraught, Backward again and eastward. To all time, Be well assured, that inlet of the sea All mortal men shall call Ionian, In memory that Io fared thereby. Take this for proof and witness that my mind Hath more in ken than ever sense hath shown. (To the CHORUS) That which remains, to you and her alike I will relate, and, to my former words Reverting, add this final prophecy. (To Io) There

lieth, at the verge of land and sea, Where Nilus issues thro’ the silted sand, A town, Canopus called: and there at length Shall Zeus renew the reason in thy brain With the mere touch and contact of his hand Fraught now with fear no more: and thou shalt bear A child, dark Epaphus—his very name Memorial of Zeus’ touch that gave him life. And his shall be the foison and the fruit Of all the land enriched by spreading Nile. Thence the fifth generation of his seed Back unto Argos, yet unwillingly, Shall flee for refuge—fifty maidens they, Loathing a wedlock with their next in blood, More kin than kind, from their sire’s brother sprung. And on their track, astir with wild desire, Like falcons fierce closing on doves that flee, Shall speed the suitors, craving to achieve A prey forbidden, a reluctant bride. Yet power divine shall foil them, and forbid Possession of the maids, whom Argive land Shall hold protected, when unsleeping hate, Horror, and watchful ambush of the night, Have laid the suitors dead, by female hands. For every maid shall smite a man to death, Dyeing a dagger’s edges in his throat— Such bed of love befall mine enemies! Yet in one bride shall yearning conquer hate, Bidding her spare the bridegroom at her side,

Blunting the keen edge of her set resolve. Thus of two scorns the former shall she choose, The name of coward, not of murderess. In Argos shall she bear, in after time, A royal offspring. Long it were to tell In clear succession all that thence shall be. Take this for sooth—in lineage from her A hero shall arise, an archer great, And he shall be my saviour from these woes. Such knowledge of the future Themis gave, The ancient Titaness, to me her son. But how, and by what skill, ’twere long to say, And no whit will the knowledge profit thee.

IO. O woe, O rending and convulsive pain, Frenzy and agony, again, again Searing my heart and brain! O dagger of the sting, unforged with fire Yet burning, burning ever! O my heart, Pulsing with horror, beating at my breast! O rolling maddened eyes! away, apart, Raving with anguish dire, I spring, by frenzy-fiends possest. O wild and whirling words, that sweep in gloom Down to dark waves of doom! [Exit IO.] CHORUS. O well and sagely was it said— Yea, wise of heart was he who first Gave forth in speech the thought he nursed— In thine own order see thou wed! Let not the humble heart aspire To the gross home of wealth and pride; Nor be it to a hearth allied That vaunts of many a noble sire. O Fates, of awful empery! Never may I by Zeus be wooed— Never give o’er my maidenhood To any god that dwells on high. A shudder to my soul is sent, Beholding Io’s doom forlorn— By Hera’s malice put to scorn, Roaming in mateless banishment. From wedlock’s crown of fair desire I would not shrink—an idle fear! But may no god to me draw near With shunless might and glance of fire!

That were a strife wherein no chance Of conquest lies: from Zeus most high And his resolve, no subtlety Could win me my deliverance. PROMETHEUS. And yet shall Zeus, for all his stubborn pride, Be brought to low estate! aha, he schemes Such wedlock as shall bring his doom on him, Flung from his kingship to oblivion’s lap! Ay, then the curse his father Cronos spake As he fell helpless from his agelong throne, Shall be fulfilled unto the utterance! No god but I can manifest to him A rescue from such ruin as impends— I know it, I, and how it may be foiled. Go to, then, let him sit and blindly trust His skyey rumblings, for security, And wave his levin with its blast of flame! All will avail him not, nor bar his fall Down to dishonour vile, intolerable So strong a wrestler is he moulding now To his own proper downfall—yea, a shape Portentous and unconquerably huge, Who truly shall reveal a flame more strong Than is the lightning, and a crash of sound More loud than thunder, and shall dash to nought Poseidon’s trident-spear, the ocean-bane That makes the firm earth quiver. Let Zeus strike Once on this rock, he speedily shall learn How far the fall from power to slavery!

CHORUS. Beware! thy wish doth challenge Zeus himself. PROMETHEUS. I voice my wish and its fulfilment too. CHORUS. What, dare we look for one to conquer Zeus? PROMETHEUS. Ay—Zeus shall wear more painful bonds than mine CHORUS. Darest thou speak such taunts and tremble not? PROMETHEUS. Why should I fear, who am immortal too? CHORUS. Yet he might doom thee to worse agony. PROMETHEUS. Out on his dooming! I foreknow it all. CHORUS. Yet do the wise revere Necessity. PROMETHEUS. Ay, ay—do reverence, cringe and crouch to power Whene’er, where’er thou see it! But, for me, I reck of Zeus as something less than nought. Let him put forth his power, attest his sway, Howe’er he will—a momentary show, A little brief authority in heaven! Aha, I see out yonder one who comes, A bidden courier, truckling at Zeus’ nod, A lacquey in his new lord’s livery, Surely on some fantastic errand sped! Enter HERMES.

HERMES. Thou, double-dyed in gall of bitterness, Trickster and sinner against gods, by giving The stolen fire to perishable men! Attend—the Sire supreme doth bid thee tell What is the wedlock which thou vauntest now, Whereby he falleth from supremacy? Speak forth the whole, make all thine utterance clear, Have done with words inscrutable, nor cause To me, Prometheus! any further toil Or twofold journeying. Go to—thou seest Zeus doth not soften at such words as thine! PROMETHEUS. Pompous, in sooth, thy word, and swoln with pride, As doth befit the lacquey of thy lords! O ye young gods! how, in your youthful sway, Ye deem secure your citadels of sky, Beyond the reach of sorrow or of fall! Have I not seen two dynasties of gods Already flung therefrom? and soon shall see A third, that now in tyranny exults, Shamed, ruined, in an hour! What sayest thou? Crouch I and tremble at these stripling powers? Small homage unto such from me, or none! Betake thee hence, sweat back along thy road— Look for no answer from me, get thee gone! HERMES. Think—it was such audacities of will That drove thee erst to anchorage in woe! PROMETHEUS. Ay—but mark this: mine heritage of pain I would not barter for thy servitude.

HERMES. Better, forsooth, be bond-slave to a crag, Than true-born herald unto Zeus the Sire! PROMETHEUS. Take thine own coin—taunts for a taunting slave! HERMES. Proud art thou in thy circumstance, methinks! PROMETHEUS. Proud? in such pride then be my foemen set, And I to see—and of such foes art thou! HERMES. What, blam’st thou me too for thy sufferings? PROMETHEUS. Mark a plain word—I loathe all gods that are, Who reaped my kindness and repay with wrong. HERMES. I hear no little madness in thy words. PROMETHEUS. Madness be mine, if scorn of foes be mad. HERMES. Past bearing were thy pride, in happiness. PROMETHEUS. Ah me! HERMES. Zeus knoweth nought of sorrow’s cry! PROMETHEUS. He shall! Time’s lapse bringeth all lessons home. HERMES. To thee it brings not yet discretion’s curb. PROMETHEUS. No—else I had not wrangled with a slave! HERMES. Then thou concealest all that Zeus would learn? PROMETHEUS. As though I owed him aught and should repay! HERMES. Scornful thy word, as though I were a child—

PROMETHEUS. Child, ay—or whatsoe’er hath less of brain— Thou, deeming thou canst wring my secret out! No mangling torture, no, nor sleight of power There is, by which he shall compel my speech, Until these shaming bonds be loosed from me. So, let him fling his blazing levin-bolt! Let him with white and winged flakes of snow, And rumbling earthquakes, whelm and shake the world! For nought of this shall bend me to reveal The power ordained to hurl him from his throne. HERMES. Bethink thee if such words can mend thy lot. PROMETHEUS. All have I long foreseen, and all resolved. HERMES. Perverse of will! constrain, constrain thy soul To think more wisely in the grasp of doom! PROMETHEUS. Truce to vain words! as wisely wouldst thou strive To warn a swelling wave: imagine not That ever I before thy lord’s resolve Will shrink in womanish terror, and entreat, As with soft suppliance of female hands, The Power I scorn unto the utterance, To loose me from the chains that bind me here— A world’s division ’twixt that thought and me!

HERMES. So, I shall speak, whate’er I speak, in vain! No prayer can melt or soften thy resolve; But, as a colt new-harnessed champs the bit, Thou strivest and art restive to the rein. But all too feeble is the stratagem In which thou art so confident: for know That strong self-will is weak and less than nought In one more proud than wise. Bethink thee now— If these my words thou shouldest disregard— What storm, what might as of a great third wave Shall dash thy doom upon thee, past escape! First shall the Sire, with thunder and the flame Of lightning, rend the crags of this ravine, And in the shattered mass o’erwhelm thy form, Immured and morticed in a clasping rock. Thence, after age on age of durance done, Back to the daylight shall thou come, and there The eagle-hound of Zeus, red-ravening, fell With greed, shall tatter piecemeal all thy flesh To shreds and ragged vestiges of form— Yea, an unbidden guest, a day-long bane, That feeds, and feeds—yea, he shall gorge his fill On blackened fragments, from thy vitals gnawed. Look for no respite from that agony Until some other deity be found, Ready to bear for thee the brunt of doom, Choosing to pass into the lampless world Of Hades and the murky depths of hell. Hereat, advise thee! ’tis no feigned threat Whereof I warn thee, but an o’er-true tale. The lips of Zeus know nought of lying speech, But wreak in action all their words foretell. Therefore do thou look warily, and deem Prudence a better saviour than self-will.

CHORUS. Meseems that Hermes speaketh not amiss, Bidding thee leave thy wilfulness and seek The wary walking of a counselled mind. Give heed! to err through anger shames the wise. PROMETHEUS. All, all I knew, whate’er his tongue In idle arrogance hath flung. ’Tis the world’s way, the common lot— Foe tortures foe and pities not. Therefore I challenge him to dash His bolt on me, his zigzag flash Of piercing, rending flame! Now be the welkin stirred amain With thunder-peal and hurricane, And let the wild winds now displace From its firm poise and rooted base The stubborn earthly frame! The raging sea with stormy surge Rise up and ravin and submerge Each high star-trodden way! Me let him lift and dash to gloom Of nether hell, in whirls of doom! Yet—do he what extremes he may— He cannot crush my life away! HERMES. Such are the counsels, such the strain, Heard from wild lips and frenzied brain! In word or thought, how fails his fate Of madness wild and desperate? (To the CHORUS) But ye, who stand compassionate Here at his side, depart in haste! Lest of his penalty ye taste, And shattered brain and reason feel The roaring, ruthless thunder-peal!

CHORUS. Out on thee! if thy heart be fain I should obey thee, change thy strain! Vile is thine hinted cowardice, And loathed of me thy base advice, Weakly to shrink from pain! Nay, at his side, whate’er befall, I will abide, endure it all! Among all things abhorr’d, accurst, I hold betrayers for the worst! HERMES. Nay, ye are warned! remember well— Nor cry, when meshed in nets of hell, Ah cruel fate, ah Zeus unkind— Thus, by a sentence undivined, To dash us to the realms below! It is no sudden, secret blow— Nay, ye achieve your proper woe— Warn’d and foreknowing shall ye go, Through your own folly trapped and ta’en, Into the net the Fates ordain— The vast, illimitable pain! [Thunder and lightning.]

PROMETHEUS. Hark! for no more in empty word, But in sheer sooth, the world is stirred! The massy earth doth heave and sway, And thro’ their dark and secret way The cavern’d thunders boom! See, how they gleam athwart the sky, The lightnings, through the gloom! And whirlwinds roll the dust on high, And right and left the storm-clouds leap To battle in the skyey deep, In wildest uproar unconfined, An universe of warring wind! And falling sky and heaving sea Are blent in one! on me, on me, Nearer and ever yet more near, Flaunting its pageantry of fear, Drives down in might its destined road The tempest of the wrath of God! O holy Earth, O mother mine! O Sky, that biddest speed along Thy vault the common Light divine,— Be witness of my wrong! [The rocks are rent with fire and earthquake, and fall, burying PROMETHEUS in the ruins.]