Chapter 9
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.