Æschylos Tragedies and Fragments
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Æschylos Tragedies and Fragments
PROMETHEUS BOUND
DRAMATIS PERSONÆPrometheus
Hermes
Okeanos
Strength
Hephæstos
Force
Chorus of Ocean Nymphs
ARGUMENT. – In the old time, when Cronos was sovereign of the Gods, Zeus, whom he had begotten, rose up against him, and the Gods were divided in their counsels, some, the Titans chiefly, siding with the father, and some with the son. And Prometheus, the son of Earth or Themis, though one of the Titans, supported Zeus, as did also Okeanos, and by his counsels Zeus obtained the victory, and Cronos was chained in Tartaros, and the Titans buried under mountains, or kept in bonds in Hades. And then Prometheus, seeing the miseries of the race of men, of whom Zeus took little heed, stole the fire which till then had belonged to none but Hephæstos and was used only for the Gods, and gave it to mankind, and taught them many arts whereby their wretchedness was lessened. But Zeus being wroth with Prometheus for this deed, sent Hephæstos, with his two helpers, Strength and Force, to fetter him to a rock on Caucasos.
And in yet another story was the cruelty of the Gods made known. For Zeus loved Io, the daughter of Inachos, king of Argos, and she was haunted by visions of the night, telling her of his passion, and she told her father thereof. And Inachos, sending to the God at Delphi, was told to drive Io forth from her home. And Zeus gave her the horns of a cow, and Hera, who hated her because she was dear to Zeus, sent with her a gadfly that stung her, and gave her no rest, and drove her over many lands.
Note.– The play is believed to have been the second of a Trilogy, of which the first was Prometheus the Fire-giver, and the third Prometheus Unbound.
PROMETHEUS BOUNDScene. – Skythia, on the heights of Caucasos. The Euxineseen in the distance Enter Hephæstos, Strength, and Force, leadingPrometheus in chains136Strength. Lo! to a plain, earth's boundary remote,We now are come, – the tract as Skythian known,A desert inaccessible: and now,Hephæstos, it is thine to do the hestsThe Father gave thee, to these lofty cragsTo bind this crafty trickster fast in chainsOf adamantine bonds that none can break;For he thy choice flower stealing, the bright gloryOf fire that all arts spring from, hath bestowed itOn mortal men. And so for fault like thisHe now must pay the Gods due penalty,That he may learn to bear the sovereign ruleOf Zeus, and cease from his philanthropy.Heph. O Strength, and thou, O Force, the hest of Zeus,As far as touches you, attains its end,And nothing hinders. Yet my courage failsTo bind a God of mine own kin by forceTo this bare rock where tempests wildly sweep;And yet I needs must muster courage for it:'Tis no slight thing the Father's words to scorn.O thou of Themis [to Prometheus] wise in counsel son,Full deep of purpose, lo! against my will,137I fetter thee against thy will with bondsOf bronze that none can loose, to this lone height,Where thou shalt know nor voice nor face of man,But scorching in the hot blaze of the sun,Shalt lose thy skin's fair beauty. Thou shalt longFor starry-mantled night to hide day's sheen,For sun to melt the rime of early dawn;And evermore the weight of present illShall wear thee down. Unborn as yet is heWho shall release thee: this the fate thou gain'stAs due reward for thy philanthropy.For thou, a God not fearing wrath of Gods,In thy transgression gav'st their power to men;And therefore on this rock of little easeThou still shalt keep thy watch, nor lying down,Nor knowing sleep, nor ever bending knee;And many groans and wailings profitlessThy lips shall utter; for the mind of ZeusRemains inexorable. Who holds a powerBut newly gained138 is ever stern of mood.Strength. Let be! Why linger in this idle pity?Why dost not hate a God to Gods a foe,Who gave thy choicest prize to mortal men?Heph. Strange is the power of kin and intercourse.139Strength. I own it; yet to slight the Father's words,How may that be? Is not that fear the worse?Heph. Still art thou ruthless, full of savagery.Strength. There is no help in weeping over him:Spend not thy toil on things that profit not.Heph. O handicraft to me intolerable!Strength. Why loath'st thou it? Of these thy present griefsThat craft of thine is not one whit the cause.Heph. And yet I would some other had that skill.Strength. *All things bring toil except for Gods to reign;140For none but Zeus can boast of freedom true.Heph. Too well I see the proof, and gainsay not.Strength. Wilt thou not speed to fix the chains on him,Lest He, the Father, see thee loitering here?Heph. Well, here the handcuffs thou may'st see prepared.Strength. In thine hands take him. Then with all thy mightStrike with thine hammer; nail him to the rocks.Heph. The work goes on, I ween, and not in vain.Strength. Strike harder, rivet, give no whit of ease:A wondrous knack has he to find resource,Even where all might seem to baffle him.Heph. Lo! this his arm is fixed inextricably.Strength. Now rivet thou this other fast, that heMay learn, though sharp, that he than Zeus is duller.Heph. No one but he could justly blame my work.Strength. Now drive the stern jaw of the adamant wedgeRight through his chest with all the strength thou hast.Heph. Ah me! Prometheus, for thy woes I groan.Strength. Again, thou'rt loth, and for the foes of ZeusThou groanest: take good heed to it lest thouEre long with cause thyself commiserate.Heph. Thou see'st a sight unsightly to our eyes.Strength. I see this man obtaining his deserts:Nay, cast thy breast-chains round about his ribs.Heph. I must needs do it. Spare thine o'er much bidding;Go thou below and rivet both his legs.141Strength. Nay, I will bid thee, urge thee to thy work.Heph. There, it is done, and that with no long toil.Strength. Now with thy full power fix the galling fetters:Thou hast a stern o'erlooker of thy work.Heph. Thy tongue but utters words that match thy form.142Strength. Choose thou the melting mood; but chide not meFor my self-will and wrath and ruthlessness.Heph. Now let us go, his limbs are bound in chains.Strength. Here then wax proud, and stealing what belongsTo the Gods, to mortals give it. What can theyAvail to rescue thee from these thy woes?Falsely the Gods have given thee thy name,Prometheus, Forethought; forethought thou dost needTo free thyself from this rare handiwork.[Exeunt Hephæstos, Strength, and Force, leaving Prometheus on the rockProm. 143 Thou firmament of God, and swift-winged winds,Ye springs of rivers, and of ocean wavesThat smile innumerous! Mother of us all,O Earth, and Sun's all-seeing eye, behold,I pray, what I a God from Gods endure.Behold in what foul caseI for ten thousand yearsShall struggle in my woe,In these unseemly chains.Such doom the new-made Monarch of the BlestHath now devised for me.Woe, woe! The present and the oncoming pangI wail, as I search outThe place and hour when end of all these illsShall dawn on me at last.What say I? All too clearly I foreseeThe things that come, and nought of pain shall beBy me unlooked-for; but I needs must bearMy destiny as best I may, knowing wellThe might resistless of Necessity.And neither may I speak of this my fate,Nor hold my peace. For I, poor I, through givingGreat gifts to mortal men, am prisoner madeIn these fast fetters; yea, in fennel stalk144I snatched the hidden spring of stolen fire,Which is to men a teacher of all arts,Their chief resource. And now this penaltyOf that offence I pay, fast rivetedIn chains beneath the open firmament.Ha! ha! What now?What sound, what odour floats invisibly?145Is it of God or man, or blending both?And has one come to the remotest rockTo look upon my woes? Or what wills he?Behold me bound, a God to evil doomed,The foe of Zeus, and heldIn hatred by all GodsWho tread the courts of Zeus:And this for my great love,Too great, for mortal men.Ah me! what rustling soundsHear I of birds not far?With the light whirr of wingsThe air re-echoeth:All that draws nigh to me is cause of fear.146 Enter Chorus of Ocean Nymphs, with wings, floating in the air 147 Chor. Nay, fear thou nought: in loveAll our array of wingsIn eager race hath comeTo this high peak, full hardly gaining o'erOur Father's mind and will;And the swift-rushing breezes bore me on:For lo! the echoing sound of blows on ironPierced to our cave's recess, and put to flightMy shamefast modesty,And I in unshod haste, on winged car,To thee rushed hitherward.Prom. Ah me! ah me!Offspring of Tethys blest with many a child,Daughters of Old Okeanos that rollsRound all the earth with never-sleeping stream,Behold ye me, and seeWith what chains fettered fast,I on the topmost crags of this ravineShall keep my sentry-post unenviable.Chor. I see it, O Prometheus, and a mistOf fear and full of tears comes o'er mine eyes,Thy frame beholding thus,Writhing on these high rocksIn adamantine ills.New pilots now o'er high Olympos rule,And with new-fashioned lawsZeus reigns, down-trampling right,And all the ancient powers He sweeps away.Prom. Ah! would that 'neath the Earth, 'neath Hades too,Home of the dead, far down to TartarosUnfathomable He in fetters fastIn wrath had hurled me down:So neither had a GodNor any other mocked at these my woes;But now, the wretched plaything of the winds,I suffer ills at which my foes rejoice.Chor. Nay, which of all the GodsIs so hard-hearted as to joy in this?Who, Zeus excepted, doth not pity theeIn these thine ills? But He,Ruthless, with soul unbent,Subdues the heavenly host, nor will He cease148Until his heart be satiate with power,Or some one seize with subtle stratagemThe sovran might that so resistless seemed.Prom. Nay, of a truth, though put to evil shame,In massive fetters bound,The Ruler of the GodsShall yet have need of me, yes, e'en of me,To tell the counsel newThat seeks to strip from himHis sceptre and his might of sovereignty.In vain will He with wordsOr suasion's honeyed charmsSoothe me, nor will I tellThrough fear of his stern threats,Ere He shall set me freeFrom these my bonds, and make,Of his own choice, amendsFor all these outrages.Chor. Full rash art thou, and yield'stIn not a jot to bitterest form of woe;Thou art o'er-free and reckless in thy speech:But piercing fear hath stirredMy inmost soul to strife;For I fear greatly touching thy distress,As to what haven of these woes of thineThou now must steer: the son of Cronos hathA stubborn mood and heart inexorable.Prom. I know that Zeus is hard,And keeps the Right supremely to himself;But then, I trow, He'll beFull pliant in his will,When He is thus crushed down.Then, calming down his moodOf hard and bitter wrath,He'll hasten unto me,As I to him shall haste,For friendship and for peace.Chor. Hide it not from us, tell us all the tale:For what offence Zeus, having seized thee thus,So wantonly and bitterly insults thee:If the tale hurt thee not, inform thou us.Prom. Painful are these things to me e'en to speak:Painful is silence; everywhere is woe.For when the high Gods fell on mood of wrath,And hot debate of mutual strife was stirred,Some wishing to hurl Cronos from his throne,That Zeus, forsooth, might reign; while others strove,Eager that Zeus might never rule the Gods:Then I, full strongly seeking to persuadeThe Titans, yea, the sons of Heaven and Earth,Failed of my purpose. Scorning subtle arts,With counsels violent, they thought that theyBy force would gain full easy mastery.But then not once or twice my mother ThemisAnd Earth, one form though bearing many names,149Had prophesied the future, how 'twould run,That not by strength nor yet by violence,But guile, should those who prospered gain the day.And when in my words I this counsel gave,They deigned not e'en to glance at it at all.And then of all that offered, it seemed bestTo join my mother, and of mine own will,Not against his will, take my side with Zeus,And by my counsels, mine, the dark deep pitOf Tartaros the ancient Cronos holds,Himself and his allies. Thus profitingBy me, the mighty ruler of the GodsRepays me with these evil penalties:For somehow this disease in sovereigntyInheres, of never trusting to one's friends.150And since ye ask me under what pretenceHe thus maltreats me, I will show it you:For soon as He upon his father's throneHad sat secure, forthwith to divers GodsHe divers gifts distributed, and his realmBegan to order. But of mortal menHe took no heed, but purposed utterlyTo crush their race and plant another new;And, I excepted, none dared cross his will;But I did dare, and mortal men I freedFrom passing on to Hades thunder-stricken;And therefore am I bound beneath these woes,Dreadful to suffer, pitiable to see:And I, who in my pity thought of menMore than myself, have not been worthy deemedTo gain like favour, but all ruthlesslyI thus am chained, foul shame this sight to Zeus.Chor. Iron-hearted must he be and made of rockWho is not moved, Prometheus, by thy woes:Fain could I wish I ne'er had seen such things,And, seeing them, am wounded to the heart.Prom. Yea, I am piteous for my friends to see.Chor. Did'st thou not go to farther lengths than this?Prom. I made men cease from contemplating death.151Chor. What medicine did'st thou find for that disease?Prom. Blind hopes I gave to live and dwell with them.Chor. Great service that thou did'st for mortal men!Prom. And more than that, I gave them fire, yes I.Chor. Do short-lived men the flaming fire possess?Prom. Yea, and full many an art they'll learn from it.Chor. And is it then on charges such as theseThat Zeus maltreats thee, and no respite givesOf many woes? And has thy pain no end?Prom. End there is none, except as pleases Him.Chor. How shall it please? What hope hast thou? See'st notThat thou hast sinned? Yet to say how thou sinned'stGives me no pleasure, and is pain to thee.Well! let us leave these things, and, if we may,Seek out some means to 'scape from this thy woe.Prom. 'Tis a light thing for one who has his footBeyond the reach of evil to exhortAnd counsel him who suffers. This to meWas all well known. Yea, willing, willinglyI sinned, nor will deny it. Helping men,I for myself found trouble: yet I thought notThat I with such dread penalties as theseShould wither here on these high-towering crags,Lighting on this lone hill and neighbourless.Wherefore wail not for these my present woes,But, drawing nigh, my coming fortunes hear,That ye may learn the whole tale to the end.Nay, hearken, hearken; show your sympathyWith him who suffers now. 'Tis thus that woe,Wandering, now falls on this one, now on that.Chor. Not to unwilling hearers hast thou uttered,Prometheus, thy request,And now with nimble foot aboundingMy swiftly rushing car,And the pure æther, path of birds of heaven,I will draw near this rough and rocky land,For much do I desireTo hear this tale, full measure, of thy woes. Enter Okeanos, on a car drawn by a winged gryphonOkean. Lo, I come to thee, Prometheus,Reaching goal of distant journey,152Guiding this my winged courserBy my will, without a bridle;And thy sorrows move my pity.Force, in part, I deem, of kindredLeads me on, nor know I any,Whom, apart from kin, I honourMore than thee, in fuller measure.This thou shall own true and earnest:I deal not in glozing speeches.Come then, tell me how to help thee;Ne'er shalt thou say that one more friendlyIs found than unto thee is Okean.Prom. Let be. What boots it? Thou then too art comeTo gaze upon my sufferings. How did'st dareLeaving the stream that bears thy name, and cavesHewn in the living rock, this land to visit,Mother of iron? What then, art thou comeTo gaze upon my fall and offer pity?Behold this sight: see here the friend of Zeus,Who helped to seat him in his sovereignty,With what foul outrage I am crushed by him!Okean. I see, Prometheus, and I wish to give theeMy best advice, all subtle though thou be.Know thou thyself,153 and fit thy soul to moodsTo thee full new. New king the Gods have now;But if thou utter words thus rough and sharp,Perchance, though sitting far away on high,Zeus yet may hear thee, and his present wrathSeem to thee but as child's play of distress.Nay, thou poor sufferer, quit the rage thou hast,And seek a remedy for these thine ills.A tale thrice-told, perchance I seem to speak:Lo! this, Prometheus, is the punishmentOf thine o'er lofty speech, nor art thou yetHumbled, nor yieldest to thy miseries,And fain would'st add fresh evils unto these.But thou, if thou wilt take me as thy teacher,Wilt not kick out against the pricks;154 seeing wellA monarch reigns who gives account to none.And now I go, and will an effort make,If I, perchance, may free thee from thy woes;Be still then, hush thy petulance of speech,Or knowest thou not, o'er-clever as thou art,That idle tongues must still their forfeit pay?Prom. I envy thee, seeing thou art free from blameThough thou shared'st all, and in my cause wast bold;155Nay, let me be, nor trouble thou thyself;Thou wilt not, canst not soothe Him; very hardIs He of soothing. Look to it thyself,Lest thou some mischief meet with in the way.Okean. It is thy wont thy neighbours' minds to schoolFar better than thine own. From deeds, not words,I draw my proof. But do not draw me backWhen I am hasting on, for lo, I deem,I deem that Zeus will grant this boon to me,That I should free thee from these woes of thine.Prom. I thank thee much, yea, ne'er will cease to thank;For thou no whit of zeal dost lack; yet take,I pray, no trouble for me; all in vainThy trouble, nothing helping, e'en if thouShould'st care to take the trouble. Nay, be still;Keep out of harm's way; sufferer though I be,I would not therefore wish to give my woesA wider range o'er others. No, not so:For lo! my mind is wearied with the griefOf that my kinsman Atlas,156 who doth standIn the far West, supporting on his shouldersThe pillars of the earth and heaven, a burdenHis arms can ill but hold: I pity tooThe giant dweller of Kilikian caves,Dread portent, with his hundred hands, subduedBy force, the mighty Typhon,157 who arose'Gainst all the Gods, with sharp and dreadful jawsHissing out slaughter, and from out his eyesThere flashed the terrible brightness as of oneWho would lay low the sovereignty of Zeus.But the unsleeping dart of Zeus came on him,Down-swooping thunderbolt that breathes out flame,Which from his lofty boastings startled him,For he i' the heart was struck, to ashes burnt,His strength all thunder-shattered; and he liesA helpless, powerless carcase, near the straitOf the great sea, fast pressed beneath the rootsOf ancient Ætna, where on highest peakHephæstos sits and smites his iron red-hot,From whence hereafter streams of fire shall burst,158Devouring with fierce jaws the golden plainsOf fruitful, fair Sikelia. Such the wrathThat Typhon shall belch forth with bursts of storm,Hot, breathing fire, and unapproachable,Though burnt and charred by thunderbolts of Zeus.Not inexperienced art thou, nor dost needMy teaching: save thyself, as thou know'st how;And I will drink my fortune to the dregs,Till from his wrath the mind of Zeus shall rest.159Okean. Know'st thou not this, Prometheus, even this,Of wrath's disease wise words the healers are?Prom. Yea, could one soothe the troubled heart in time,Nor seek by force to tame the soul's proud flesh.Okean. But in due forethought with bold daring blent,What mischief see'st thou lurking? Tell me this.Prom. Toil bootless, and simplicity full fond.Okean. Let me, I pray, that sickness suffer, since'Tis best being wise to have not wisdom's show.Prom. Nay, but this error shall be deemed as mine.Okean. Thy word then clearly sends me home at once.Prom. Yea, lest thy pity for me make a foe…Okean. What! of that new king on his mighty throne?Prom. Look to it, lest his heart be vexed with thee.Okean. Thy fate, Prometheus, teaches me that lesson.Prom. Away, withdraw! keep thou the mind thou hast.Okean. Thou urgest me who am in act to haste;For this my bird four-footed flaps with wingsThe clear path of the æther; and full fainWould he bend knee in his own stall at home. [Exit.Strophe IChor. I grieve, Prometheus, for thy dreary fate,Shedding from tender eyesThe dew of plenteous tears;With streams, as when the watery south wind blows,My cheek is wet;For lo! these things are all unenviable,And Zeus, by his own laws his sway maintaining,Shows to the elder GodsA mood of haughtiness.Antistrophe IAnd all the country echoeth with the moan,And poureth many a tearFor that magnific powerOf ancient days far-seen that thou did'st shareWith those of one blood sprung;And all the mortal men who hold the plainOf holy Asia as their land of sojourn,They grieve in sympathyFor thy woes lamentable.Strophe IIAnd they, the maiden band who find their homeOn distant Colchian coasts,Fearless of fight,160Or Skythian horde in earth's remotest clime,By far Mæotic lake;161Antistrophe IIAnd warlike glory of Arabia's tribes,162Who nigh to CaucasosIn rock-fort dwell,An army fearful, with sharp-pointed spearRaging in war's array.Strophe IIIOne other Titan only have I seen,One other of the Gods,Thus bound in woes of adamantine strength —Atlas, who ever groansBeneath the burden of a crushing might,The out-spread vault of heaven.Antistrophe IIIAnd lo! the ocean billows murmur loudIn one accord with him;163The sea-depths groan, and Hades' swarthy pitRe-echoeth the sound,And fountains of clear rivers, as they flow,Bewail his bitter griefs.Prom. Think not it is through pride or stiff self-willThat I am silent. But my heart is worn,Self-contemplating, as I see myselfThus outraged. Yet what other hand than mineGave these young Gods in fulness all their gifts?But these I speak not of; for I should tellTo you that know them. But those woes of men,164List ye to them, – how they, before as babes,By me were roused to reason, taught to think;And this I say, not finding fault with men,But showing my good-will in all I gave.For first, though seeing, all in vain they saw,And hearing, heard not rightly. But, like formsOf phantom-dreams, throughout their life's whole lengthThey muddled all at random; did not knowHouses of brick that catch the sunlight's warmth,Nor yet the work of carpentry. They dweltIn hollowed holes, like swarms of tiny ants,In sunless depths of caverns; and they hadNo certain signs of winter, nor of springFlower-laden, nor of summer with her fruits;But without counsel fared their whole life long,Until I showed the risings of the stars,And settings hard to recognise.165 And IFound Number for them, chief device of all,Groupings of letters, Memory's handmaid that,And mother of the Muses.166 And I firstBound in the yoke wild steeds, submissive madeOr to the collar or men's limbs, that soThey might in man's place bear his greatest toils;And horses trained to love the rein I yokedTo chariots, glory of wealth's pride of state;167Nor was it any one but I that foundSea-crossing, canvas-wingèd cars of ships:Such rare designs inventing (wretched me!)For mortal men, I yet have no deviceBy which to free myself from this my woe.168Chor. Foul shame thou sufferest: of thy sense bereaved,Thou errest greatly: and, like leech unskilled,Thou losest heart when smitten with disease,And know'st not how to find the remediesWherewith to heal thine own soul's sicknesses.Prom. Hearing what yet remains thou'lt wonder more,What arts and what resources I devised:And this the chief: if any one fell ill,There was no help for him, nor healing food,Nor unguent, nor yet potion; but for wantOf drugs they wasted, till I showed to themThe blendings of all mild medicaments,169Wherewith they ward the attacks of sickness sore.I gave them many modes of prophecy;170And I first taught them what dreams needs must proveTrue visions, and made known the ominous soundsFull hard to know; and tokens by the way,And flights of taloned birds I clearly marked, —Those on the right propitious to mankind,And those sinister, – and what form of lifeThey each maintain, and what their enmitiesEach with the other, and their loves and friendships;And of the inward parts the plumpness smooth.And with what colour they the Gods would please,And the streaked comeliness of gall and liver:And with burnt limbs enwrapt in fat, and chine,I led men on to art full difficult:And I gave eyes to omens drawn from fire,Till then dim-visioned. So far then for this.And 'neath the earth the hidden boons for men,Bronze, iron, silver, gold, who else could sayThat he, ere I did, found them? None, I know,Unless he fain would babble idle words.In one short word, then, learn the truth condensed, —Allarts of mortals from Prometheus spring.Chor. Nay, be not thou to men so over-kind,While thou thyself art in sore evil case;For I am sanguine that thou too, releasedFrom bonds, shall be as strong as Zeus himself.Prom. It is not thus that Fate's decree is fixed;But I, long crushed with twice ten thousand woesAnd bitter pains, shall then escape my bonds;Art is far weaker than Necessity.Chor. Who guides the helm, then, of Necessity?Prom. Fates triple-formed, Errinyes unforgetting.Chor. Is Zeus, then, weaker in his might than these?Prom. Not even He can 'scape the thing decreed.Chor. What is decreed for Zeus but still to reign?Prom. Thou may'st no further learn, ask thou no more.Chor. 'Tis doubtless some dread secret which thou hidest.Prom. Of other theme make mention, for the timeIs not yet come to utter this, but stillIt must be hidden to the uttermost;For by thus keeping it it is that IEscape my bondage foul, and these my pains.Strophe IChor. Ah! ne'er may Zeus the Lord,Whose sovran sway rules all,His strength in conflict setAgainst my feeble will!Nor may I fail to serveThe Gods with holy feastOf whole burnt-offerings,Where the stream ever flowsThat bears my father's name,The great Okeanos!Nor may I sin in speech!May this grace more and moreSink deep into my soulAnd never fade away!Antistrophe ISweet is it in strong hopeTo spend long years of life,With bright and cheering joyOur heart's thoughts nourishing.I shudder, seeing theeThus vexed and harassed sore.By twice ten thousand woes;For thou in pride of heart,Having no fear of Zeus,In thine own obstinacy,Dost show for mortal men,Prometheus, love o'ermuch.Strophe IISee how that boon, dear friends,For thee is bootless found.Say, where is any help?What aid from mortals comes?Hast thou not seen this brief and powerless life,Fleeting as dreams, with which man's purblind raceIs fast in fetters bound?Never shall counsels vainOf mortal men break throughThe harmony of Zeus.Antistrophe IIThis lesson have I learntBeholding thy sad fate,Prometheus! Other strainsCome back upon my mind,When I sang wedding hymns around thy bath,And at thy bridal bed, when thou did'st takeIn wedlock's holy bandsOne of the same sire born,Our own Hesione,Persuading her with giftsAs wife to share thy couch. Enter Io in form like a fair woman with a heifer's horns,171 followed by the Spectre of ArgosIo. What land is this? What people? Whom shall ISay that I see thus vexedWith bit and curb of rock?For what offence dost thouBear fatal punishment?Tell me to what far landI've wandered here in woe.Ah me! ah me!Again the gadfly stings me miserable.Spectre of Argos, thou, the earth-born one —Ah, keep him off, O Earth!I fear to look upon that herdsman dread,Him with ten thousand eyes:Ah lo! he cometh with his crafty look,Whom Earth refuses even dead to hold;172But coming from beneathHe hunts me miserable,And drives me famished o'er the sea-beach sand.StropheAnd still his waxened reed-pipe soundeth clearA soft and slumberous strain;O heavens! O ye Gods!Whither do these long wanderings lead me on?For what offence, O son of Cronos, what,Hast thou thus bound me fastIn these great miseries?Ah me! ah me!And why with terror of the gadfly's stingDost thou thus vex me, frenzied in my soul?Burn me with fire, or bury me in earth,Or to wild sea-beasts give me as a prey:Nay, grudge me not, O King,An answer to my prayers:Enough my many-wandered wanderingsHave exercised my soul,Nor have I power to learnHow to avert the woe.(To Prometheus.) Hear'st thou the voice of maiden crowned with horns?Prom. Surely I heard the maid by gadfly driven,Daughter of Inachos, who warmed the heartOf Zeus with love, and now through Hera's hateIs tried, perforce, with wanderings over-long?AntistropheIo. How is it that thou speak'st my father's name?Tell me, the suffering one,Who art thou, who, poor wretch,Who thus so truly nam'st me miserable,And tell'st the plague from Heaven,Which with its haunting stingsWears me to death? Ah woe!And I with famished and unseemly boundsRush madly, driven by Hera's jealous craft.Ah, who of all that suffer, born to woe,Have trouble like the pain that I endure?But thou, make clear to me,What yet for me remains,What remedy, what healing for my pangs.Show me, if thou dost know:Speak out and tell to me,The maid by wanderings vexed.Prom. I will say plainly all thou seek'st to know;Not in dark tangled riddles, but plain speech,As it is meet that friends to friends should speak;Thou see'st Prometheus who gave fire to men.Io. O thou to men as benefactor known,Why, poor Prometheus, sufferest thou this pain?Prom. I have but now mine own woes ceased to wail.Io. Wilt thou not then bestow this boon on me?Prom. Say what thou seek'st, for I will tell thee all.Io. Tell me, who fettered thee in this ravine?Prom. The counsel was of Zeus, the hand Hephæstos'.Io. Of what offence dost thou the forfeit pay?Prom. Thus much alone am I content to tell.Io. Tell me, at least, besides, what end shall comeTo my drear wanderings; when the time shall be.Prom. Not to know this is better than to know.Io. Nay, hide not from me what I have to bear.Prom. It is not that I grudge the boon to thee.Io. Why then delayest thou to tell the whole?Prom. Not from ill will, but loth to vex thy soul.Io. Nay, care thou not beyond what pleases me.Prom. If thou desire it I must speak. Hear then.Chor. Not yet though; grant me share of pleasure too.Let us first ask the tale of her great woe,While she unfolds her life's consuming chances;Her future sufferings let her learn from thee.Prom. 'Tis thy work, Io, to grant these their wish,On other grounds and as thy father's kin:173For to bewail and moan one's evil chance,Here where one trusts to gain a pitying tearFrom those who hear, – this is not labour lost.Io. I know not how to disobey your wish;So ye shall learn the whole that ye desireIn speech full clear. And yet I blush to tellThe storm that came from God, and brought the lossOf maiden face, what way it seized on me.For nightly visions coming evermoreInto my virgin bower, sought to woo meWith glozing words. “O virgin greatly blest,Why art thou still a virgin when thou might'stAttain to highest wedlock? For with dartOf passion for thee Zeus doth glow, and fainWould make thee his. And thou, O child, spurn notThe bed of Zeus, but go to Lerna's field,Where feed thy father's flocks and herds,That so the eye of Zeus may find reposeFrom this his craving.” With such visions IWas haunted every evening, till I daredTo tell my father all these dreams of night,And he to Pytho and Dodona sentFull many to consult the Gods, that he,Might learn what deeds and words would please Heaven's lords.And they came bringing speech of oraclesShot with dark sayings, dim and hard to know.At last a clear word came to InachosCharging him plainly, and commanding himTo thrust me from my country and my home,To stray at large174 to utmost bounds of earth;And, should he gainsay, that the fiery boltOf Zeus should come and sweep away his race.And he, by Loxias' oracles induced,Thrust me, against his will, against mine too,And drove me from my home; but spite of all,The curb of Zeus constrained him this to do.And then forthwith my face and mind were changed;And hornèd, as ye see me, stung to the quickBy biting gadfly, I with maddened leapRushed to Kerchneia's fair and limpid stream,And fount of Lerna.175 And a giant herdsman,Argos, full rough of temper, followed me,With many an eye beholding, on my track:And him a sudden and unlooked-for doomDeprived of life. And I, by gadfly stung,By scourge from Heaven am driven from land to land.What has been done thou hearest. And if thouCan'st tell what yet remains of woe, declare it;Nor in thy pity soothe me with false words;For hollow words, I deem, are worst of ills.Chor. Away, away, let be:Ne'er thought I that such talesWould ever, ever come unto mine ears;Nor that such terrors, woes and outrages,Hard to look on, hard to bear,Would chill my soul with sharp goad, double-edged.Ah fate! Ah fate!I shudder, seeing Io's fortune strange.Prom. Thou art too quick in groaning, full of fear:Wait thou a while until thou hear the rest.Chor. Speak thou and tell. Unto the sick 'tis sweetClearly to know what yet remains of pain.Prom. Your former wish ye gained full easily.Your first desire was to learn of herThe tale she tells of her own sufferings;Now therefore hear the woes that yet remainFor this poor maid to bear at Hera's hands.And thou, O child of Inachos! take heedTo these my words, that thou may'st hear the goalOf all thy wanderings. First then, turning henceTowards the sunrise, tread the untilled plains,And thou shalt reach the Skythian nomads, those176Who on smooth-rolling waggons dwell aloftIn wicker houses, with far-darting bowsDuly equipped. Approach thou not to these,But trending round the coasts on which the surfBeats with loud murmurs,177 traverse thou that clime.On the left hand there dwell the Chalybes,178Who work in iron. Of these do thou beware,For fierce are they and most inhospitable;And thou wilt reach the river fierce and strong,True to its name.179 This seek not thou to cross,For it is hard to ford, until thou comeTo Caucasos itself, of all high hillsThe highest, where a river pours its strengthFrom the high peaks themselves. And thou must crossThose summits near the stars, must onward goTowards the south, where thou shalt find the hostOf the Amâzons, hating men, whose homeShall one day be around Thermôdon's bank,By Themiskyra,180 where the ravenous jawsOf Salmydessos ope upon the sea,Treacherous to sailors, stepdame stern to ships.181And they with right good-will shall be thy guides;And thou, hard by a broad pool's narrow gates,Wilt pass to the Kimmerian isthmus. LeavingThis boldly, thou must cross Mæotic channel;182And there shall be great fame 'mong mortal menOf this thy journey, and the Bosporos183Shall take its name from thee. And Europe's plainThen quitting, thou shalt gain the Asian coast.Doth not the all-ruling monarch of the GodsSeem all ways cruel? For, although a God,He, seeking to embrace this mortal maid,Imposed these wanderings on her. Thou hast found,O maiden! bitter suitor for thy hand;For great as are the ills thou now hast heard,Know that as yet not e'en the prelude's known.Io. Ah woe! woe! woe!Prom. Again thou groan'st and criest. What wilt doWhen thou shall learn the evils yet to come?Chor. What! are there troubles still to come for her?Prom. Yea, stormy sea of woe most lamentable.Io. What gain is it to live? Why cast I notMyself at once from this high precipice,And, dashed to earth, be free from all my woes?Far better were it once for all to dieThan all one's days to suffer pain and grief.Prom. My struggles then full hardly thou would'st bear,For whom there is no destiny of death;For that might bring a respite from my woes:But now there is no limit to my pangsTill Zeus be hurled out from his sovereignty.Io. What! shall Zeus e'er be hurled from his high state?Prom. Thou would'st rejoice, I trow, to see that fall.Io. How should I not, when Zeus so foully wrongs me?Prom. That this is so thou now may'st hear from me.Io. Who then shall rob him of his sceptred sway?Prom. Himself shall do it by his own rash plans.Io. But how? Tell this, unless it bringeth harm.Prom. He shall wed one for whom one day he'll grieve.Io. Heaven-born or mortal? Tell, if tell thou may'st.Prom. Why ask'st thou who? I may not tell thee that.Io. Shall his bride hurl him from his throne of might?Prom. Yea; she shall bear child mightier than his sire.Io. Has he no way to turn aside that doom?Prom. No, none; unless I from my bonds be loosed.184Io. Who then shall loose thee 'gainst the will of Zeus?Prom. It must be one of thy posterity.Io. What, shall a child of mine free thee from ills?Prom. Yea, the third generation after ten.185Io. No more thine oracles are clear to me.Prom. Nay, seek not thou thine own drear fate to know.Io. Do not, a boon presenting, then withdraw it.Prom. Of two alternatives, I'll give thee choice.Io. Tell me of what, then give me leave to choose.Prom. I give it then. Choose, or that I should tellThy woes to come, or who shall set me free.Chor. Of these be willing one request to grantTo her, and one to me; nor scorn my words:Tell her what yet of wanderings she must bear,And me who shall release thee. This I crave.Prom. Since ye are eager, I will not refuseTo utter fully all that ye desire.Thee, Io, first I'll tell thy wanderings wild,Thou, write it in the tablets of thy mind.When thou shalt cross the straits, of continentsThe boundary,186 take thou the onward pathOn to the fiery-hued and sun-tracked East.[And first of all, to frozen Northern blastsThou'lt come, and there beware the rushing whirl,Lest it should come upon thee suddenly,And sweep thee onward with the cloud-rack wild;]187Crossing the sea-surf till thou come at lastUnto Kisthene's Gorgoneian plains,Where dwell the grey-haired virgin Phorkides,188Three, swan-shaped, with one eye between them allAnd but one tooth; whom nor the sun beholdsWith radiant beams, nor yet the moon by night:And near them are their wingèd sisters three,The Gorgons, serpent-tressed, and hating men,Whom mortal wight may not behold and live.Such is one ill I bid thee guard against;Now hear another monstrous sight: BewareThe sharp-beaked hounds of Zeus that never bark,189The Gryphons, and the one-eyed, mounted hostOf Arimaspians, who around the streamThat flows o'er gold, the ford of Pluto, dwell:190Draw not thou nigh to them. But distant landThou shalt approach, the swarthy tribes who dwellBy the sun's fountain,191 Æthiopia's stream:By its banks wend thy way until thou comeTo that great fall where from the Bybline hillsThe Neilos pours its pure and holy flood;And it shall guide thee to Neilotic land,Three-angled, where, O Io, 'tis decreedFor thee and for thy progeny to foundA far-off colony. And if of thisAught seem to thee as stammering speech obscure,Ask yet again and learn it thoroughly:Far more of leisure have I than I like.Chor. If thou hast aught to add, aught left untoldOf her sore-wasting wanderings, speak it out;But if thou hast said all, then grant to usThe boon we asked. Thou dost not, sure, forget it.Prom. The whole course of her journeying she hath heard,And that she know she hath not heard in vainI will tell out what troubles she hath borneBefore she came here, giving her sure proofOf these my words. The greater bulk of thingsI will pass o'er, and to the very goalOf all thy wanderings go. For when thou cam'stTo the Molossian plains, and by the grove192Of lofty-ridged Dodona, and the shrineOracular of Zeus Thesprotian,And the strange portent of the talking oaks,By which full clearly, not in riddle dark,Thou wast addressed as noble spouse of Zeus, —If aught of pleasure such things give to thee, —Thence strung to frenzy, thou did'st rush alongThe sea-coast's path to Rhea's mighty gulf,193In backward way from whence thou now art vexed,And for all time to come that reach of sea,Know well, from thee Ionian shall be called,To all men record of thy journeyings.These then are tokens to thee that my mindSees somewhat more than that is manifest.What follows (to the Chorus) I will speak to you and herIn common, on the track of former wordsReturning once again. A city stands,Canôbos, at its country's furthest bound,Hard by the mouth and silt-bank of the Nile;There Zeus shall give thee back thy mind again,194With hand that works no terror touching thee, —Touch only – and thou then shalt bear a childOf Zeus begotten, Epaphos, “Touch-born,”Swarthy of hue, whose lot shall be to reapThe whole plain watered by the broad-streamed Neilos:And in the generation fifth from himA household numbering fifty shall returnAgainst their will to Argos, in their flightFrom wedlock with their cousins.195 And they too,(Kites but a little space behind the doves)With eager hopes pursuing marriage ritesBeyond pursuit shall come; and God shall grudgeTo give up their sweet bodies. And the landPelasgian196 shall receive them, when by strokeOf woman's murderous hand these men shall lieSmitten to death by daring deed of night:For every bride shall take her husband's life,And dip in blood the sharp two-edgèd sword(So to my foes may Kypris show herself!)197Yet one of that fair band shall love persuadeHer husband not to slaughter, and her willShall lose its edge; and she shall make her choiceRather as weak than murderous to be known.And she at Argos shall a royal seedBring forth (long speech 'twould take to tell this clear)Famed for his arrows, who shall set me free198From these my woes. Such was the oracleMine ancient mother Themis, Titan-born,Gave to me; but the manner and the means, —That needs a lengthy tale to tell the whole,And thou can'st nothing gain by learning it.Io. Eleleu! Oh, Eleleu!199The throbbing pain inflames me, and the moodOf frenzy-smitten rage;The gadfly's pointed sting,Not forged with fire, attacks,And my heart beats against my breast with fear.Mine eyes whirl round and round:Out of my course I'm borneBy the wild spirit of fierce agony,And cannot curb my lips,And turbid speech at random dashes onUpon the waves of dread calamity.Strophe IChor. Wise, very wise was heWho first in thought conceived this maxim sage,And spread it with his speech,200—That the best wedlock is with equals found,And that a craftsman, born to work with hands,Should not desire to wedOr with the soft luxurious heirs of wealth,Or with the race that boast their lineage high.Antistrophe IOh ne'er, oh ne'er, dread Fates,May ye behold me as the bride of Zeus,The partner of his couch,Nor may I wed with any heaven-born spouse!For I shrink back, beholding Io's lotOf loveless maidenhood,Consumed and smitten low exceedinglyBy the wild wanderings from great Hera sent!Strophe IITo me, when wedlock is on equal terms,It gives no cause to fear:Ne'er may the love of any of the Gods,The strong Gods, look on meWith glance I cannot 'scape!Antistrophe IIThat fate is war that none can war against,Source of resourceless ill;Nor know I what might then become of me:I see not how to 'scapeThe counsel deep of Zeus.Prom. Yea, of a truth shall Zeus, though stiff of will,Be brought full low. Such bed of wedlock nowIs he preparing, one to cast him forthIn darkness from his sovereignty and throne.And then the curse his father Cronos spakeShall have its dread completion, even thatHe uttered when he left his ancient throne;And from these troubles no one of the GodsBut me can clearly show the way to 'scape.I know the time and manner: therefore nowLet him sit fearless, in his peals on highPutting his trust, and shaking in his handsHis darts fire-breathing. Nought shall they availTo hinder him from falling shamefullyA fall intolerable. Such a combatantHe arms against himself, a marvel dread,Who shall a fire discover mightier farThan the red levin, and a sound more dreadThan roaring of the thunder, and shall shiverThat plague sea-born that causeth earth to quake,The trident, weapon of Poseidon's strength:And stumbling on this evil, he shall learnHow far apart a king's lot from a slave's.Chor. What thou dost wish thou mutterest against Zeus.Prom. Things that shall be, and things I wish, I speak.Chor. And must we look for one to master Zeus?Prom. Yea, troubles harder far than these are his.Chor. Art not afraid to vent such words as these?Prom. What can I fear whose fate is not to die?Chor. But He may send on thee worse pain than this.Prom. So let Him do: nought finds me unprepared.Chor. Wisdom is theirs who Adrasteia worship.201Prom. Worship then, praise and flatter him that rules;My care for Zeus is nought, and less than nought:Let Him act, let Him rule this little while,E'en as He will; for long He shall not ruleOver the Gods. But lo! I see at handThe courier of the Gods, the ministerOf our new sovereign. Doubtless he has comeTo bring me tidings of some new device. Enter HermesHerm. Thee do I speak to, – thee, the teacher wise,Авторизация