Chor. I grieve, Prometheus, for thy dreary fate,

      Shedding from tender eyes

      The 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 Gods

      A mood of haughtiness.

      And all the country echoeth with the moan,

      And poureth many a tear

      For that magnific power

      Of ancient days far-seen that thou did'st share

      With those of one blood sprung;

      And all the mortal men who hold the plain

      Of holy Asia as their land of sojourn,

      They grieve in sympathy

      For thy woes lamentable.

      And they, the maiden band who find their home

      On distant Colchian coasts,

      Fearless of fight,160

      Or Skythian horde in earth's remotest clime,

      By far Mæotic lake;161

      And warlike glory of Arabia's tribes,162

      Who nigh to Caucasos

      In rock-fort dwell,

      An army fearful, with sharp-pointed spear

      Raging in war's array.

      One other Titan only have I seen,

      One other of the Gods,

      Thus bound in woes of adamantine strength —

      Atlas, who ever groans

      Beneath the burden of a crushing might,

      The out-spread vault of heaven.

      And lo! the ocean billows murmur loud

      In one accord with him;163

      The sea-depths groan, and Hades' swarthy pit

      Re-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-will

      That I am silent. But my heart is worn,

      Self-contemplating, as I see myself

      Thus outraged. Yet what other hand than mine

      Gave these young Gods in fulness all their gifts?

      But these I speak not of; for I should tell

      To you that know them. But those woes of men,164

      List 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 forms

      Of phantom-dreams, throughout their life's whole length

      They muddled all at random; did not know

      Houses of brick that catch the sunlight's warmth,

      Nor yet the work of carpentry. They dwelt

      In hollowed holes, like swarms of tiny ants,

      In sunless depths of caverns; and they had

      No certain signs of winter, nor of spring

      Flower-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 I

      Found Number for them, chief device of all,

      Groupings of letters, Memory's handmaid that,

      And mother of the Muses.166 And I first

      Bound in the yoke wild steeds, submissive made

      Or to the collar or men's limbs, that so

      They might in man's place bear his greatest toils;

      And horses trained to love the rein I yoked

      To