8
PROMETHEUS BOUND.
What do I say? all things, all future things,
I view unclouded; nor can sorrow come
Strange to my soul. It doth behove to bear
Calmly what Fate ordaineth, knowing that
Necessity hath force impugnable.
Yet can I not be silent, or unsilent,
Of these my woes. To these necessities,
Because I gave to man a glorious gift,
I have been yoked—because I stole away
The ferule-treasured secret fount of fire,5
Teacher of every art, high help to mortals—
For such sin I endure such punishment;
Rock-fixed, in the desert air, in chains.
Ah me! ah me! ah me! what sound.
What viewless odour hovers round?
From god or man, or half divine
Being, who nears this rock of mine,
This limit of the earth, to see
My woes, or seek—whate'er it be?
