of the hero never alters, the issue is never doubtful. This naturally seems to us only a scene out of a longer play—and such, in a sense, it is. It is probably the second part in one of those series of three plays, or trilogies, of which we have one complete specimen in the "Story of Orestes." The first of the three would have exhibited the crime of Prometheus, his stealing the divine fire for men; then came the Prometheus Bound, his punishment; and lastly, Prometheus Freed, his restoration. There were, in that case, three complete pictures, together making one story. We have only one picture left, and it is perhaps the simplest, and certainly the most affecting, of the three.
Another respect in which the play is simple is its scene. From the nature of the story, this remains unchanged throughout, until it is lost in the final convulsion.
Now, to have the attention concentrated on one person, in one set of circumstances, in one place, would of course be most tedious, unless the play were short. And it is, like most of our author's plays, much shorter than even the average of Greek tragedies. It is little more than a tableau vivant, exhibiting the punishment and fortitude of Prometheus; a signal instance of that character by which the Attic tragedy is especially distinguished from the modern, of statuesque and colossal simplicity. It is a single statue, not even a group: it is less complicated than the Laocoon: though evidently one of a series, it is complete in itself.
There remains the most important reason why this
