PROMETHEUS BOUND
Of the heavenly hall, because that men
He loved with a love exceeding great.
Ha, there! there again! What is it I hear
As the whirring of birds? The shrill air sings
To the beat of nimble-driven wings.
All sound of approach is fear.
[The Chorus appear in the air, borne in a winged vessel.]
CHORUS
Fear nought from us, but know
This band is friend, not foe,
We that on swiftest pinions hither sail,—
Nay, but with pain we bent
Our sire to give assent,— 130
Borne to this hill along the streaming gale.
To deepest caverns rang
Of stricken iron clang,
And straight amazement cast out maiden fear:
I flew with speed amain,
Upon a wingèd wain,
I flew, my sandals left, burning to see and hear.
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