PROMETHEUS BOUND
Araby's flower in arms unyielded, 420
Whose that eyry is rock-builded,
Hard by Caucasus, a shielded
Vociferous host with spears sharp-fronted for the shock.
Him only had I yet beheld
In adamantine durance quell'd,
Him of the Titan progeny alone,—
Atlas, on whom doth ever weigh
The wheeling sphere of night and day,
Wherewith his shoulders groan. 430
The seas lift up their voice and keep
Plangent accord, deep groans to deep,
The black profound of Hades booms below,
The urns of all pure rivers pour
Their floods with lamentation sore,
With ruth and rumour of woe.
PROMETHEUS
Not in disdain and not in obduracy
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