PROMETHEUS BOUND
A thousand peering balls!
He comes his way, and his guileful eyes peruse me:
He died, but is not held of darkling bands: 570
He wins his path from the pit; as a hound, pursues me,
And drives me far distraught, where still expands
Before my famished face the sea, the infinite sands.
There is sound the while of music, reed on reed
Set with wax, fulfill'd of slumber:—whither lead,
Whither lead me my long wanderings decreed?
Tell me, thou Son
Of Kronos, O Lord,
Why hast thou bound me
With pain as a cord?
What sin didst thou find,—
Ah me! undone!—
That thou settest on thy poison-fly to hound me, 580
That thou wearest me with madness of the mind?
Give me to burning fire,
Sink me quick in the sod,
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