Chorus. Strophe II.
Who of the gods a heart doth own
So hard, to mock at thy despair?
Who at thy woes, save Zeus alone,
Doth not thine anguish share?
But ruthless still, with soul unbent,
The heavenly race he tames, nor will refrain 170
Till sated to his heart's content;
Or till another, by some cunning snare,
Wrest from his grasp the firmly guarded reign.
Prometheus.
Yet e'en of me although now wrung
In stubborn chains shall he have need,
This ruler of the blest—to read
The counsel new by which his sway
And honours shall be stript away.
But not persuasion's honied tongue
My stedfast soul shall charm; 180
Nor will I, crouching in alarm,
Divulge the secret, till these savage chains
He loose, and yield requital for my pains.
Chorus. Antistrophe II.
Daring thou art and yieldest nought
For bitter agony; with tongue
Unbridled thou art all too free.
But by keen fear my heart is stung;
I tremble for thy doom—ah, me!
Thy barque into what haven may'st thou steer, 190
