Ye rivers springing from fresh founts, ye waves[1]
That o'er th' iuterminable ocean wreath
Your crisped siniles, thou all-producing earth,
And thee, bright sun, I call, whose flaming orb
Views the wide world beneath, see what, a god,
I suffer from the gods; with what fierce pains,
Behold, what tortures for revolving ages
I here must struggle; such unseemly chains
This new-rais'd ruler of the gods devis d.
Ah me! That groan bursts from my anguish'd heart,
My present woes and future to bemoan.
When shall these suff'rings fiud their destin'd end?
But why that vain inquiry? My clear sight
Looks through the future; unforeseen no ill
Shall come on mc: behoves me then to bear-
Patient my destiu'd fate, kuowing how vain
To struggle with necessity's strong pow'r.
But to compluin, or not complain, alike
Is unavailable. For favours shown
To mortal man I bear this weight of woe;
Hid in an hollow cane the fount of fire
I privately convey'd, of ev'ry art
Productive, and the noblest gift to men.
And for this slight offence, woe, woe is me!
I bear these chaius, fix'd to this savage rock,
Uusheltered from the inclemencies of th' air.
Ah me! what sound, what softly-breathing odour[2]
- ↑ Refertur ad levem sonum undarum veratis exagitaturum, qui etiam aliquantulum crispant maris dorsum quasi amabili quádam γελασια.-Stanley. The image is here so beautifully poetical, that the translator could not give it up for the cool correction of Pauw.
- ↑ This softly-breathing odour marks the approach of some divinity
Ouranus and Gaia: these were all kindred gods, benevolent to Prometheus, and deeply affected with his miseries,
