Part 10

CHORUS. For the woe and the wreck and the doom, Prometheus I utter my sighs; O’er my cheek flows the fountain of tears from tender, compassionate eyes. For stern and abhorred is the sway of Zeus on his self-sought throne, And ruthless the spear of his scorn, to the gods of the days that are done. And over the limitless earth goes up a disconsolate cry: _Ye were all so fair, and have fallen; so great and your might has gone by!_ So wails with a mighty lament the voice of the mortals, who dwell In the Eastland, the home of the holy, for thee and the fate that befel; And they of the Colchian land, the maidens whose arm is for war; And the Scythian bowmen, who roam by the lake of Maeotis afar; And the blossom of battling hordes, that flowers upon Caucasus’ height, With clashing of lances that pierce, and with clamour of swords that smite. Strange is thy sorrow! one only I know who has suffered thy pain— Atlas the Titan, the god, in a ruthless, invincible chain! He beareth for ever and ever the burden and poise of the sky, The vault of the rolling heaven, and earth re-echoes his cry. The depths of the sea are troubled; they mourn from their caverns profound, And the darkest and innermost hell moans deep with a sorrowful sound; And the rivers of waters, that flow from the fountains that spring without stain, Are as one in the great lamentation, and moan for thy piteous pain.

PROMETHEUS. Deem not that I in pride or wilful scorn Restrain my speech; ’tis wistful memory That rends my heart, when I behold myself Abased to wretchedness. To these new gods I and none other gave their lots of power In full attainment; no more words hereof I speak—the tale ye know. But listen now Unto the rede of mortals and their woes, And how their childish and unreasoning state Was changed by me to consciousness and thought. Yet not in blame of mortals will I speak, But as in proof of service wrought to them. For, in the outset, eyes they had and saw not; And ears they had but heard not; age on age, Like unsubstantial shapes in vision seen, They groped at random in the world of sense, Nor knew to link their building, brick with brick, Nor how to turn its aspect to the sun, Nor how to join the beams by carpentry, In hollowed caves they dwelt, as emmets dwell, Weak feathers for each blast, in sunless caves. Nor had they certain forecast of the cold, Nor of the advent of the flowery spring, Nor of the fruitful summer. All they wrought, Unreasoning they wrought, till I made clear The laws of rising stars, and inference dim, More hard to learn, of what their setting showed. I taught to them withal that art of arts, The lore of number, and the written word That giveth sense to sound, the tool wherewith The gift of memory was wrought in all, And so came art and song. I too was first To harness ’neath the yoke strong animals, Obedient made to collar and to weight, That they might bear whate’er of heaviest toil Mortals endured before. For chariots too I trained, and docile service of the rein, Steeds, the delight of wealth and pomp and pride. I too, none other, for seafarers wrought Their ocean-roaming canvas-wingèd cars. Such arts of craft did I, unhappy I, Contrive for mortals: now, no feint I have Whereby I may elude my present woe.

CHORUS. A rueful doom is thine! distraught of soul, And all astray, and like some sorry leech Art thou, repining at thine own disease, Unskilled, unknowing of the needful cure.

PROMETHEUS. More wilt thou wonder when the rest thou hearest— What arts for them, what methods I devised. Foremost was this: if any man fell sick, No aiding art he knew, no saving food, No curing oil nor draught, but all in lack Of remedies they dwindled, till I taught The medicinal blending of soft drugs, Whereby they ward each sickness from their side. I ranged for them the methods manifold Of the diviner’s art; I first discerned Which of night’s visions hold a truth for day, I read for them the lore of mystic sounds, Inscrutable before; the omens seen Which bless or ban a journey, and the flight Of crook-clawed birds, did I make clear to man— And how they soar upon the right, for weal, How, on the left, for evil; how they dwell, Each in its kind, and what their loves and hates, And which can flock and roost in harmony. From me, men learned what deep significance Lay in the smoothness of the entrails set For sacrifice, and which, of various hues, Showed them a gift accepted of the gods; They learned what streaked and varied comeliness Of gall and liver told; I led them, too, (By passing thro’ the flame the thigh-bones, wrapt In rolls of fat, and th’ undivided chine), Unto the mystic and perplexing lore Of omens; and I cleared unto their eyes The forecasts, dim and indistinct before, Shown in the flickering aspect of a flame. Of these, enough is said. The other boons, Stored in the womb of earth, in aid of men— Copper and iron, silver, gold withal— Who dares affirm he found them ere I found? None—well I know—save who would babble lies! Know thou, in compass of a single phrase— All arts, for mortals’ use, Prometheus gave.

CHORUS. Nay, aid not mortal men beyond their due, Holding too light a reckoning of thyself And of thine own distress: good hope have I To see thee once again from fetters free And matched with Zeus in parity of power.

PROMETHEUS. Not yet nor thus hath Fate ordained the end— Not until age-long pains and countless woes Have bent and bowed me, shall my shackles fall; Art strives too feebly against destiny.

CHORUS. But what hand rules the helm of destiny?

PROMETHEUS. The triform Fates, and Furies unforgiving.

CHORUS. Then is the power of Zeus more weak than theirs?

PROMETHEUS. He may not shun the fate ordained for him.

CHORUS. What is ordained for him, save endless rule?

PROMETHEUS. Seek not for answer: this thou may’st not learn.

CHORUS. Surely thy silence hides some solemn thing.

PROMETHEUS. Think on some other theme: ’tis not the hour, This secret to unveil; in deepest dark Be it concealed: by guarding it shall I Escape at last from bonds, and scorn, and pain.

CHORUS. O never may my weak and faint desire Strive against God most high— Never be slack in service, never tire Of sacred loyalty; Nor fail to wend unto the altar-side, Where with the blood of kine Steams up the offering, by the quenchless tide Of Ocean, Sire divine! Be this within my heart, indelible— _Offend not with thy tongue!_ Sweet, sweet it is, in cheering hopes to dwell, Immortal, ever young, In maiden gladness fostering evermore A soft content of soul! But ah, I shudder at thine anguish sore— Thy doom thro’ years that roll! Thou could’st not cower to Zeus: a love too great Thou unto man hast given— Too high of heart thou wert—ah, thankless fate! What aid, ’gainst wrath of Heaven, Could mortal man afford? in vain thy gift To things so powerless! Could’st thou not see? they are as dreams that drift; Their strength is feebleness A purblind race, in hopeless fetters bound, They have no craft or skill, That could o’erreach the ordinance profound of the eternal will. Alas, Prometheus! on thy woe condign I looked, and learned this lore; And a new strain floats to these lips of mine— Not the glad song of yore, When by the lustral wave I sang to see My sister made thy bride, Decked with thy gifts, thy loved Hesione, And clasped unto thy side.

Enter IO, horned like a cow.

IO. Alack! what land, what folk are here? Whom see I clenched in rocky fetters drear Unto the stormy crag? for what thing done Dost thou in agony atone? Ah, tell me whither, well-a-day! My feet have roamed their weary way? Ah, but it maddens, the sting! it burns in my piteous side! Ah, but the vision, the spectre, the earth-born, the myriad-eyed! Avoid thee! Earth, hide him, thine offspring! he cometh—O aspect of ill! Ghostly, and crafty of face, and dead, but pursuing me still! Ah, woe upon me, woe ineffable! He steals upon my track, a hound of hell— Where’er I stray, along the sands and brine, Weary and foodless, come his creeping eyne! And ah, the ghostly sound— The wax-stopped reed-flute’s weird and drowsy drone! Alack my wandering woes, that round and round Lead me in many mazes, lost, foredone! O child of Cronos! for what deed of wrong Am I enthralled by thee in penance long? Why by the stinging bruise, the thing of fear, Dost thou torment me, heart and brain? Nay, give me rather to the flames that sear, Or to some hidden grave, Or to the rending jaws, the monsters of the main! Nor grudge the boon for which I crave, O king! Enough, enough of weary wandering, Pangs from which none can save! Hearken! in pity hold Io, the ox-horned maid, thy love of old!

PROMETHEUS. Hear Zeus or not, I hear and know thee well, Daughter of Inachus; I know thee driven, Stung by the gadfly, mazed with agony. Ay, thou art she whose beauty fired the breast Of Zeus with passion; she whom Hera’s hate Now harasses o’er leagues and leagues of land.

IO. Alack, thou namest Inachus my sire! Wottest thou of him? how, from lips of pain, Comes to my woeful ears truth’s very strain? How knowest thou the curse, the burning fire The god-sent, piercing pest that stings and clings? Ah me! in frenzied, foodless wanderings Hither I come, and on me from on high Lies Hera’s angry craft! Ah, men unblest! Not one there is, not one, that is unblest as I. But thou—tell me the rest! Utter the rede of woes to come for me; Utter the aid, the cure, if aid or cure there be!

PROMETHEUS. Lo, clearly will I show forth all thy quest— Not in dark speech, but with such simple phrase As doth befit the utterance of a friend. I am Prometheus, who gave fire to men.

IO. O daring, proven champion of man’s race, What sin, Prometheus, dost thou thus atone?

PROMETHEUS. One moment since, I told my woes and ceased.

IO. Then should I plead my suit to thee in vain?

PROMETHEUS. Nay, speak thy need; nought would I hide from thee.

IO. Pronounce who nailed thee to the rocky cleft.

PROMETHEUS. Zeus, by intent; Hephaestus, by his hand.

IO. For what wrongdoing do these pains atone?

PROMETHEUS. What I have said, is said; suffice it thee!

IO. Yet somewhat add; forewarn me in my woe What time shall bring my wandering to its goal?

PROMETHEUS. Fore-knowledge is fore-sorrow; ask it not.

IO. Nay, hide not from me destiny’s decree.

PROMETHEUS. I grudge thee not the gift which I withhold.

IO. Then wherefore tarry ere thou tell me all?

PROMETHEUS. Nothing I grudge, but would not rack thy soul.

IO. Be not compassionate beyond my wish.

PROMETHEUS. Well, thou art fain, and I will speak. Attend!

CHORUS. Nay—ere thou speak, hear me, bestow on me A portion of the grace of granted prayers. First let us learn how Io’s frenzy came— (She telling her disasters manifold) Then of their sequel let her know from thee.

PROMETHEUS. Well were it, Io, thus to do their will— Right well! they are the sisters of thy sire. ’Tis worth the waste and effluence of time, To tell, with tears of perfect moan, the doom Of sorrows that have fallen, when ’tis sure The listeners will greet the tale with tears.

IO. I know not how I should mistrust your prayer; Therefore the whole that ye desire of me Ye now shall learn in one straightforward tale. Yet, as it leaves my lips, I blush with shame To tell that tempest of the spite of Heaven, And all the wreck and ruin of my form, And whence they swooped upon me, woe is me! Long, long in visions of the night there came Voices and forms into my maiden bower, Alluring me with smoothly glozing words— _O maiden highly favoured of high Heaven, Why cherish thy virginity so long? Thine is it to win wedlock’s noblest crown! Know that Zeus’ heart thro’ thee is all aflame, Pierced with desire as with a dart, and longs To join in utmost rite of love with thee. Therefore, O maiden, shun not with disdain_ _Th’ embrace of Zeus, but hie thee forth straightway To the lush growth of Lerna’s meadow-land, Where are the flocks and steadings of thy home, And let Zeus’ eye be eased of its desire_. Night after night, haunted by dreams like these, Heartsick, I ventured at the last to tell Unto my sire these visions of the dark. Then sent he many a wight, on sacred quest, To Delphi and to far Dodona’s shrine, Being fall fain to learn what deed or word Would win him favour from the powers of heaven. But they came back repeating oracles Mystic, ambiguous, inscrutable, Till, at the last, an utterance direct, Obscure no more, was brought to Inachus— A peremptory charge to fling me forth Beyond my home and fatherland, a thing Sent loose in banishment o’er all the world; And—should he falter—Zeus should launch on him A fire-eyed bolt, to shatter and consume Himself and all his race to nothingness. Bowing before such utterance from the shrine Of Loxias, he drave me from our halls, Barring the gates against me: loth he was To do, as I to suffer, this despite: But the strong curb of Zeus had overborne His will to me-ward. As I parted thence, In form and mind I grew dishumanized, And horned as now ye see me, poison-stung By the envenomed bitings of the brize, I leapt and flung in frenzy, rushed away To the bright waters of Cerchneia’s stream And Lerna’s beach: but ever at my side, A herdsman by his heifer, Argus moved, Earth-born, malevolent of mood, and peered, With myriad eyes, where’er my feet would roam. But on him in a moment, unforeseen, Came Fate, and sundered him from life; but I, Still maddened by the gadfly’s sting, the scourge Of God’s infliction, roam the weary world. How I have fared, thou hearest: be there aught Of what remains to bear, that thou canst tell, Speak on! but let not thy compassion warm Thy words to cheering falsehood. Worst of woes Are words that break their promise to our hope!

CHORUS. Woe! woe! avaunt—thou and thy tale of bane! O never, never dared I dream Such horror of strange sounds should pierce mine ear; Such loathly sights, such tortures hard to bear, Outrage, pollution, agony supreme, Wasting my heart with double edge of pain! Ah Fate, ah Fate! I gaze on Io’s dole, And shudder to my soul!

PROMETHEUS. Thou wailest all too soon, fulfilled of fear— Tarry awhile, till thou have learned the whole.

CHORUS. Say on, reveal it! suffering souls are fain To know aright what yet remains to bear.

PROMETHEUS. Lightly, with help of mine, did ye achieve That which ye first desired: from Io’s mouth craved to hear, recounted by herself, The story of her strivings. Listen now To what shall follow, to what woefulness The wrath of Hera must compel this maid. (_To_ Io) And thou, O child of Inachus, within Thine inmost heart store up these words of mine, That thou may’st learn thy wanderings and their goal. First from this spot toward the sunrise turn, And cross the steppe that knoweth not the plough: Thus to the nomad Scythians shalt thou come, Who dwell in wattled homes, not built on earth But borne along on wains of sturdy wheel— Equipped, themselves, with bows of mighty reach. Pass them avoidingly, and leave their land, And skirt the beaches where the tides make moan, Till lo! upon the left hand thou shalt find The Chalybes, stout craftsmen of the steel— Beware of them! no gentleness is theirs, No kindly welcome to a stranger’s foot! Thence to the Stream of Violence shalt thou come— Like name, like nature; see thou cross it not, (’Tis fatal to the forder!) till thou come Right to the very Caucasus, the peak That overtops the world, and from its brows The river pants in spray its wrathful stream. Thence, o’er the pinnacles that court the stars, Onward and southward thou must take thy way, And reach the warlike horde of Amazons, Maidens through hate of man; and gladly they Will guide thy maiden feet. That host, in days That are not yet, shall fix their home and dwell At Themiscyra, on Thermodon’s bank, Nigh whereunto the grim projecting fang Of Salmydessus’ cape affronts the main, The seaman’s curse, to ships a stepmother! Then at the jutting land, Cimmerian styled, That screens the narrowing portal of the mere, Thou shalt arrive; pass o’er it, brave at heart, And ferry thee across Macotis’ ford. So shall there be great rumour evermore, In ears of mortals, of thy passage strange; And Bosporos shall be that channel’s name, Because the ox-horned thing did pass thereby. So, from the wilds of Europe wander’d o’er, To Asia’s continent thou com’st at last. (_To the_ CHORUS) And ye, what think ye? Seems he not, that lord And tyrant of the gods, as tyrannous Unto all other lives? A high god’s lust Constrained this mortal maid to roam the world! (_To_ Io) Poor maid! a brutal wooer sure was thine! For know that all which I have told thee now Is scarce the prelude of thy woes to come.

IO. Alas for me, alas!

PROMETHEUS. Again thou criest, with a heifer’s low. What wilt thou do, learning thy future woes?

CHORUS. What, hast thou further sorrows for her ear?

PROMETHEUS. Yea, a vext ocean of predestined pain.

IO. What profit then is life to me? Ah, why Did I not cast me from this stubborn crag? So with one spring, one crash upon the ground, I had attained surcease from all my woes. Better it is to die one death outright Than linger out long life in misery.

PROMETHEUS. Ill would’st thou bear these agonies of mine— Mine, with whose fate it standeth not to win The goal of death, which were release from pain! Now, there is set no limit to my woe Till Zeus be hurled from his omnipotence.

IO. Zeus hurled from pride of place! Can such things be?

PROMETHEUS. Thou wert full fain, methinks, to see that sight!

IO. Even so—his overthrow who wrought my pain.

PROMETHEUS. Then may’st thou know thereof; such fall shall be.

IO. And who shall wrench the sceptre from his hand?

PROMETHEUS. By his own mindless counsels shall he fall.

IO. And how? unless the telling harm, say on!

PROMETHEUS. Wooing a bride, his ruin he shall win.

IO. Goddess, or mortal? tell me, if thou may’st.

PROMETHEUS. No matter which—more must not be revealed.

IO. Doth then a consort thrust him from his throne?

PROMETHEUS. The child she bears him shall o’ercome his sire.

IO. And hath he no avoidance of this doom?

PROMETHEUS. None, surely—till that I, released from bonds—

IO. Who can release thee, but by will of Zeus?

PROMETHEUS. Fate gives this duty to a child of thine!

IO. How? Shall a child of mine undo thy woes?

PROMETHEUS. Yea, of thy lineage, thirteen times removed.

IO. Dark beyond guessing grows thine oracle.

PROMETHEUS. Yea—seek not therefore to foreknow thy woes.

IO. As thou didst proffer hope, withdraw it not.

PROMETHEUS. Two tales I have—choose! for I grant thee one.

IO. And which be they? reveal, and leave me choice.

PROMETHEUS. I grant it: shall I in all clearness show Thy future woes, or my deliverance?

CHORUS. Nay! of the two, vouchsafe her wish to her And mine to me, deigning a truth to each— To her, reveal her future wanderings— To me, thy future saviour, as I crave!

PROMETHEUS. I will not set myself to thwart your will Withholding aught of what ye crave to know. First to thee, Io, will I tell and trace Thy scared circuitous wandering mark it well, Deep in retentive tablets of the soul. When thou hast overpast the ferry’s flow That sunders continent from continent, Straight to the eastward and the flaming face Of dawn, and highways trodden by the sun, Pass, till thou come unto the windy land Of daughters born to Boreas: beware Lest the strong spirit of the stormy blast Snatch thee aloft, and sweep thee to the void, On wings of raving wintry hurricane! Wend by the noisy tumult of the wave, Until thou reach the Gorgon-haunted plains Beside Cisthene. In that solitude Dwell Phorcys’ daughters, beldames worn with time, Three, each swan-shapen, single-toothed, and all Peering thro’ shared endowment of one eye; Never on them doth the sun shed his rays, Never falls radiance of the midnight moon. But, hard by these, their sisters, clad with wings, Serpentine-curled, dwell, loathed of mortal men,— The Gorgons!—he of men who looks on them Shall gasp away his life. Of such fell guard I bid thee to beware. Now, mark my words When I another sight of terror tell— Beware the Gryphon pack, the hounds of Zeus, As keen of fang as silent of their tongues! Beware the one-eyed Arimaspian band That tramp on horse-hoofs, dwelling by the ford Of Pluto and the stream that flows with gold: Keep thou aloof from these. To the world’s end Thou comest at the last, the dark-faced tribe That dwell beside the sources of the sun, Where springs the river, Aethiopian named. Make thou thy way along his bank, until Thou come unto the mighty downward slope Where from the overland of Bybline hills Nile pours his hallowed earth-refreshing wave. He by his course shall guide thee to the realm Named from himself, three-angled, water-girt; There, Io, at the last, hath Fate ordained, For thee and for thy race, the charge to found, Far from thy native shore, a new abode. Lo, I have said: if aught hereof appear Hard to thy sense and inarticulate, Question me o’er again, and soothly learn— God wot, I have too much of leisure here!

CHORUS. If there be aught beyond, or aught pass’d o’er, Which thou canst utter, of her woe-worn maze, Speak on! if all is said, then grant to us That which we asked, as thou rememberest.