Abhorred by Jove, and all who tread his courts, | The flower-perfumed spring, the ripening sum- For my fond love of man. Ah me! again I hear a sound, as if of birds. The air Rustles with fluttering pinions: every object Approaching me strikes terror on my soul.
Here the Daughters of the Ocean, roused from their grots below, come to console the Titan, who, induced by their kind sympathy, gives vent to his feelings, relates the causes of his fall, and endeavours to cheer himself with dreams and prophecies of the future. Then comes their father, the ancient Oceanus, who, advising submission to Jupiter, is dismissed with disdain. Left alone with Prometheus, the Oceanides burst forth into fresh strains of pity.
"The wide earth echoes wailingly;
Stately and antique were thy fallen race, The wide earth waileth thee!
Lo! from the holy Asian dwelling-place, Fall for a godhead's wrongs, the mortals' murmuring tears,
They mourn within the Colchian land,
The virgin and the warrior daughters,
And far remote, the Scythian band,
Around the broad Maotian waters, And they who hold in Caucasus their tower, Arabia's martial flower
Hoarse-clamouring midst sharp rows of barbed
One have I seen with equal tortures riven- An equal god,-in adamantine chains Ever and evermore.
The Titan Atlas, crush'd, sustains
The mighty mass of mighty Heaven, And the whirling cataracts roar, With a chime to the Titan's groans, And the depth that receives them moans; And from vaults that the earth are under, Black Hades is heard in thunder;
Fertile of fruits. At random all their works Till I instructed them to mark the stars, Their rising, and, a harder science yet, Their setting. The rich train of marshall'd numbers
I taught them, and the meet array of letters, To impress these precepts on their hearts I sent Memory, the active mother of all reason. I taught the patient steer to bear the yoke, In all his toils joint-labourer with man. By me the harnessed steed was trained to whirl The rapid car, and grace the pride of wealth. The tall bark, lightly bounding o'er the waves, I taught its course, and winged its flying sail. To man I gave these arts; yet, wretch as I am, So provident for others, I want skill To extricate myself.
What useful arts, what sciences I invented. This first and greatest: when the fell disease Preyed on the human frame, relief was none, Nor healing drug, nor cool-refreshing draught, Nor pain assuaging unguent; but they pined Without redress, and wasted, till I taught them To mix the balmy medicine, of power To chase each pale disease, and soften pain. I taught the various modes of prophecy; What truth to dreams attaches, what to omens, Or casual sights that meet us on the way; What birds portend, when to the right, when to The left, they take their airy course.
These arts I taught. And all the secret treasures Deep buried in the bowels of the earth,
While from the founts of white-waved rivers Brass, iron, silver, gold, their use to man, flow
Melodious sorrows, wailing with his woe."
Let the vain tongue make what high boasts it
Are my inventions all; and, in a word,
Prom. It was not pride that checked my Prometheus taught each useful art to man.
Of my fallen state and bitter degradation; This cut me to the heart. For who, like me, Advanced these new-fledged gods. But ye Know well the tale, and so I'll not repeat it :- The ills of man you've heard: I formed his mind, And through the cloud of barbarous ignorance Diffused the beams of knowledge. I will speak, Not taxing them with blame, but my own gifts Displaying, and benevolence to them.
They saw indeed, they heard, but what availed Or sight or hearing, all things round them rolling, Like the unreal imagery of dreams,
In wild confusion mixed! The lightsome wall Of finer masonry, the raftered roof,
They knew not; but, like ants still buried, delved Deep in the earth and scooped their sunless
Unmarked the seasons ranged, the biting winter,
Chor. Let not thy love to man o'erleap the bounds
Of reason; nor neglect thy own sad state: So my fond hope suggests thou shalt be freed From these base chains, nor less in power than
Prom. Not thus, it is not in the fates, that thus These things should end; crushed by a thousand
A thousand woes, I shall escape these chains. Necessity is stronger far than art.
Chor. Who then is ruler of Necessity? Prom. The triple Fates and unforgetting Furies. Chor. Must Jove, too, yield to their superior power?
Prom. Even Jove cannot escape from destiny. Chor. What but eternal empire, is his fate? Prom. Ye may not know it now; inquire no further.
Chor. Is it of moment, that you thus conceal it? | Thy tongue thus vaunts, as threatening his high Prom. Think of some other subject; 'tis no time For this, requiring, as it does, the seal Of strictest secrecy. By guarding it, I may, one day, escape this shameful bondage.
The rejoinder of the Chorus is singularly beautiful; but I know of no translation that has done justice to, or given us any idea of, its charms. Mr. Bulwer has only given us six lines of it, in which is contrasted the present mournful strain of the Chorus with that which they had poured "What time the silence erst was broken,
Around the baths, and o'er the bed To which, won well by many a soft love-token, And hymned by all the music of delight, Our ocean-sister, bright. Hesione was led."
And clearly say, couched in no riddling phrases, Each several circumstance. Now, no duplicity, No terms ambiguous; such, you know full well, Is not the way to pacify Jove's anger.
Prom. Thou dost thy message bravely, and in
Becoming well the sender and the sent.- Your empire it is new; and you may deem Its towers impregnable; but have I not Already seen two monarchs hurled from them?* And I shall see a third, this present lord, Fall with like suddenness and like disgrace. Think ye I tremble at these new-made gods? No; fear is yet a stranger to my soul. Then hence!-the way thou cam'st!-To thine inquiries
From me thou wilt obtain no other answer. Merc. 'Twas insolence like this, which on thy head
Drew down this punishment.
My miseries I would not change for your gay servitude. Better to serve here on this earth, than be Jove's lacquey. You may call this insolence; I call it,-paying you in your own coin.
At the end of this choral song appears Iò, driven about from place to place, a victim of the same tyranny from which Prometheus was suffering. Her bitter woe and despair are finely contrasted with the stern spirit of Prometheus. Her introduction gives rise to those ancestral and traditional allusions to which the Greeks were so attached. He prophesies of the wanderings to which she is still doomed, and the fate which, at last, awaits her, connected, in some degree, with his own, as from her blood he is, after the lapse of many ages, to receive a deliverer.-After the departure of Io, Prometheus renews his denunciations of Jupiter, in the midst of which Mercury arrives, commands him to disclose the nature of the danger threatened to Jove, and how he is to I prevent or avoid it. The Titan refuses to disclose his secret, hurls defiance at his oppressors, and, amidst storm, lightning, and earthquake, is swallowed up in the abyss.
Prom. Go then, fawn, cringe, fall down before your master.
For me, I value Jove at less than nothing. Let him exert his brief authority, And lord it whilst he may; 'twill not be long. But see the runner-slave of this new king Approaches; what fresh tidings will he bring us?
Merc. You seem to me delighted with your
Prom. Delighted! Might I see mine enemies Delighted thus, and thee amongst the rest. Merc. And why blame me for thy calamities? Prom, In a word, I hate them all, these gods, of whom
have deserved so well, and fared so badly.
If to detest my foes be madness, It is a malady that I am proud of.
Merc. Were't well with thee, thou wouldst not be endured.
Thou'st given me yet no answer for the Father. Prom. Did he deserve the courtesy, I'd pay it. Merc. Why am I checked, why rated as a boy? If thou hast hopes to be informed by me. Prom. A boy thou art, yea simpler than a boy, Not all his tortures, all his arts, shall move me To unlock my lips, till this cursed chain be loosed, No; let him hurl his lightnings, wing his snows, Crush earth and skies, he moves not me to tell him
What force shall wrest the sceptre from his hand.† Merc. Weigh well these things; will they un-
Prom. Well have they all been weighed, all long considered.
Uranus dethroned by his son Saturn; and Saturn by his son Jupiter.
+ Jupiter was about to marry Thetis, the daughter of Oceanus; but it was in the Fates that she should have a son who was to be greater than his father. Prometheus
Merc. To thee, old Sophist, quintessence of gall's alone, by his divine foresight, could open the danger to
Black bitterness, offender of the gods, Fire-stealer, boastful lavisher of gifts On men, to thee would I address myself.
The Father bids thee say what nuptials these τον πικρώς γπέρπικμον.
Jupiter; but this he refused to do, till he should be released from the rock. After that Hercules, by permission of Jupiter, had slain the tormenting eagle, and unbound his chains, he disclosed the decree of the Fates. Thetis was then given in marriage to Peleus, and the prophecy was accomplished in the birth of Achilles.
Merc. Subdue, vain fool, subdue thine insolence, | Melt at his sufferings, from this place remove, And let thy miseries teach thee juster thoughts.
Prom. Thy counsels, like the waves, that dash against
The rock's firm base, disquiet, but not move, me. Conceive not of me, that, through fear what Jove May, in his rage, inflict, my fixed disdain Shall e'er relent, e'er suffer my strong mind To sink in womanish softness, to fall prostrate, Beseeching him to free me from these chains.
Merc. I see thou art implacable, unsoftened By all the mild entreaties I can urge.
Lest the tempestuous roar of Jove's fierce thunder O'ertake you, and confound your prison'd senses.
Chor. To other themes, to other counsels, turn Thy voice, where pleaded reason may prevail: This is ill-urged, and may not be admitted. Would'st thou solicit us to deeds of baseness? Whate'er betides, with him will we endure it. The vile betrayer I have learned to hate; There is no fouler stain; my soul abhors it. Merc. Remember, you are warned; if ill o'er- take you,
But, like a young steed reined, that proudly Accuse not Fortune, lay not blame on Jove,
And champs his iron curb, thy haughty soul Abates not of its unavailing fierceness. But pride, disdaining to be ruled by reason, Sinks weak and valueless.-Now mark me well:-
If not obedient to my words, a storm, A fiery and inevitable deluge,
Shall burst in three-fold vengeance on thy head. First his fierce thunder, winged with lightning flames,
Shall rend this rugged rock, and cover thee With hideous ruin: long time shalt thou lie Astonied in its rifted sides, till dragged Again to light; then shall the Bird of Jove, The ravening eagle, lured by scent of blood, Mangle thy body, and each day returning, An uninvited guest, plunge his fell beak And feast and riot on thy blackening liver. Expect no pause, no respite, till some god Comes to relieve thy pains, willing to pass The dreary realms of ever-during night, The dark descent of Tartarus profound. Weigh these things well; this is no fiction drest In vaunting terms, but words of serious truth. The mouth of Jove knows not to utter falsehood, But what he speaks is fate. Be cautious then; Regard thyself; nor let o'erweening pride Disdain the prudent counsels that I give thee.
Chor. Nothing amiss we deem his words, but fraught
With reason, who but wills thee to relax Thy haughty spirit, and by prudent counsels Pursue thy peace. Be then advised; what shame For one so wise to persevere in error!
Prom. All this I knew, ere he declared his message:
That enemy from enemy should suffer Extreme indignity, is nothing strange. Let him then work his horrible pleasure on me; Wreathe his black curling flames, tempest the air With vollied thunders and wild-warring winds, Rend from its roots the firm earth's solid base, Heave from the roaring main its boisterous waves, And dash them to the stars; me let him hurl, Caught in the fiery tempest, to the gloom Of deepest Tartarus; not all his power Can quench the ætherial breath of life within me. Merc. Such ravings, such wild boasts, one might
As by his hand sunk in calamities
Unthought of, unforeseen: no, let the blame Light on yourselves; your folly not unwarned, Not unawares, but 'gainst your better knowledge, Involved you in th' inextricable toil.
Prom. He fables not; firm earth-(I feel it)—
Loud thunders roar, thick-flashing lightnings blaze, The eddying sands are whirled aloft, and forth From every quarter, breathing mutual strife, Leap the wild spirits of the winds, while sky Is sunk in ocean. Upon me it bursts, The terror-working storm, sent down from heaven. O venerated Mother, O wide Æther, Wafting round all man's common blessing, light- You see what wrongs I suffer.
FROM "THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES."
THE subject of this tragedy is the war between Eteocles and Polynices for the throne of Thebes; the catastrophe is the death of the two brothers, slain by each other's hands.
SCENE-In Thebes, before the principal Temple of the City.
ETEOCLES, SOLDIER, CHORUS.
Sold. Illustrious King of Thebes, I bring thee
Of firm assurance from the foe; these eyes Beheld each circumstance. Seven valiant chiefs Slew on a black-orbed shield the victim bull, And, dipping in the gore their furious hands, By Mars, Bellona, and blood-thirsting Terror, Swore sacredly-or from their base to rend These walls and lay our ramparts in the dust, Or, dying, with their blood to steep this earth.- Each, in Adrastus' car, some dear remembrance' Piled for his distant parents; in every eye Stood tears, but no compassion, no remorse. Each soul of iron glowing with the rage Of valour, as the lion, when he glares Determined battle.-Round the urn I left them By lot deciding to what gate each chief
It was a custom of the ancients before a battle in which they apprehended danger, to send home to their friends, some trifling token, or remembrance, things of
little value in themselves, but rendered dear by the cir
cumstances under which they were given. On this oc
casion they were placed in the car of Adrastus, because it had been foretold by the Augur Amphiaraus, that he alone of the confederate chiefs would return to Argos.
Shall lead his forces. Against these select The best, the bravest, of the sons of Thebes, And instant, at the gates, assign their stations. For all in arms the Argive host comes on. Be thine the pilot's part, and, ere the storm O'ertake us, (even now its waves are roaring) Prepare thee for the danger.-Mine meanwhile The watch, and, trust this long-experienced eye, No peril, without notice, shall approach thee.
Here the Chorus, consisting of Theban virgins, burst out into loud strains of woe, painting in glowing colours the rush of the adverse hosts, the battering of the gates, the yells of the victors, the shrieks of anguished women and infants, and all those scenes of distress and horror, which the insolence of conquest spreads through a vanquished and plundered city. Offended at their intimidating cries, Eteocles reprimands them with harshness, and in no very courtly terms.
"Is this, ye wayward race, the aid you lend The State, the fortitude wherewith you steel The souls of the besieged, thus falling down Before these images to wail and shriek With lamentations loud? Wisdom abhors you. You magnify the foe, and turn our men To flight: thus are we ruined by ourselves. This ever will arise from suffering women To intermix with men. But mark me well; Whoe'er henceforth dare disobey my orders, Be they or men or women, old or young, Vengeance shall burst upon them, the decree Stands irreversible, and they shall die. War is no female province, but the scene For men: hence home! nor spread your mischiefs here.
But see, the veteran from his watch returns, Bearing, I ween, fresh tidings from yon host, Of highest import: quick his foot and hasty.
Before the Prætian gate, its bars removed, What equal chief wilt thou appoint against him? Eteoc. This military pride, it moves me not: The gorgeous blazony of arms, the crest High waving o'er the helm, the clashing bells, Harmless without the spear, inflict no wound. The sable Night, spangled with stars of heaven, Predicts perhaps his doom; and, should dark night
Fall on his eyes, might be deemed ominous, And he, the prophet of his own destruction. Against his rage the son of Astacus Will I appoint commander; bent on deeds Of glory, but a votary at the shrine Of modesty, he scorns the arrogant vaunt As base, and bids brave actions speak his worth. Sold. May the gods crown his valiant toil with
But Capaneus against the Electran gates Takes his allotted post, and, towering, stands Vast as some earth-born giant, and inflamed To more than mortal daring: horribly He menaces the walls: (may Heaven avert His impious rage!) vaunts that, the gods assenting Or not assenting, his strong hand shall rend Their rampires down; that e'en the rage of Jove Descending on the field should not restrain him. His lightnings and his thunders winged with fire,
He likens to the sun's meridian heat. On his proud shield portrayed, A naked Man Waves in his hand a blazing torch; beneath In golden letters, I will fire the city.
Against this man-But who shall dare to engage His might, and dauntless his proud might sustain ?
Eteoc. Advantage from advantage here arises. The arrogant vaunts, which man's vain tongue throws out
Shall on himself recoil. This haughty chief Threats high, and, prompt to execute his threats, Spurns at the gods, opes his unhallowed lips In shallow exultations, hurls on high,
Sold. Now can I tell thee, for I know it Weak mortal as he is, 'gainst Jove himself
The disposition of the foe, and how Each at our gates takes his allotted post. Already near the Prætian gate in arms Stands Tydeus raging; for the Prophet's voice Forbids his foot to pass Ismenus' stream, The victims not propitious: at the pass Furious, and eager for the fight, the chief (Fierce as a dragon in the mid-day sun) Reviles the sage, as forming timorous league With war and fate. Frowning he speaks and
Three shadowy crests, the honours of his helm, While shrilly from his shield the brazen bells Ring terror. On the shield this proud device: An azure sky with spangling stars, and in The midst, bright eye of night, the full-orb'd moon. Fierce in the glory of his arms, and mad For war, he shouts along the river's banks, Fierce, as some steed which, panting on the curb,
Waits but the trumpet's sound to burst away.
Hurls his extravagant and wild defiance. On him, I trust, the thunder winged with fire, Far other than the sun's meridian heat, Shall roll its vengeance. But against his pride, Insolent vaunter, shall the glowing spirit That burns for glory in the daring breast Of Polyphontes, be opposed; his arm, Strong in Diana's tutelary aid,
Shall be a sure defence. But to thy tale; Who next before our gates assumes his station? Sold. Third from the brazen helm leap'd forth
Of fierce Eteoclus, who takes his post Against the gates of Neis: there he whirls His fiery-neighing steeds, that toss their heads, Proud of their nodding plumes. No mean device Is sculptured on his shield,—A Man in arms His ladder fixed against the enemies' walls,— Crying aloud, the letters plainly marked, Not Mars himself shall beat me from these towers. Appoint some chief of equal hardihood To guard the city from a servile yoke.
Eteoc. Such shall I send, to conquest send | Thus swears this offspring of the Mountain
That bears not in his hand this pageantry
Of martial pride. The hardy Megareus, From Creon sprung, and that bold race, which
Embattled from the earth: him from the gates The furious neighings of the fiery steeds Affright not but his blood spilt on the earth Amply requites the nouriture she gave him; Or captive both, the man in arms, the town Stormed on the sculptured shield, and the proud bearer,
Shall with their spoils adorn his father's house. Sold. At the next gate, named from the martial goddess
Onca Minerva, stands Hippomedon.
I heard his thundering voice, I saw his form In bulk and stature proudly eminent;
Blooming in manly youth. But though so young, Though scarce the down has sprouted on his cheek;
Still ruthless are his thoughts, cruel his eye, And proudly vaunting at the gate he takes His terrible stand. Upon his clashing shield Thebes' foul disgrace, a ravenous Sphinx, he bears, Holding a Theban in her cruel fangs.
'Gainst this let each brave man direct his spear. No hireling he, to prostitute for gold The war, or shame the length of way he trod, E'en from Arcadia: such this stranger comes, Parthenopous and, in gratitude
For hospitable boons received from Argos, Assists her here,-breathing against these towers Proud menaces, which may the gods avert!
Eteoc. That ruin, which with impious vaunts they intend
I saw him roll his shield, large, massy, round, Of broad circumference: it struck my soul With terror. On its orb no vulgar artist Expressed this image, A Typhæus huge Disgorging from his jaws foul smoke and fire— With shouts the giant chief provokes the war And, in the ravings of outrageous valour, Glares terror from his eyes. Strong opposition to his fiery rage, Which at the gates e'en now spreads wild | His threats of evil on us. dismay. Eteoc. First Onca Pallas, holding near the Prudent as brave, the seer Amphiaraus, At th' Omolæan gate his destined post In arms assumes, and on the fiery Tydeus Throws many a keen reproach, reviling him As homicide, and troubler of the state, And author, above all, of ills to Argos: With Murder and the Furies at his heels Urging Adrastus to these hateful deeds. Thy brother Polynices, too, he blames,
For us, may the just gods turn on themselves. So let them perish! To this proud Arcadian No boaster we oppose; but one whose hand Knows its rough work-Actor,-the valiant brother
Of him last-named. Never will he permit Behoves thee then The man, whose shield bears that abhorred beast To rush within the gates and execute
Her hallowed state, abhors his furious rage; And in her guardian care shall crush the pride Of this fell dragon. Then the son of Enops, Hyperbius, of approved and steady valour, Shall, man to man, oppose him; one that dares Assay his fate in the rough shock of battle; In form, in spirit, and in martial arms Consummate-such the graces Hermes gave Descanting on his name and thus rebuking him:
In hostile arms thus man shall combat man, And to the battle on their sculptured shields Bring adverse gods; the fierce Typhæus he, Breathing forth flakes of fire; Hyperbius, The majesty of Jove securely throned, Grasping his flaming bolt: and who e'er saw The Thunderer vanquished? In the fellowship Of friendly gods, the conquerors are with us- With us the conquerors, with them the conquered, And as Jove slew Typhæus, so Jove's form Emblazoned on his shield shall guard Hyper-
Sold. Prophetic be thy hopes. At the north gate,
Hard by Jove-born Amphion's tomb, the fifth Takes his bold station,-swearing by his spear (Which, more than God, and dearer to his eyes Than light of heaven, he vendrates) to lay Our city low, though Jove himself oppose him. * One of the titles of Minerva introduced by Cadmus from Phoenicia, where she was worshipped under that
+ Probably a picture or statue of the goddess placed at the entrance of the city, and implying that wisdom stood guard there.
"How grateful to the gods must be this deed, Glorious to hear, and in the roll of fame Shining to distant ages, thus to lead These foreign arms to waste thy country and Destroy thy country's gods! E'en though thy
Be just, alas! will justice dry
A mother's tears? And when the furious spear, Hurled by thy hand, shall pierce thy country's bosom,
Say, can that land with friendly arms receive thee?
Prescient of fate, I shall enrich this soil, Sunk in the hostile plain. But let us fight. One hope is mine,-a not inglorious death." So spoke the Prophet; and with awful port Advanced his massy shield, the shining orb Bearing no impress: for his generous soul Wishes to be, not to appear, the Best; And from the culture of his modest worth Bears the rich fruit of great and glorious deeds. Him let the virtuous and the wise oppose; For dreadful is the foe, that fears the gods. Eteoc. Alas the destiny! that leagues the just
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