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.

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

Prom. It was not pride that checked my Prometheus taught each useful art to man.

power;

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

terms

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.

Prom.

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?

Enter MERCURY.

Merc. You seem to me delighted with your

woes.

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.

Merc. Thou art mad.

Prom.

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-

loose thy chains?

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,

struggles

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)—

rocks;

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

tidings

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.

Re-enter SOLDIER.

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

conquest.

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

well,

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

shakes

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

the lot

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.

F

Eteoc. Such shall I send, to conquest send | Thus swears this offspring of the Mountain

him; one

That bears not in his hand this pageantry

Of martial pride. The hardy Megareus,
From Creon sprung, and that bold race, which

rose

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;

Nymph,*

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

gatest

Sold.

The sixth chief,

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:

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-

bius.

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

name.

+ 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

cause

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

The Arcadian Atalanta.