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PROMETHEUS.

From high Olympus and the ætherial courts,

Where mighty Zeus our angry king confirms

The Fates' decrees and bends the wills of the gods,

I come: and on the earth step with glad foot.

This variegated ocean-floor of the air,

The changeful circle of fair land, that lies

Heaven's dial, sisterly mirror of night and day:

The wide o'er-wandered plain, this nether world

My truant haunt is, when from jealous eyes

I steal, for hither 'tis I steal, and here 10

Unseen repair my joy: yet not unseen

Methinks, nor seen unguessed of him I seek.

Rather by swath or furrow, or where the path

Is walled with corn I am found, by trellised vine

Or olive set in banks or orchard trim:

I watch all toil and tilth, farm, field and fold,

And taste the mortal joy; since not in heaven

Among our easeful gods hath facile time

A touch so keen, to wake such love of life

As stirs the frail and careful being, who here, 20

The king of sorrows, melancholy man,

Bows at his labour, but in heart erect

A god stands, nor for any gift of god

Would barter his immortal-hearted prime.

Could I but win this world from Zeus for mine,

With not a god to vex my happy rule,

I would inhabit here and leave high heaven:

So much I love it and its race of men,{4}

Even as he hates them, hates both them, and me

For loving what he hates, and would destroy me, 30

Outcast in the scorn of all his cringing crew,

For daring but to save what he would slay:

And me must first destroy. Thus he denieth

My heart's wish, thus my counsel sets at naught,

Which him saved once, when all at stake he stood

Uprisen in rebellion to overthrow

The elderseated Titans, for I that day

Gave him the counsels which his foes despised.

Unhappy they, who had still their blissful seats

Preserved and their Olympian majesty, 40

Had they been one with me. Alas, my kin!

But he, when he had taken the throne and chained

His foes in wasteful Tartarus, said no more

Where is Prometheus our wise counsellor?

What saith Prometheus? tell us, O Prometheus,

What Fate requires! but waxing confident

And wanton, as a youth first tasting power,

He wrecked the timeless monuments of heaven,

The witness of the wisdom of the gods,

And making all about him new, beyond 50

Determined to destroy the race of men,

And that create afresh or else have none.

Then his vain mind imagined a device,

And at his bidding all the opposèd winds

Blew, and the scattered clouds and furlèd snows,

From every part of heaven together flying,

He with brute hands in huge disorder heaped:

They with the winds' weight and his angry breath

Were thawed: in cataracts they fell, and earth

In darkness deep and whelmèd tempest lay, 60

Drowned 'neath the waters. Yet on the mountain-tops

Some few escaped, and some, thus warned by me,

Made shift to live in vessels which outrode

The season and the fury of the flood.{5}

And when his rain was spent and from clear skies

Zeus looking down upon the watery world,

Beheld these few, the remnant of mankind,

Who yet stood up and breathed; he next withdrew

The seeds of fire, that else had still lain hid

In withered branch and the blue flakes of flint 70

For man to exact and use, but these withdrawn,

Man with the brutes degraded would be man

No more; and so the tyrant was content.

But I, despised again, again upheld

The weak, and pitying them sent sweet Hope,

Bearer of dreams, enchantress fond and kind,

From heaven descending on the unhindered rays

Of every star, to cheer with visions fair

Their unamending pains. And now this day

Behold I come bearing the seal of all 80

Which Hope had promised: for within this reed

A prisoner I bring them stolen from heaven,

The flash of mastering fire, and it have borne

So swift to earth, that when yon noontide sun

Rose from the sea at morning I was by,

And unperceived of Hêlios plunged the point

I' the burning axle, and withdrew a tongue

Of breathing flame, which lives to leap on earth

For man the father of all fire to come.

And hither have I brought it even to Argos 90

Unto king Inachus, him having chosen

Above all mortals to receive my gift:

For he is hopeful, careful, wise, and brave.

He first, when first the floods left bare the land,

Grew warm with enterprise, and gathered men

Together, and disposed their various tasks

For common weal combined; for soon were seen

The long straight channels dwindling on the plain,

Which slow from stagnant pool and wide morass

The pestilent waters to the rivers bore: 100{6}

Then in the ruined dwellings and old tombs

He dug, unbedding from the wormèd ooze

Vessels and tools of trade and husbandry;

Wherewith, all seasonable works restored,

Oil made he and wine anew, and taught mankind

To live not brutally though without fire,

Tending their flocks and herds and weaving wool,

Living on fruit and milk and shepherds' fare,

Till time should bring back flame to smithy and hearth,

Or Zeus relent. Now at these gates I stand, 110

At this mid hour, when Inachus comes forth

To offer sacrifice unto his foe.

For never hath his faithful zeal forborne

To pay the power, though hard, that rules the world

The smokeless sacrifice; which first to-day

Shall smoke, and rise at heaven in flame to brave

The baffled god. See here a servant bears

For the cold altar ceremonial wood:

My shepherd's cloak will serve me for disguise.

SERVANT.

With much toil have I hewn these sapless logs. 120

Pr. But toil brings health, and health is happiness.

Serv. Here's one I know not—nay, how came he here

Unseen by me? I pray thee, stranger, tell me

What wouldst thou at the house of Inachus?

Pr. Intruders, friend, and travellers have glib tongues,

Silence will question such.

Serv. If 'tis a message,

To-day is not thy day—who sent thee hither?

Pr. The business of my leisure was well guessed:

But he that sent me hither is I that come.

Serv. I smell the matter—thou wouldst serve the house?

Pr. 'Twas for that very cause I fled my own. 131

Serv. From cruelty or fear of punishment?

Pr. Cruel was my master, for he slew his father.{7}

His punishments thou speakest of are crimes.

Serv. Thou dost well flying one that slew his father.

Pr. Thy lord, they say, is kind.

Serv. Well, thou wilt see

Thou may'st at once begin—come, give a hand.

Pr. A day of freedom is a day of pleasure:

And what thou doest have I never done,

And understanding not might mar thy work. 140

Serv. Ay true—there is a right way and a wrong

In laying wood.

Pr. Then let me see thee lay it:

The sight of a skill'd hand will teach an art.

Serv. Thou seest this faggot which I now unbind,

How it is packed within.

Pr. I see the cones

And needles of the fir, which by the wind

In melancholy places ceaselessly

Sighing are strewn upon the tufted floor.

Serv. These took I from a sheltered bank, whereon

The sun looks down at noon; for there is need 150

The things be dry. These first I spread; and then

Small sticks that snap i' the hand.

Pr. Such are enough

To burden the slow flight of labouring rooks,

When on the leafless tree-tops in young March

Their glossy herds assembling soothe the air

With cries of solemn joy and cawings loud.

And such the long-necked herons will bear to mend

Their airy platform, when the loving spring

Bids them take thought for their expected young.

Serv. See even so I cross them and cross them so: 160

Larger and by degrees a steady stack

Have built, whereon the heaviest logs may lie:

And all of sun-dried wood: and now 'tis done.

Pr. And now 'tis done, what means it now 'tis done?

Serv. Well, thus 'tis rightly done: but why 'tis so{8}

I cannot tell, nor any man here knows;

Save that our master when he sacrificeth,

As thou wilt hear anon, speaketh of fire;

And fire he saith is good for gods and men;

And the gods have it and men have it not: 170

And then he prays the gods to send us fire;

And we, against they send it, must have wood

Laid ready thus as I have shewn thee here.

Pr. To-day he sacrificeth?

Serv. Ay, this noon.

Hark! hear'st thou not? they come. The solemn flutes

Warn us away; we must not here be seen

In these our soilèd habits, yet may stand

Where we may hear and see and not be seen.

[Exeunt R.

Enter CHORUS, and from the palace Inachus bearing cakes: he comes to stand behind the altar.

CHORUS.

God of Heaven!

We praise thee, Zeus most high, 180

To whom by eternal Fate was given

The range and rule of the sky;

When thy lot, first of three

Leapt out, as sages tell,

And won Olympus for thee,

Therein for ever to dwell:

But the next with the barren sea

To grave Poseidôn fell,

And left fierce Hades his doom, to be

The lord and terror of hell. 190

(2) Thou sittest for aye

Encircled in azure bright,

Regarding the path of the sun by day,

And the changeful moon by night:{9}

Attending with tireless ears

To the song of adoring love,

With which the separate spheres

Are voicèd that turn above:

And all that is hidden under

The clouds thy footing has furl'd 200

Fears the hand that holdeth the thunder,

The eye that looks on the world.

Semichorus of youths.

Of all the isles of the sea

Is Crete most famed in story:

Above all mountains famous to me

Is Ida and crowned with glory.

There guarded of Heaven and Earth

Came Rhea at fall of night

To hide a wondrous birth

From the Sire's unfathering sight. 210

The halls of Cronos rang

With omens of coming ill,

And the mad Curêtes danced and sang

Adown the slopes of the hill.

Then all the peaks of Gnossus kindled red

Beckoning afar unto the sinking sun,

he thro' the vaporous west plunged to his bed,

Sunk, and the day was done.

But they, though he was fled,

Such light still held, as oft 220

Hanging in air aloft,

At eve from shadowed ship

The Egyptian sailor sees:

Or like the twofold tip

That o'er the topmost trees

Flares on Parnassus, and the Theban dames

Quake at the ghostly flames.{10}

Then friendly night arose

To succour Earth, and spread

Her mantle o'er the snows 230

And quenched their rosy red;

But in the east upsprings

Another light on them,

Selêné with white wings

And hueless diadem.

Little could she befriend

Her father's house and state,

Nor her weak beams defend

Hyperion from his fate.

Only where'er she shines, 240

In terror looking forth,

She sees the wailing pines

Stoop to the bitter North:

Or searching twice or thrice

Along the rocky walls,

She marks the columned ice

Of frozen waterfalls:

But still the darkened cave

Grew darker as she shone,

Wherein was Rhea gone 250

Her child to bear and save.

[They dance.

Then danced the Dactyls and Curêtes wild,

And drowned with yells the cries of mother and child;

Big-armed Damnámeneus gan prance and shout:

And burly Acmon struck the echoes out:

And Kermis leaped and howled: and Titias pranced

And broad Cyllenus tore the air and danced:

While deep within the shadowed cave at rest

Lay Rhea, with her babe upon her breast.

{11}

INACHUS.

If any here there be whose impure hands 260

Among pure hands, or guilty heart among

Our guiltless hearts be stained with blood or wrong,

Let him depart!

If there be any here in whom high Zeus

Seeing impiety might turn away,

Now from our sacrifice and from his sin

Let him depart!

Semichorus of maidens.

I have chosen to praise

Hêra the wife, and bring

A hymn for the feast on marriage days 270

To the wife of the gods' king.

How on her festival

The gods had loving strife,

Which should give of them all

The fairest gift to the wife.

But Earth said, Fair to see

Is mine and yields to none,

I have grown for her joy a sacred tree,

With apples of gold thereon.

Then Hêra, when she heard what Earth had given, 280

Smiled for her joy, and longed and came to see:

On dovewings flying from the height of heaven,

Down to the golden tree:

As tired birds at even

Come flying straight to house

On their accustomed boughs.

'Twas where, on tortured hands

Bearing the mighty pole.

Devoted Atlas stands:

And round his bowed head roll 290{12}

Day-light and night, and stars unmingled dance,

Nor can he raise his glance.

She saw the rocky coast

Whereon the azured waves

Are laced in foam, or lost

In water-lighted caves;

The olive island where,

Amid the purple seas,

Night unto Darkness bare

The four Hesperides: 300

And came into the shade

Of Atlas, where she found

The garden Earth had made

And fenced with groves around.

And in the midst it grew

Alone, the priceless stem,

As careful, clear and true

As graving on a gem.

Nature had kissèd Art

And borne a child to stir 310

With jealousy the heart

Of heaven's Artificer.

From crown to swelling root

It mocked the goddess' praise,

The green enamelled sprays,

The emblazoned golden fruit.

[They dance

And 'neath the tree, with hair and zone unbound,

The fair Hesperides aye danced around,

And Ægle danced and sang 'O welcome, Queen!'

And Erytheia sang 'The tree is green!' 320

And Hestia danced and sang 'The fruit is gold!'

And Arethusa sang 'Fair Queen, behold!'

And all joined hands and danced about the tree,

And sang 'O Queen, we dance and sing for thee!'{13}

In. If there be any here who has complaint

Against our rule or claim or supplication,

Now in the name of Zeus let it appear,

Now let him speak!

Prometheus re-enters.

Pr. All hail, most worthy king, such claim have I.

In. May grace be with thee, stranger; speak thy mind.

Pr. To Argos, king of Argos, at thy house 331

I bring long journeying to an end this hour,

Bearing no idle message for thine ears.

For know that far thy fame has reached, and men

That ne'er have seen thee tell that thou art set

Upon the throne of virtue, that goodwill

And love thy servants are, that in thy land

Joy, honour, trust and modesty abide

And drink the air of peace, that kings must see

Thy city, would they know their peoples' good 340

And stablish them therein by wholesome laws.

But one thing mars the tale, for o'er thy lands

Travelling I have not seen from morn till eve,

Either from house or farm or labourer's cot,

In any village, nor this town of Argos

A blue-wreathed smoke arise: the hearths are cold,

This altar cold: I see the wood and cakes

Unbaken—O king, where is the fire?

In. If hither, stranger, thou wert come to find

That which thou findest wanting, join with us 350

Now in our sacrifice, take food within,

And having learnt our simple way of life

Return unto thy country whence thou camest.

But hast thou skill or knowledge of this thing,

How best it may be sought, or by what means

Hope to be reached, O speak! I wait to hear.

Pr. There is, O king, fire on the earth this day.

In. On earth there is fire thou sayest!

Pr. There is fire.{14}

In. On earth this day!

Pr. There is fire on earth this day.

In. This is a sacred place, a solemn hour, 360

Thy speech is earnest: yet even if thou speak truth,

O welcome messenger of happy tidings,

And though I hear aright, yet to believe

Is hard: thou canst not know what words thou speakest

Into what ears: they never heard before

This sound but in old tales of happier times,

In sighs of prayer and faint unhearted hope:

Maybe they heard not rightly, speak again!

Pr. There is, O king, fire on the earth this day.

In. Yes, yes, again. Now let sweet Music blab 370

Her secret and give o'er; here is a trumpet

That mocks her method. Yet 'tis but the word.

Maybe thy fire is not the fire I seek;

Maybe though thou didst see it, now 'tis quenched,

Or guarded out of reach: speak yet again

And swear by heaven's truth is there fire or no;

And if there be, what means may make it mine.

Pr. There is, O king, fire on the earth this day:

But not as thou dost seek it to be found.

In. How seeking wrongly shall I seek aright? 380

Pr. Thou prayest here to Zeus, and him thou callest

Almighty, knowing he could grant thy prayer:

That if 'twere but his will, the journeying sun

Might drop a spark into thine outstretched hand:

That at his breath the splashing mountain brooks

That fall from Orneæ, and cold Lernè's pool

Would change their element, and their chill streams

Bend in their burning banks a molten flood:

That at his word so many messengers

Would bring thee fire from heaven, that not a hearth 390

In all thy land but straight would have a god

To kneel and fan the flame: and yet to him,

It is to him thou prayest.{15}

In. Therefore to him.

Pr. Is this thy wisdom, king, to sow thy seed

Year after year in this unsprouting soil?

Hast thou not proved and found the will of Zeus

A barren rock for man with prayer to plough?

In. His anger be averted! we judge not god

Evil, because our wishes please him not.

Oft our shortsighted prayers to heaven ascending 400

Ask there our ruin, and are then denied

In kindness above granting: were 't not so,

Scarce could we pray for fear to pluck our doom

Out of the merciful withholding hands.

Pr. Why then provokest thou such great goodwill

In long denial and kind silence shown?

In. Fie, fie! Thou lackest piety: the god's denial

Being nought but kindness, there is hope that he

Will make that good which is not:—or if indeed

Good be withheld in punishment, 'tis well 410

Still to seek on and pray that god relent.

Pr. O Sire of Argos, Zeus will not relent.

In. Yet fire thou say'st is on the earth this day.

Pr. Not of his knowledge nor his gift, O king.

In. By kindness of what god then has man fire?

Pr. I say but on the earth unknown to Zeus.

In. How boastest thou to know, not of his knowledge?

Pr. I boast not: he that knoweth not may boast.

In. Thy daring words bewilder sense with sound.

Pr. I thought to find thee ripe for daring deeds. 420

In. And what the deed for which I prove unripe?

Pr. To take of heaven's fire.

In. And were I ripe,

What should I dare, beseech you?

Pr. The wrath of Zeus.

In. Madman, pretending in one hand to hold

The wrath of god and in the other fire.

Pr. Thou meanest rather holding both in one.{16}

In. Both impious art thou and incredible.

Pr. Yet impious only till thou dost believe.

In. And what believe? Ah, if I could believe!

It was but now thou saidst that there was fire, 430

And I was near believing; I believed:

Now to believe were to be mad as thou.

Chorus. He may be mad and yet say true—maybe

The heat of prophecy like a strong wine

Shameth his reason with exultant speech.

Pr. Thou say'st I am mad, and of my sober words

Hast called those impious which thou fearest true,

Those which thou knowest good, incredible.

Consider ere thou judge: be first assured

All is not good for man that seems god's will. 440

See, on thy farming skill, thy country toil

Which bends to aid the willing fruits of earth,

And would promote the seasonable year,

The face of nature is not always kind:

And if thou search the sum of visible being

To find thy blessing featured, 'tis not there:

Her best gifts cannot brim the golden cup

Of expectation which thine eager arms

Lift to her mouthèd horn—what then is this

Whose wide capacity outbids the scale 450

Of prodigal beauty, so that the seeing eye

And hearing ear, retiring unamazed

Within their quiet chambers, sit to feast

With dear imagination, nor look forth

As once they did upon the varying air?

Whence is the fathering of this desire

Which mocks at fated circumstance? nay though

Obstruction lie as cumbrous as the mountains,

Nor thy particular hap hath armed desire

Against the brunt of evil—yet not for this 460

Faints man's desire: it is the unquenchable

Original cause, the immortal breath of being:{17}

Nor is there any spirit on Earth astir,

Nor 'neath the airy vault, nor yet beyond

In any dweller in far-reaching space,

Nobler or dearer than the spirit of man:

That spirit which lives in each and will not die,

That wooeth beauty, and for all good things

Urgeth a voice, or in still passion sigheth,

And where he loveth draweth the heart with him. 470

Hast thou not heard him speaking oft and oft,

Prompting thy secret musings and now shooting

His feathered fancies, or in cloudy sleep

Piling his painted dreams? O hark to him!

For else if folly shut his joyous strength

To mope in her dark prison without praise,

The hidden tears with which he wails his wrong

Will sour the fount of life. O hark to him!

Him may'st thou trust beyond the things thou seest.

For many things there be upon this earth 480

Unblest and fallen from beauty, to mislead

Man's mind, and in a shadow justify

The evil thoughts and deeds that work his ill;

Fear, hatred, lust and strife, which, if man question

The heavenborn spirit within him, are not there.

Yet are they bold of face, and Zeus himself,

Seeing that Mischief held her head on high,

Lest she should go beyond his power to quell

And draw the inevitable Fate that waits

On utmost ill, himself preventing Fate 490

Hasted to drown the world, and now would crush

Thy little remnant: but among the gods

Is one whose love and courage stir for thee;

Who being of manlike spirit, by many shifts

Has stayed the hand of the enemy, who crieth

Thy world is not destroyed, thy good shall live:

Thou hast more power for good than Zeus for ill,

More courage, justice, more abundant art,{18}

More love, more joy, more reason: though around thee

Rank-rooting evil bloom with poisonous crown, 500

Though wan and dolorous and crooked things

Have made their home with thee, thy good shall live.

Know thy desire: and know that if thou seek it,

And seek, and seek, and fear not, thou shall find.

Sem. (youths). Is this a god that speaketh thus? Sem. (maidens). He speaketh as a man In love or great affliction yields his soul. In. Thou, whencesoe'er thou comest, whoe'er thou art, Who breakest on our solemn sacrifice With solemn words, I pray thee not depart 510 Till thou hast told me more. This fire I seek Not for myself, whose thin and silvery hair Tells that my toilsome age nears to its end, But for my children and the aftertime, For great the need thereof, wretched our state; Nay, set by what has been, our happiness Is very want, so that what now is not Is but the measure of what yet may be. And first are barest needs, which well I know Fire would supply, but I have hope beyond, 520 That Nature in recovering her right Would kinder prove to man who seeks to learn Her secrets and unfold the cause of life. So tell me, if thou knowest, what is fire? Doth earth contain it? or, since from the sun Fire reaches us, since in the glimmering stars And pallid moon, in lightning, and the glance Of tracking meteors that at nightfall show How in the air a thousand sightless things Travel, and ever on their windswift course 530 Flame when they list and into darkness go— Since in all these a fiery nature dwells, Is fire an airy essence, a thing of heaven, That, could we poise it, were an alien power{19} To make our wisdom less, our wonder more? Pr. Thy wish to know is good, and happy is he Who thus from chance and change has launched his mind To dwell for ever with undisturbèd truth. This high ambition doth not prompt his hand To crime, his right and pleasure are not wronged 540 By folly of his fellows, nor his eye Dimmed by the griefs that move the tears of men. Son of the earth, and citizen may be Of Argos or of Athens and her laws, But still the eternal nature, where he looks, O'errules him with the laws which laws obey, And in her heavenly city enrols his heart. In. Thus ever have I held of happiness, The child of heavenly truth, and thus have found it In prayer and meditation and still thought, 550 And thus my peace of mind based on a floor That doth not quaver like the joys of sense: Those I possess enough in seeing my slaves And citizens enjoy, having myself Tasted for once and put their sweets away. But of that heavenly city, of which thou sayest Her laws o'errule us, have I little learnt, For when my wandering spirit hath dared alone The unearthly terror of her voiceless halls, She hath fallen from delight, and without guide 560 Turned back, and from her errand fled for fear. Pr. Think not that thou canst all things know, nor deem Such knowledge happiness: the all-knowing Fates No pleasure have, who sit eternally Spinning the unnumbered threads that Time hath woven, And weaves, upgathering in his furthest house To store from sight; but what 'tis joy to learn Or use to know, that may'st thou ask of right. In. Then tell me, for thou knowest, what is fire? Pr. Know then, O king, that this fair earth of men, 570{20} The Olympus of the gods, and all the heavens Are lesser kingdoms of the boundless space Wherein Fate rules; they have their several times, Their seasons and the limit of their thrones, And from the nature of eternal things Springing, themselves are changed; even as the trees Or birds or beasts of earth, which now arise To being, now in turn decay and die. The heaven and earth thou seest, for long were held By Fire, a raging power, to whom the Fates 580 Decreed a slow diminishing old age, But to his daughter, who is that gentle goddess, Queen of the clear and azure firmament, In heaven called Hygra, but by mortals Air, To her, the child of his slow doting years, Was given a beauteous youth, not long to outlast His life, but be the pride of his decay, And win to gentler sway his lost domains. And when the day of time arrived, when Air Took o'er from her decrepit sire the third 590 Of the Sun's kingdoms, the one-moonèd earth, Straight came she down to her inheritance. Gaze on the sun with thine unshaded eye And shrink from what she saw. Forests of fire Whose waving trunks, sucking their fuel, reared In branched flame roaring, and their torrid shades Aye underlit with fire. The mountains lifted And fell and followed like a running sea, And from their swelling flanks spumed froth of fire; Or, like awakening monsters, mighty mounds 600 Rose on the plain awhile. Sem. (maidens). He discovers a foe. Sem. (youths). An enemy he paints. Pr. These all she quenched, Or charmed their fury into the dens and bowels Of earth to smoulder, there the vital heat{21} To hold for her creation, which then—to her aid Summoning high Reason from his home in heaven— She wrought anew upon the temperate lands. Sem. (maidens). 'Twas well Air won this kingdom of her sire. Sem. (youths). Now say how made she green this home of fire. Pr. The waters first she brought, that in their streams And pools and seas innumerable things 611 Brought forth, from whence she drew the fertile seeds Of trees and plants, and last of footed life, That wandered forth, and roaming to and fro, The rejoicing earth peopled with living sound. Reason advised, and Reason praised her toil; Which when she had done she gave him thanks, and said, 'Fair comrade, since thou praisest what is done, Grant me this favour ere thou part from me: Make thou one fair thing for me, which shall suit 620 With what is made, and be the best of all.' 'Twas evening, and that night Reason made man. Sem. (maidens). Children of Air are we, and live by fire. Sem. (youths). The sons of Reason dwelling on the earth. Sem. (maidens). Folk of a pleasant kingdom held between Fire's reign of terror and the latter day When dying, soon in turn his child must die. Sem. (youths). Having a wise creator, above time Or youth or change, from whom our kind inherit The grace and pleasure of the eternal gods. 630 In. But how came gods to rule this earth of Air? Pr. They also were her children who first ruled, Cronos, Iapetus, Hypérion, Theia and Rhea, and other mighty names That are but names—whom Zeus drave out from heaven, And with his tribe sits on their injured thrones.{22} In. There is no greater god in heaven than he. Pr. Nor none more cruel nor more tyrannous. In. But what can man against the power of god? Pr. Doth not man strive with him? thyself dost pray. In. That he may pardon our contrarious deeds. 641 Pr. Alas! Alas! what more contrarious deed, What greater miracle of wrong than this, That man should know his good and take it not? To what god wilt thou pray to pardon this? In vain was reason given, if man therewith Shame truth, and name it wisdom to cry down The unschooled promptings of his best desire. The beasts that have no speech nor argument Confute him, and the wild hog in the wood 650 That feels his longing, hurries straight thereto, And will not turn his head. In. How mean'st thou this? Pr. Thou hast desired the good, and now canst feel How hard it is to kill the heart's desire. In. Shall Inachus rise against Zeus, as he Rose against Cronos and made war in heaven? Pr. I say not so, yet, if thou didst rebel, The tongue that counselled Zeus should counsel thee. Sem. (maidens). This is strange counsel. Sem. (youths). He is not A counsellor for gods or men. 660 In. O that I knew where I might counsel find, That one were sent, nay, were't the least of all The myriad messengers of heaven, to me! One that should say 'This morn I stood with Zeus, He hath heard thy prayer and sent me: ask a boon, What thing thou wilt, it shall be given thee.' Pr. What wouldst thou say to such a messenger? In. No need to ask then what I now might ask, How 'tis the gods, if they have care for mortals, Slubber our worst necessities—and the boon, 670{23} No need to tell him that. Pr. Now, king, thou seest Zeus sends no messenger, but I am here. In. Thy speech is hard, and even thy kindest words Unkind. If fire thou hast, in thee 'tis kind To proffer it: but thou art more unkind Yoking heaven's wrath therewith. Nay, and how knowest thou Zeus will be angry if I take of it? Thou art a prophet: ay, but of the prophets Some have been taken in error, and honest time Has honoured many with forgetfulness. 680 I'll make this proof of thee; Show me thy fire— Nay, give't me now—if thou be true at all, Be true so far: for the rest there's none will lose, Nor blame thee being false—where is thy fire? Pr. O rather, had it thus been mine to give, I would have given it thus: not adding aught Of danger or diminishment or loss; So strong is my goodwill; nor less than this My knowledge, but in knowledge all my power. Yet since wise guidance with a little means 690 Can more than force unminded, I have skill To conjure evil and outcompass strength. Now give I thee my best, a little gift To work a world of wonder; 'tis thine own Of long desire, and with it I will give The cunning of invention and all arts In which thy hand instructed may command, Interpret, comfort, or ennoble nature; With all provision that in wisdom is, And what prevention in foreknowledge lies. 700 In. Great is the gain. Pr. O king, the gain is thine, The penalty I more than share. In. Enough,{24} I take thy gift; nor hast thou stood more firm To every point of thy strange chequered tale, Revealing, threatening, offering more and more, And never all, than I to this resolve. Pr. I knew thy heart would fail not at the hour. In. Nay, failed I now, what were my years of toil More than the endurance of a harnessed brute, Flogged to his daily work, that cannot view 710 The high design to which his labour steps? And I of all men were dishonoured most Shrinking in fear, who never shrank from toil, And found abjuring, thrusting stiffly back, The very gift for which I stretched my hands. What though I suffer? are these wintry years Of growing desolation to be held As cherishable as the suns of spring? Nay, only joyful can they be in seeing Long hopes accomplished, long desires fulfilled. 720 And since thou hast touched ambition on the side Of nobleness, and stirred my proudest hope, And wilt fulfil this, shall I count the cost? Rather decay will triumph, and cold death Be lapped in glory, seeing strength arise From weakness, from the tomb go forth a flame. Pr. 'Tis well; thou art exalted now, the grace Becomes thy valiant spirit. In. Lo! on this day Which hope despaired to see, hope manifests A vision bright as were the dreams of youth; 730 When life was easy as a sleeper's faith Who swims in the air and dances on the sea; When all the good that scarce by toil is won, Or not at all is won, is as a flower Growing in plenty to be plucked at will: Is it a dream again or is it truth, This vision fair of Greece inhabited?{25} A fairer sight than all fair Iris sees, Footing her airy arch of colours spun From Ida to Olympus, when she stays 740 To look on Greece and thinks the sight is fair; Far fairer now, clothed with the works of men. Pr. Ay, fairer far: for nature's varied pleasaunce Without man's life is but a desert wild, Which most, where most she mocks him, needs his aid. She knows her silence sweeter when it girds His murmurous cities, her wide wasteful curves Larger beside his economic line; Or what can add a mystery to the dark, As doth his measured music when it moves 750 With rhythmic sweetness through the void of night? Nay, all her loveliest places are but grounds Of vantage, where with geometric hand, True square and careful compass he may come To plan and plant and spread abroad his towers, His gardens, temples, palaces and tombs. And yet not all thou seest, with trancèd eye Looking upon the beauty that shall be, The temple-crownèd heights, the wallèd towns, Farms and cool summer seats, nor the broad ways 760 That bridge the rivers and subdue the mountains, Nor all that travels on them, pomp or war Or needful merchandise, nor all the sails Piloting over the wind-dappled blue Of the summer-soothed Ægean, to thy mind Can picture what shall be: these are the face And form of beauty, but her heart and life Shall they be who shall see it, born to shield A happier birthright with intrepid arms, To tread down tyranny and fashion forth 770 A virgin wisdom to subdue the world, To build for passion an eternal song, To shape her dreams in marble, and so sweet{26} Their speech, that envious Time hearkening shall stay In fear to snatch, and hide his rugged hand. Now is the birthday of thy conquering youth, O man, and lo! Thy priest and prophet stand Beside the altar and have blessed the day. In. Ay, blessed be this day. Where is thy fire? Or is aught else to do, ere I may take? 780 Pr. This was my message, speak and there is fire. In. There shall be fire. Await me here awhile. I go to acquaint my house, and bring them forth.

[Exit.

Chorus.

Hearken, O Argos, hearken!

There will be fire.

And thou, O Earth, give ear!

There will be fire.

Sem. (maidens). Who shall be sent to fetch this fire for the king? Sem. (youths). Shall we put forth in boats to reap, And shall the waves for harvest yield 790 The rootless flames that nimbly leap Upon their ever-shifting field? Sem. (maidens). Or we in olive-groves go shake And beat the fruiting sprays, till all The silv'ry glitter which they make Beneath into our baskets fall? Sem. (youths). To bind in sheaves and bear away The white unshafted darts of day? Sem. (maidens). And from the shadow one by one Pick up the playful oes of sun? 800 Sem. (youths). Or wouldst thou mine a passage deep Until the darksome fire is found, Which prisoned long in seething sleep Vexes the caverns underground? Sem. (maidens). Or bid us join our palms perchance,{27} To cup the slant and chinkèd beam, Which mounting morn hath sent to dance Across our chamber while we dream? Sem. (youths). Say whence and how shall we fetch this fire for the king? Our hope is impatient of vain debating. 810 Sem. (maidens). My heart is stirred at the name of the wondrous thing, And trembles awaiting.

ODE.

A coy inquisitive spirit, the spirit of wonder,

Possesses the child in his cradle, when mortal things

Are new, yet a varied surface and nothing under.

It busies the mind on trifles and toys and brings

Her grasp from nearer to further, from smaller to greater,

And slowly teaches flight to her fledgeling wings.

Where'er she flutters and falls surprises await her:

She soars, and beauty's miracles open in sight, 820

The flowers and trees and beasts of the earth ; and later

The skies of day, the moon and the stars of night;

'Neath which she scarcely venturing goes demurely,

With mystery clad, in the awe of depth and height.

O happy for still unconscious, for ah ! how surely,

How soon and surely will disenchantment come,

When first to herself she boasts to walk securely,

And drives the master spirit away from his home;

Seeing the marvellous things that make the morning

Are marvels of every-day, familiar, and some 830

Have lost with use, like earthly robes, their adorning,

As earthly joys the charm of a first delight,

And some are fallen from awe to neglect and scorning;

Until—

O tarry not long, dear needed sprite!{28}

Till thou, though uninvited, with fancy returnest

To hallow beauty and make the dull heart bright:

To inhabit again thy gladdened kingdom in earnest;

Wherein—

from the smile of beauty afar forecasting

The pleasure of god, thou livest at peace and yearnest

With wonder everlasting. 840

SECOND PART

Re-enter from the palace Inachus, with Argeia and Io.

INACHUS.

That but a small and easy thing now seems,

Which from my house when I came forth at noon

A dream was and beyond the reach of man.

'Tis now a fancy of the will, a word,

Liberty's lightest prize. Yet still as one

Who loiters on the threshold of delight,

Delaying pleasure for the love of pleasure,

I dally—Come, Argeia, and share my triumph!

And set our daughter by thee; though her eyes

Are young, there are no eyes this day so young 850

As shall forget this day—while one thing more

I ask of thee; this evil, will it light

On me or on my house or on mankind?

Pr. Scarce on mankind, O Inachus, for Zeus

A second time failing will not again

Measure his spite against their better fate.

And now the terror, which awhile o'er Earth

Its black wings spread, shall up to Heaven ascend

And gnaw the tyrant's heart: for there is whispered

A word gone forth to scare the mighty gods; 860

How one must soon be born, and born of men,{29}

Who shall drive out their impious host from heaven,

And from their skyey dwellings rule mankind

In truth and love. So scarce on man will fall

This evil, nay, nor on thyself, O king;

Thy name shall live an honoured name in Greece.

In. Then on my house 'twill be. Know'st thou no more?

Pr. Know I no more? Ay, if my purpose fail

'Tis not for lack of knowing: if I suffer,

'Tis not that poisonous fear hath slurred her task, 870

Or let brave resolution walk unarmed.

My ears are callous to the threats of Zeus,

The direful penalties his oath hath laid

On every good that I in heart and hand

Am sworn to accomplish, and for all his threats,

Lest their accomplishment should outrun mine,

Am bound the more. Nay, nor his evil minions,

Nor force, nor strength, shall bend me to his will.

ARGEIA.

Alas, alas, what heavy words are these,

That in the place of joy forbid your tongue, 880

That cloud and change his face, while desperate sorrow

Sighs in his heart? I came to share a triumph:

All is dismay and terror. What is this?

In. True, wife, I spake of triumph, and I told thee

The winter-withering hope of my whole life

Has flower'd to-day in amaranth: what the hope

Thou knowest, who hast shared; but the condition

I told thee not and thou hast heard: this prophet,

Who comes to bring us fire, hath said that Zeus

Wills not the gift he brings, and will be wroth 890

With us that take it.

Ar. O doleful change, I came

In pious purpose, nay, I heard within

The hymn to glorious Zeus: I rose and said,

The mighty god now bends, he thrusts aside{30}

His heavenly supplicants to hear the prayer

Of Inachus his servant; let him hear.

O let him turn away now lest he hear.

Nay, frown not on me; though a woman's voice

That counsels is but heard impatiently,

Yet by thy love, and by the sons I bare thee, 900

By this our daughter, our last ripening fruit,

By our long happiness and hope of more,

Hear me and let me speak.

In. Well, wife, speak on.

Ar. Thy voice forbids more than thy words invite:

Yet say whence comes this stranger. Know'st thou not?

Yet whencesoe'er, if he but wish us well,

He will not bound his kindness in a day.

Do nought in haste. Send now to Sicyon

And fetch thy son Phorôneus, for his stake

In this is more than thine, and he is wise. 910

'Twere well Phorôneus and Ægialeus

Were both here: maybe they would both refuse

The strange conditions which this stranger brings.

Were we not happy too before he came?

Doth he not offer us unhappiness?

Bid him depart, and at some other time,

When you have well considered, then return.

In. 'Tis his conditions that we now shall hear.

Ar. O hide them yet! Are there not tales enough

Of what the wrathful gods have wrought on men? 920

Nay, 'twas this very fire thou now wouldst take,

Which vain Salmoneus, son of Æolus,

Made boast to have, and from his rattling car

Threw up at heaven to mock the lightning. Him

The thunderer stayed not to deride, but sent

One blinding fork, that in the vacant sky

Shook like a serpent's tongue, which is but seen

In memory, and he was not, or for burial

Rode with the ashes of his royal city{31}

Upon the whirlwind of the riven air. 930

And after him his brother Athamas,

King of Orchomenos, in frenzy fell

For Hera's wrath, and raving killed his son;

And would have killed fair Ino, but that she fled

Into the sea, preferring there to woo

The choking waters, rather than that the arm

Which had so oft embraced should do her wrong.

For which old crimes the gods yet unappeased

Demand a sacrifice, and the king's son

Dreads the priest's knife, and all the city mourns. 940

Or shall I say what shameful fury it was

With which Poseidon smote Pasiphaë,

But for neglect of a recorded vow:

Or how Actæon fared of Artemis

When he surprised her, most himself surprised:

And even while he looked his boasted bow

Fell from his hands, and through his veins there ran

A strange oblivious trouble, darkening sense

Till he knew nothing but a hideous fear

Which bade him fly, and faster, as behind 950

He heard his hounds give tongue, that through the wood

Were following, closing, caught him and tore him down.

And many more thus perished in their prime;

Lycaon and his fifty sons, whom Zeus

In their own house spied on, and unawares

Watching at hand, from his disguise arose.

And overset the table where they sat

Around their impious feast and slew them all:

Alcyonè and Ceyx, queen and king,

Who for their arrogance were changed to birds: 960

And Cadmus now a serpent, once a king:

And saddest Niobe, whom not the love

Of Leto aught availed, when once her boast

Went out, though all her crime was too much pride

Of heaven's most precious gift, her children fair.{32}

Six daughters had she, and six stalwart sons;

But Leto bade her two destroy the twelve.

And somewhere now, among lone mountain rocks

On Sipylus, where couch the nymphs at night

Who dance all day by Achelous' stream, 970

The once proud mother lies, herself a rock,

And in cold breast broods o'er the goddess' wrong.

In. Now hush thy fear. See how thou tremblest still.

Or if thou fear, fear passion; for the freshes

Of tenderness and motherly love will drown

The eye of judgment: yet, since even excess

Of the soft quality fits woman well,

I praise thee; nor would ask thee less to aid

With counsel, than in love to share my choice.

Tho' weak thy hands to poise, thine eye may mark 980

This balance, how the good of all outweighs

The good of one or two, though these be us.

Let not reluctance shame the sacrifice

Which in another thou wert first to praise.

Ar. Alas for me, for thee and for our children,

Who, being our being, having all our having,

If they fare ill, our pride lies in the dust.

In. O deem not a man's children are but those

Out of his loins engendered—our spirit's love

Hath such prolific consequence, that Virtue 990

Cometh of ancestry more pure than blood,

And counts her seed as sand upon the shore.

Happy is he whose body's sons proclaim

Their father's honour, but more blest to whom

The world is dutiful, whose children spring

Out of all nations, and whose pride the proud

Rise to regenerate when they call him sire.

Ar. Thus, husband, ever have I bought and buy

Nobleness cheaply being linked with thee.

Forgive my weakness; see, I now am bold; 1000

Tell me the worst I'll hear and wish 'twere more.{33}

In. Retire—thy tears perchance may stir again.

Ar. Nay, I am full of wonder and would hear.

Pr. Bid me not tell if ye have fear to hear;

But have no fear. Knowledge of future things

Can nothing change man's spirit: and though he seem

To aim his passion darkly, like a shaft

Shot toward some fearful sound in thickest night,

He hath an owl's eye, and must blink at day.

The springs of memory, that feed alike 1010

His thought and action, draw from furthest time

Their constant source, and hardly brook constraint

Of actual circumstance, far less attend

On glassed futurity; nay, death itself,

His fate unquestioned, his foretasted pain,

The certainty foreknown of things unknown,

Cannot discourage his habitual being

In its appointed motions, to make waver

His eager hand, nor loosen the desire

Of the most feeble melancholy heart 1020

Even from the unhopefullest of all her dreams.

In. Since then I long to know, now something say

Of what will come to mine when I am gone.

Pr. And let the maid too hear, for 'tis of her

I speak, to tell her whither she should turn

The day ye drive her forth from hearth and home.

In. What say'st thou? drive her out? and we? from home?

Banish the comfort of our eyes? Nay rather

Believe that these obedient hands will tear

The heart out of my breast, ere it do this. 1030

Pr. When her wild cries arouse the house at night,

And, running to her bed, ye see her set

Upright in trancèd sleep, her starting hair

With deathly sweat bedewed, in horror shaking,

Her eyeballs fixed upon the unbodied dark,

Through which a draping mist of luminous gloom{34}

Drifts from her couch away—when, if asleep,

She walks as if awake, and if awake

Dreams, and as one who nothing hears or sees,

Lives in a sick and frantic mood, whose cause 1040

She understands not or is loth to tell—

Ar. Ah, ah, my child, my child!—Dost thou feel aught?

Speak to me—nay, 'tis nothing—hearken not.

Pr. Ye then distraught with sorrow, neither knowing

Whether to save were best or lose, will seek

Apollo's oracle.

In. And what the answer?

Will it discover nought to avert this sorrow?

Pr. Or else thy whole race perish root and branch.

In. Alas! Alas!

Pr. Yet shall she live though lost; from human form

Changed, that thou wilt not know thy daughter more. 1051

In. Woe, woe! my thought was praying for her death.

Pr. In Hera's temple shall her prison be

At high Mycenæ, till from heaven be sent

Hermes, with song to soothe and sword to slay

The beast whose hundred eyes devour the door.

In. Enough, enough is told, unless indeed,

The beast once slain, thou canst restore our child.

Pr. Nay, with her freedom will her wanderings

Begin. Come hither, child—nay, let her come: 1060

What words remain to speak will not offend her.

And shall in memory quicken, when she looks

To learn where she should go;—for go she must,

Stung by the venomous fly, whose angry flight

She still will hear about her, till she come

To lay her sevenfold-carried burden down

Upon the Æthiop shore where he shall reign.

In. But say—say first, what form—

Pr. In snow-white hide

Of those that feel the goad and wear the yoke. 1069

In. Round-hoofed, or such as tread with cloven foot?{35}

Pr. Wide-horned, large-eyed, broad-fronted, and the feet

Cloven which carry her to her far goal.

In. Will that of all these evils be the term?

Pr. Ay, but the journey first which she must learn.

Hear now, my child; the day when thou art free,

Leaving the lion-gate, descend and strike

The Trêtan road to Nemea, skirting wide

The unhunted forest o'er the watered plain

To walled Cleônæ, whence the traversed stream

To Corinth guides: there enter not, but pass 1080

To narrow Isthmus, where Poseidon won

A country from Apollo, and through the town

Of Crommyon, till along the robber's road

Pacing, thy left eye meet the westering sun

O'er Geraneia, and thou reach the hill

Of Megara, where Car thy brother's babe

In time shall rule; next past Eleusis climb

Stony Panactum and the pine-clad slopes

Of Phyle; shun the left-hand way, and keep

The rocks; the second day thy feet shall tread 1090

The plains of Græa, whence the roadway serves

Aulis and Mycalessus to the point

Of vext Euripus: fear not then the stream,

Nor scenting think to taste, but plunging in

Breast its salt current to the further shore.

For on this island mayst thou lose awhile

Thy maddening pest, and rest and pasture find,

And from the heafs of bold Macistus see

The country left and sought: but when thou feel

Thy torment urge, move down, recross the flood, 1100

And west by Harma's fencèd gap arrive

At seven-gated Thebes: thy friendly goddess

Ongan Athenè has her seat without.

Chor. Now if she may not stay thy toilsome destined steps,

I pray that she may slay for thee the maddening fly.{36}

Pr. Keep not her sanctuary long, but seek

Bœotian Ascra, where the Muses' fount,

Famed Aganippè, wells: Ocalea

Pass, and Tilphusa's northern steeps descend

By Alalcomenæ, the goddess' town. 1110

Guard now the lake's low shore, till thou have crossed

Hyrcana and Cephissus, the last streams

Which feed its reedy pools, when thou shalt come

Between two mountains that enclose the way

By peakèd Abæ to Hyampolis.

The right-hand path that thither parts the vale

Opes to Cyrtonè and the Locrian lands;

Toward Elateia thou, where o'er the marsh

A path with stones is laid; and thence beyond

To Thronium, Tarphè, and Thermopylæ, 1120

Where rocky Lamia views the Maliac gulf.

Chor. If further she should go, will she not see

That other Argos, the Dodonian land?

Pr. Crossing the Phthian hills thou next shall reach

Pharsalus, and Olympus' peakèd snows

Shall guide thee o'er the green Pelasgic plains

For many a day, but to Argissa come

Let old Peneius thy slow pilot be

Through Tempè, till they turn upon his left

Crowning the wooded slopes with splendours bare. 1130

Thence issuing forth on the Pierian shore

Northward of Ossa thou shalt touch the lands

Of Macedon.

Chor. Alas, we wish thee speed,

But bid thee here farewell; for out of Greece

Thou goest 'mongst the folk whose chattering speech

Is like the voice of birds, nor home again

Wilt thou return.

Pr. Thy way along the coast

Lies till it southward turn, when thou shalt seek

Where wide on Strymon's plain the hindered flood{37} Spreads like a lake; thy course to his oppose 1140 And face him to the mountain whence he comes: Which doubled, Thrace receives thee: barbarous names Of mountain, town and river, and a people Strange to thine eyes and ears, the Agathyrsi, Of pictured skins, who owe no marriage law, And o'er whose gay-spun garments sprent with gold Their hanging hair is blue. Their torrent swim That measures Europe in two parts, and go Eastward along the sea, to mount the lands Beyond man's dwelling, and the rising steeps 1150 That face the sun untrodden and unnamed.— Know to earth's verge remote thou then art come, The Scythian tract and wilderness forlorn, Through whose rude rocks and frosty silences No path shall guide thee then, nor my words now. There as thou toilest o'er the treacherous snows, A sound then thou shall hear to stop thy breath, And prick thy trembling ears; a far-off cry, Whose throat seems the white mountain and its passion The woe of earth. Flee not, nor turn not back: 1160 Let thine ears drink and guide thine eyes to see That sight whose terrors shall assuage thy terror, Whose pain shall kill thy pain. Stretched on the rock, Naked to scorching sun, to pinching frost, To wind and storm and beaks of wingèd fiends From year to year he lies. Refrain to ask His name and crime—nay, haply when thou see him Thou wilt remember—'tis thy tyrant's foe, Man's friend, who pays his chosen penalty. Draw near, my child, for he will know thy need, 1170 And point from land to land thy further path.