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Cover thy spacious heavens, Zeus,

With clouds of mist,

And, like the boy who lops

The thistles' heads,

Disport with oaks and mountain-peaks;

Yet thou must leave

My earth still standing;

My cottage too, which was not raised by thee,

Leave me my hearth,

Whose kindly glow

By thee is envied.

I know nought poorer

Under the sun, than ye gods!

Ye nourish painfully,

With sacrifices

And votive prayers,

Your majesty;

Ye would e'en starve,

If children and beggars

Were not trusting fools.

While yet a child,

And ignorant of life,

I turned my wandering gaze

Up tow'rd the sun, as if with him

There were an ear to hear my wailing,

A heart, like mine

To feel compassion for distress.

Who help'd me

Against the Titans' insolence?

Who rescued me from certain death,

From slavery?

Didst thou not do all this thyself,

My sacred glowing heart?

And glowedst, young and good,

Deceived with grateful thanks

To yonder slumbering one?

I honor thee! and why?

Hast thou e'er lighten'd the sorrows

Of the heavy laden?

Hast thou e'er dried up the tears

[Illustration: PROMETHEUS Titian.]

Of the anguish-stricken?

Was I not fashion'd to be a man

By omnipotent Time,

And by eternal Fate,

Masters of me and thee?

Didst thou e'er fancy

That life I should learn to hate,

And fly to deserts,

Because not all

My blossoming dreams grew ripe?

Here sit I, forming mortals

After my image;

A race resembling me,

To suffer, to weep,

To enjoy, to be glad,

And thee to scorn,

As I!