PKOMETHEUS. 



Enviil thine heaven, Zeus, with vaporous cloud. 



And practise, like a boy beheading thistle*, 



On oaks and mountain summits ; 



Yet must thou let my earth alone to stand, 



And these my dwellings, which thou didst not baiki ; 



And these my flocks, for whose bright glow 



Thou enviest me. 



I know not au^ht more wretched 



Beneath the sun than you, ye Gods ! 



Who nourish piteously, 



With tax of sacrifice and reek of prayer; your glory 



Would starve, if children were not yet, and suppliant*, 



So full of hope — and fools. 



When I was young, and knew not whence nor whither, 



I used to turn my dazzled eyes to the gun, 



As if above me were 



An ear to listen to my crying, 



A heart, like mine, to pity those oppress'd. 



Who aided me against the Titans' arrogance ? 



Who rescued me from death, from slavery ? 



'Tis thou alone hast wrought it all, thou holy, glowing* heart. 



Thou didst glow young and fresh, though cheated ; thanks tot 



saving 

 That slumbering one above. 



Why ifeould I honour thee ? 



Hast thou e'er lighten'd the woes of the laden ones ? 



Hast thou e'er dried the tears of the sorrowful? 



It was not thou who welded me to manhood, 



But Time the almighty, Fate the everlasting, 



liy Lords and thine. 



