PROMETHEUS. 



ENVEIL thine heaven, Zeus, with vaporous cloud, 



And practise, like a boy beheading thistles, 



On oaks and mountain summits ; 



Yet must thou let my earth alone to stand, 



And these my dwellings, which thou didst not build, 



And these my flocks, for whose bright glow 



Thou enviest me. 



I know not aught 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 suppliants, 



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 sun, 



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 thon alone hast wrought it all, thou holy, glowing heart. 



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



saving 

 That slumbering one above. 



Why should 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, 

 My Lords and thine. 



