Aeschylus (525–456 B.C.). Prometheus Bound.rn The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
Lines 1–399
We now are come,—the track as Skythian known,
A desert inaccessible: and now,
Hephæstos, it is thine to do the hests
The Father gave thee, to these lofty crags
To bind this crafty trickster fast in chains
Of adamantine bonds that none can break;
For he, thy choice flower stealing, the bright glory
Of fire that all arts spring from, hath bestowed it
On mortal men. And so for fault like this
He now must pay the Gods due penalty,
That he may learn to bear the sovereign rule
Of Zeus, and cease from his philanthropy.
As far as touches you, attains its end,
And nothing hinders. Yet my courage fails
To bind a God of mine own kin by force
To this bare rock where tempests wildly sweep;
And yet I needs must muster courage for it:
’Tis no slight thing the Father’s words to scorn.
O thou of Themis [to P
Full deep of purpose, lo! against my will,
I fetter thee against thy will with bonds
Of bronze that none can loose, the this lone height,
Where thou shalt know nor voice nor face of man,
But scorching in the hot blaze of the sun,
Shalt lose thy skin’s fair beauty. Thou shalt long
For starry-mantled night to hide day’s sheen,
For sun to melt the rime of early dawn;
And evermore the weight of present ill
Shall wear thee down. Unborn as yet is he
Who shall release thee: this the fate thou gain’st
As due reward for thy philanthropy.
For thou, a God not fearing wrath of Gods,
In thy transgression gav’st their power to men;
And therefore on this rock of little ease
Thou still shalt keep thy watch, nor lying down,
Nor knowing sleep, nor ever bending knee;
And many groans and wailings profitless
Thy lips shall utter; for the mind of Zeus
Remains inexorable. Who holds a power
But newly gained is ever stern of mood.
Why dost not hate a God to Gods a foe,
Who gave thy choicest prize to mortal men?
How may that be? Is not that fear the worse?
Spend not thy toil on things that profit not.
That craft of thine is not one whit the cause.
For none but Zeus can boast of freedom true.
Lest He, the Father, see thee loitering here?
Strike with thine hammer; nail him to the rocks.
A wondrous knack has he to find resource,
Even where all might seem to baffle him.
May learn, though sharp, that he than Zeus is duller.
Right through his chest with all the strength thou hast.
Ere long with cause thyself commiserate.
Nay, cast thy breast-chains round about his ribs.
Go thou below and rivet both his legs.
Thou hast a stern o’erlooker of thy work.
For my self-will and wrath and ruthlessness.
belongs
To the Gods, to mortals give it. What can they
Avail to rescue thee from these thy woes?
Falsely the Gods have given thee thy name,
Prometheus, Forethought; forethought thou dost need
To free thyself from this rare handiwork.[Exeunt H
Ye springs of rivers, and of ocean waves
O Earth, and Sun’s all-seeing eye, behold,
I pray, what I, a God, from Gods endure.
Behold in what foul case
I for ten thousand years
Shall struggle in my woe,
In these unseemly chains.
Such doom the new-made Monarch of the Blest
Hath now devised for me.
Woe, woe! The present and the oncoming pang
I wail, as I search out
The place and hour when end of all these ills
Shall dawn on me at last.
What say I? All too clearly I foresee
The things that come, and nought of pain shall be
By me unlooked-for; but I needs must bear
My destiny as best I may, knowing well
The might resistless of Necessity.
And neither may I speak of this my fate,
Nor hold my peace. For I, poor I, through giving
Great gifts to mortal men, am prisoner made
In these fast fetters; yea, in fennel stalk
I snatched the hidden spring of stolen fire,
Which is to men a teacher of all arts,
Their chief resource. And now this penalty
Of that offence I pay, fast riveted
In chains beneath the open firmament.
Ha! ha! What now?
What sound, what odour floats invisibly?
Is it of God or man, or blending both?
And has one come to this remotest rock
Behold me bound, a God to evil doomed,
The foe of Zeus, and held
In hatred by all Gods
Who tread the courts of Zeus:
And this for my great love,
Too great, for mortal men.
Ah me! what rustling sounds
Hear I of birds not far?
With the light whirr of wings
The air re-echoeth:
All that draws nigh to me is cause of fear.
All our array of wings
In eager race hath come
To this high peak, full hardly gaining o’er
Our Father’s mind and will;
And the swift-rushing breezes bore me on:
For lo! the echoing sound of blows on iron
Pierced to our cave’s recess, and put to flight
My shamefast modesty,
And I in unshod haste, on winged car,
To thee rushed hitherward.
Offspring of Tethys blest with many a child,
Daughters of Old Okeanos that rolls
Round all the earth with never-sleeping stream,
Behold ye me, and see
With what chains fettered fast,
I on the topmost crags of this ravine
Shall keep my sentry-post unenviable.
Of fear and full of tears comes o’er mine eyes,
Writhing on these high rocks
In adamantine ills.
New pilots now o’er high Olympos rule,
And with new-fashioned laws
Zeus reigns, down-trampling Right,
And all the ancient powers He sweeps away.
Home of the dead, far down to Tartaros
Unfathomable He in fetters fast
In wrath had hurled me down:
So neither had a God
Nor any other mocked at these my woes;
But now, the wretched plaything of the winds,
I suffer ills at which my foes rejoice.
Is so hard-hearted as to joy in this?
Who, Zeus excepted, doth not pity thee
In these thine ills? But He,
Ruthless, with soul unbent,
Subdues the heavenly host, nor will He cease
Until His heart be satiate with power,
Or some one seize with subtle stratagem
The sovran might that so resistless seemed.
In massive fetters bound,
The Ruler of the Gods
Shall yet have need of me, yes, e’en of me,
To tell the counsel new
That seeks to strip from Him
His sceptre and His might of sovereignty.
In vain will He with words
Or suasion’s honeyed charms
Soothe me, nor will I tell
Through fear of His stern threats,
From these my bonds, and make,
Of His own choice, amends
For all these outrages.
In not a jot to bitterest form of woe;
Thou art o’er-free and reckless in thy speech:
But piercing fear hath stirred
My inmost soul to strife;
For I fear greatly touching thy distress,
As to what haven of these woes of thine
Thou now must steer: the son of Cronos hath
A stubborn mood and heart inexorable.
And keeps the Right supremely to Himself;
But then, I trow, He’ll be
Full pliant in His will,
When He is thus crushed down.
Then, calming down His mood
Of hard and bitter wrath,
He’ll hasten unto me,
As I to Him shall haste,
For friendship and for peace.
For what offence Zeus, having seized thee thus,
So wantonly and bitterly insults thee:
If the tale hurt thee not, inform thou us.
Painful is silence; everywhere is woe.
For when the high Gods fell on mood of wrath
And hot debate of mutual strife was stirred,
Some wishing to hurl Cronos from his throne,
That Zeus, forsooth, might reign; while others strove,
Eager that Zeus might never rule the Gods:
Then I, full strongly seeking to persuade
The Titans, yea, the sons of Heaven and Earth,
Failed of my purpose. Scorning subtle arts,
With counsels violent, they thought that they
By force would gain full easy mastery.
And earth, one form though bearing many names,
Had prophesied the future, how ’twould run,
That not by strength nor yet by violence,
But guile, should those who prospered gain the day.
And when in my words I this counsel gave,
They deigned not e’en to glance at it at all.
And then of all that offered, it seemed best
To join my mother, and of mine own will,
Not against His will, take my side with Zeus,
And by my counsels, mine, the dark deep pit
Of Tartaros the ancient Cronos holds,
Himself and his allies. Thus profiting
By me, the mighty ruler of the Gods
Repays me with these evil penalties:
For somehow this disease in sovereignty
Inheres, of never trusting to one’s friends.
And since ye ask me under what pretence
He thus maltreats me, I will show it you:
For soon as He upon His father’s throne
Had sat secure, forthwith to divers Gods
He divers gifts distributed, and His realm
Began to order. But of mortal men
He took no heed, but purposed utterly
To crush their race and plant another new;
And, I excepted, none dared cross His will;
But I did dare, and mortal men I freed
From passing on to Hades thunder-stricken;
And therefore am I bound beneath these woes,
Dreadful to suffer, pitiable to see:
And I, who in my pity thought of men
More than myself, have not been worthy deemed
To gain like favour, but all ruthlessly
I thus am chained, foul shame this sight to Zeus.
Who is not moved, Prometheus, by thy woes:
And, seeing them, am wounded to the heart.
That Zeus maltreats thee, and no respite gives
Of many woes? And has thy pain no end?
Seest not
That thou hast sinned? Yet to say how thou sinned’st
Gives me no pleasure, and is pain to thee.
Well! let us leave these things, and, if we may,
Seek out some means to ’scape from this thy woe.
Beyond the reach of evil to exhort
And counsel him who suffers. This to me
Was all well known. Yea, willing, willingly
I sinned, nor will deny it. Helping men,
I for myself found trouble: yet I thought not
That I with such dread penalties as these
Should wither here on these high-towering crags,
Lighting on this lone hill and neighbourless.
Wherefore wail not for these my present woes,
But, drawing nigh, my coming fortunes hear,
That ye may learn the whole tale to the end.
Nay, hearken, hearken; show your sympathy
With him who suffers now. ’Tis thus that woe,
Prometheus, thy request,
And now with nimble foot abounding
My swiftly rushing car,
And the pure æther, path of birds of heaven,
I will draw near this rough and rocky land,
For much do I desire
To hear this tale, full measure of thy woes.
Reaching goal of distant journey,
Guiding this my winged courser
By my will, without a bridle;
And thy sorrows move my pity.
Force, in part, I deem, of kindred
Leads me on, nor know I any,
Whom, apart from kin, I honour
More than thee, in fuller measure.
This thou shalt own true and earnest:
I deal not in glozing speeches.
Come then, tell me how to help thee;
Ne’er shalt thou say that one more friendly
Is found than unto thee is Okean.
To gaze upon my sufferings. How didst dare
Leaving the stream that bears thy name, and caves
Hewn in the living rock, this land to visit,
Mother of iron? What then, art thou come
To gaze upon my fall and offer pity?
Behold this sight: see here the friend of Zeus,
Who helped to seat Him in His sovereignty,
With what foul outrage I am crushed by Him!
My best advice, all subtle though thou be.
To thee full new. New king the Gods have now;
But if thou utter words thus rough and sharp,
Perchance, though sitting far away on high,
Zeus yet may hear thee, and His present wrath
Seem to thee but as child’s play of distress.
Nay, thou poor sufferer, quit the rage thou hast,
And seek a remedy for these thine ills.
A tale thrice-told, perchance I seem to speak:
Lo! this, Prometheus, is the punishment
Of thine o’erlofty speech, nor art thou yet
Humbled, nor yieldest to thy miseries,
And fain wouldst add fresh evils unto these.
But thou, if thou wilt take me as thy teacher,
Wilt not kick out against the pricks; seeing well
A monarch reigns who gives account to none.
And now I go, and will an effort make,
If I, perchance, may free thee from thy woes;
Be still then, hush thy petulance of speech,
Or knowest thou not, o’er-clever as thou art,
That idle tongues must still their forfeit pay?
Though thou shared’st all, and in my cause wast bold;
Nay, let me be, nor trouble thou thyself;
Thou wilt not, canst not soothe Him; very hard
Is He of soothing. Look to it thyself,
Lest thou some mischief meet with in the way.
Far better than thine own. From deeds, not words,
I draw my proof. But do not draw me back
When I am hasting on, for lo! I deem,
I deem that Zeus will grant this boon to me,
That I should free thee from these woes of thine.
For thou no whit of zeal dost lack; yet take,
Thy trouble, nothing helping, e’en if thou
Shouldst care to take the trouble. Nay, be still;
Keep out of harm’s way; sufferer though I be,
I would not therefore wish to give my woes
A wider range o’er others. No, not so:
For lo! my mind is wearied with the grief
Of that my kinsman Atlas, who doth stand
In the far West, supporting on his shoulders
The pillars of the earth and heaven, a burden
His arms can ill but hold; I pity too
The giant dweller of Kilikian caves,
Dread portent, with his hundred hands, subdued
By force, the mighty Typhon, who arose
’Gainst all the Gods, with sharp and dreadful jaws
Hissing out slaughter, and from out his eyes
There flashed the terrible brightness as of one
Who would lay low the sovereignty of Zeus.
But the unsleeping dart of Zeus came on him,
Down-swooping thunderbolt that breathes out flame,
Which from his lofty boastings startled him,
For he i’ the heart was struck, to ashes burnt,