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Editor’s Note
Preface
On the Genius and Character of the Greek Tragedy
The Life of Æschylus
Agamemnon
ChoephorÆ Or, the Libation-bearers a Lyrico-dramatic Spectacle
The Eumenides
Prometheus Bound a Lyrico-dramatic Spectacle
The Suppliants a Lyrico-dramatic Spectacle
The Seven Against Thebes a Lyrico-dramatic Spectacle
The Persians a Historical Cantata
List of Editions Commentaries and Translations Used By the Translator

PROMETHEUS BOUND

A LYRICO-DRAMATIC SPECTACLE

Δη̂σε δ’ἀλυκτοπέδ[Editor: illegible character]σι Προμηθέα ποικιλόβουλην
Δεσμοɩ̂ς ἀργαλέοισι.
Hesiod.

Neither to change, nor flatter, nor repent.
Shelley.

PERSONS

Might and Force, Ministers of Jove.

Hephaesthus or Vulcan, the God of Fire.

Prometheus, Son of Iapetus, a Titan.

Chorus of Oceanides.

Oceanus.

Io, Daughter of Inachus, King of Argos.

Hermes, Messenger of the Gods.

Scene—A Rocky Desert in European Scythia.

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

Vain the wit is of the wisest to deceive the mind of Jove;
Not Prometheus, son of Iapetus, though his heart was moved by love,
Might escape the heavy anger of the god that rules the skies,
But, despite of all his cunning, with a strong chain bound he lies.
Theog. 613.

Those who are acquainted with the philological learning on this subject, which I have discussed elsewhere,* or even with the common ideas on the legend of Prometheus brought into circulation by the productions of modern poetry, are aware that the view just given of the moral significance of this weighty old myth, is not the current one, and that we are rather accustomed to look upon Prometheus as a sort of proto-martyr of liberty, bearing up with the strength of a god against the punishment unjustly inflicted on him by the celestial usurper and tyrant, Jove But Hesiod, we have just seen, looks on the matter with very different eyes, and the unquestioned supremacy of Jove that stands out everywhere, from the otherwise not always consistent theological system of the Iliad, leads plainly to the conclusion that Homer also, had he had occasion to introduce this legend, would have handled it in a spirit altogether different from our Shelleys and Byrons, and other earth-shaking and heaven-scaling poets of the modern revolutionary school. As little is there any ground (see the life of Æschylus, vol. I.) for the supposition that our tragedian has taken up different theological ground in reference to this myth, from that which belonged to the two great expositors of the popular creed, not to mention the staring absurdity of the idea, that a grave tragic poet in a serious composition, at a public religious festival, should have dared, or daring, should have been allowed, to hold up their supreme deity to a nation of freemen in the character of a cruel and unjust tyrant. Thrown back, therefore, on the original Hesiodic conception of the myth, we are led to observe that the imperfect and unsatisfactory ideas so current on this subject in modern times, have taken their rise from the practice (so natural under the circumstances) of looking on the extant piece as a complete whole, whereas nothing is more certain than that it is only a fragment; the second part, in fact, of a dramatic trilogy similar in conception and execution to that, of which we have endeavoured to present a reflection in the preceding pages. Potter, in his translation published a hundred years ago, prefaced his version of the present piece with the well-known fact, that Æschylus wrote three plays on this subject—the Fire-bringing Prometheus, the Prometheus Bound, and the Prometheus Unbound—but this intimation was not sufficient to prevent his readers, with the usual hastiness of human logic, from judging of what they saw, as if it were an organic whole, containing within itself every element necessary for forming a true conception of its character. The consequence was, that the hero of the piece, who, of course, tells his own story in the most favourable way for himself, was considered as having passed a final judgment on the case, as the friend and representative of man, he naturally seemed entitled to the gratitude of men; while Jove, being now only an idol in the world (perhaps a devil), and having no advocate in the heart of the modern reader, was made to stand—on the representation of the same Prometheus—as the type of heartless tyranny, and the impersonation of absolute power combined with absolute selfishness. This is Shelley’s view; but that such was not the view of Æschylus we may be assured, both from the consideration already mentioned, and from the poet’s method of reconciling apparently incompatible claims of opposite celestial powers, so curiously exhibited in the Eumenides. In the trilogy of the preceding pages, Orestes stands in a situation, so far as the development of the plot is concerned, precisely analogous to that of Prometheus in the present piece. His conduct, as submitted to the moral judgment of the spectator, produces the same conflict of contrary emotions of which his own bosom is the victim. With the one-half of our heart we approve of his avenging his father’s murder; with the other half, we plead that a son shall, on no ground of offence, allow his indignation to proceed so far as to imbrue his hands in the blood of her whose milk he had sucked. This contrariety of emotions excited in the second piece of the trilogy, produces the tragic knot, which it is the business of the poet to unloose, by the worthy interposition of a god. “Nec Deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus.”—Exactly so in the second piece of the Promethean trilogy, our moral judgment praises the benevolence of the god, who, to elevate our human race from brutish degradation, dared to defy omnipotent power, and to deceive the wisdom of the omniscient; while, at the same time, we cannot but condemn the spirit of unreined independence that would shake itself free from the great centre of moral cohesion, and the reckless boldness that casts reproach in the face of the great Ruler of the universe. In this state of suspense, represented by the doubtful attitude of the Chorus* through the whole play, the present fragment of the great Æschylean Promethiad leaves the well-instructed modern reader; and it admits not, in my view, of a doubt that, in the concluding piece, it remained for the poet to effect a reconciliation between the contending interests and clashing emotions, somewhat after the fashion of which we possess a specimen in the Eumenides. By what agency of individuals or of arguments this was done, it is hopeless now to inquire; the fragmentary notices that remain are too meagre to justify a scientific restoration of the lost drama; they who wish to see what erudite imagination can do in this direction may consult Welcker and Schoemann—Welcker, in the shape of prose dissertation in his Trilogie, p. 28; and Schoemann, in the shape of a poetical restoration of the lost poem, in the Appendix to his very valuable edition of this play. About one thing only can we be certain, that, in the ultimate settlement of disputed claims, neither will Prometheus, on the one hand, be degraded from the high position on which the poet has planted him as a sort of umpire between gods and men, nor will Jove yield one whit of his supreme right to exact the bitterest penalties from man or god who presumes to act independently of, and even in opposition to his will. The tragic poet will duly exercise his grand function of keeping the powers of the celestial world—as he does the contending emotions of the human mind—in due equipoise and subordination.*

The plot of the Prometheus Bound is the simplest possible, being not so much the dramatic progression of a course of events, as a single dramatic situation presented through the whole piece under different aspects. The theft of fire from Heaven, or (as the notice of Cicero seems to indicate) from the Lemnian volcano of Mosychlos,† having been perpetrated in the previous piece, Might and Force, two allegorical personages, the ministers of Jove’s vengeance, are now introduced, along with Hephaestus, the forger of celestial chains, nailing the benevolent offender to a cold craggy rock in the wastes of European Scythia. In this condition when, after a long silence, he at length gives vent to his complaint, certain kindred divine persons—first, the Oceanides, or daughters of Ocean, and then their hoary sire himself, are brought on the scene, with words of solace and friendly exhortation to the sufferer.‡ When all the arguments that these parties have to advance are exhausted in vain, another mythic personage, of a different character, and for a different purpose, appears. This is Io, the daughter of Inachus, the primeval king of Argos, who, having enjoyed the unblissful distinction of stirring the heart of Jove with love, is, by the jealous wrath of Hera, transmuted into the likeness of a cow,* and sent wandering to the ends of the Earth, fretted into restless distraction by the stings of a malignant insect. This character serves a threefold purpose. First, as a sufferer, tracing the origin of all her misery from Jove, she both sympathizes strongly with Prometheus, and exhibits the character of Jove in another unfavourable aspect; secondly, with her wild maniac cries and reinless fits of distraction, she presents a fine contrast to the calm self-possession with which the stout-hearted Titan endures the penalty of his pride; and, in the third place, as the progenitrix of the Argive Hercules, the destined instrument of the delivery of Prometheus, she connects the middle with the concluding piece of the trilogy. Last of all, when this strange apparition has vanished, appears on the scene the great Olympian negotiator, Hermes; who, with the eloquence peculiar to himself, and the threatened terrors of his supreme master, endeavours to break the pride and to bend the will of the lofty-minded offender. In vain. The threatened terrors of the Thunderer now suddenly start into reality; and, amid the roar of contending elements, the pealing Heaven and the quaking Earth, the Jove-defying son of Iapetus descends into Hell.

The superhuman grandeur and high tragic sublimity which belongs to the very conception of this subject, has suffered nothing in respect of treatment from the genius of the bard who dared to handle it. The Prometheus Bound, though inferior in point of lyric richness and variety to the Agamemnon, and though somewhat overloaded with narrative in one place, is nevertheless felt throughout to be one of the most powerful productions of one of the most powerful minds that the history of literature knows. No work of a similar lofty character certainly has ever been so extensively popular. The Prometheus Unbound of Shelley, and Lord Byron’s Manfred, bear ample witness, of which we may well be proud, to the relationship which exists between the severe Melpomene of ancient Greece, and the lofty British Muse.

PROMETHEUS BOUND

EnterMightandForce,leading inPrometheus; Hephaestus,with chains.

Might.

At length the utmost bound of Earth we’ve reached,
This Scythian soil, this wild untrodden waste.1
Hephaestus now Jove’s high behests demand
Thy care; to these steep cliffy rocks bind down
With close-linked chains of during adamant
This daring wretch2 For he the bright-rayed fire,
Mother of arts, flower of thy potency,
Filched from the gods, and gave to mortals. Here,
Just guerdon of his sin shall find him; here
Let his pride learn to bow to Jove supreme,
And love men well, but love them not too much.

Heph.

Ye twain, rude Might and Force, have done your work
To the perfect end; but I—my heart shrinks back
From the harsh task to nail a kindred god3
To this storm-battered crag. Yet dare I must.
Where Jove commands, whoso neglects rebels,
And pays the traitor’s fine. High-counselled son
Of right-decreeing Themis,4 I force myself
No less than thee, when to this friendless rock
With iron bonds I chain thee, where nor shape
Nor voice of wandering mortal shall relieve
Thy lonely watch; but the fierce-burning sun
Shall parch and bleach thy fresh complexion. Thou,
When motley-mantled Night* hath hid the day,
Shalt greet the darkness, with how short a joy!
For the morn’s sun the nightly dew shall scatter,
And thou be pierced again with the same pricks
Of endless woe—and saviour shall be none.5
Such fruits thy forward love to men hath wrought thee.
Thyself a god, the wrath of gods to thee
Seemed little, and to men thou didst dispense
Forbidden gifts. For this thou shalt keep watch
On this delightless rock, fixed and erect,
With lid unsleeping, and with knee unbent.
Alas! what groans and wails shalt thou pour forth,
Fruitless. Jove is not weak that he should bend,6
For young authority must ever be
Harsh and severe.

Might

Enough of words and tears.
This god, whom all the gods detest, wilt thou
Not hate, thou, whom his impious larceny
Did chiefly injure?

Heph.

But, my friend, my kinsman—

Might.

True, that respect; but the dread father’s word
Respect much more. Jove’s word respect and fear.

Heph.

Harsh is thy nature, and thy heart is full
Of pitiless daring.

Might.

Tears were wasted here,
And labour lost is all concern for him

Heph.

O thrice-cursed trade, that e’er my hand should use it!

Might.

Curse not thy craft; the cunning of thy hand
Makes not his woes; he made them for himself.

Heph.

Would that some other hand had drawn the lot
To do this deed!

Might.

All things may be, but this
To dictate to the gods.7 There’s one that’s free,
One only, Jove.

Heph

I know it, and am dumb.

Might

Then gird thee to the work, chain down the culprit,
Lest Jove thy laggard zeal behold, and blame.

Heph.

The irons here are ready.

Might.

Take them, and strike
Stout blows with the hammer; nail him to the rock.

Heph.

The work speeds well, and lingers not.

Might.

Strike! strike!
With ring, and clamp, and wedge make sure the work.
He hath a subtle wit will find itself
A way where way is none.

Heph.

This arm is fast.

Might.

Then clasp this other. Let the sophist know,
Against great Jove how dull a thing is wit.

Heph

None but the victim can reprove my zeal.

Might.

Now take this adamantine bolt, and force
Its point resistless through his rebel breast.

Heph.

Alas! alas! Prometheus, but I pity thee!

Might.

Dost lag again, and for Jove’s enemies weep
Fond tears? Beware thou have no cause to weep
Tears for thyself.

Heph.

Thou see’st no sightly sight
For eyes to look on.

Might.

I behold a sower
Reaping what thing he sowed. But take these thongs,
And bind his sides withal.

Heph.

I must! I must!
Nor needs thy urging.

Might.

Nay, but I will urge,
Command, and bellow in thine ear! Proceed,
Lower—yet lower—and with these iron rings
Enclasp his legs.

Heph.

’Tis done, and quickly done.

Might.

Now pierce his feet through with these nails. Strike hard!
There’s one will sternly prove thy work, and thee.

Heph.

Harsh is thy tongue, and, like thy nature, hard.

Might.

Art thou a weakling, do not therefore blame
The firm harsh-fronted will that suits my office.

Heph.

Let us away. He’s fettered limb and thew.

Might.

There lie, and feed thy pride on this bare rock,
Filching gods’ gifts for mortal men. What man
Shall free thee from these woes? Thou hast been called
In vain the Provident:8 had thy soul possessed
The virtue of thy name, thou hadst foreseen
These cunning toils, and hadst unwound thee from them.

[Exeunt all, exceptPrometheus,who is left chained.

Prom.

O divine ether, and swift-winged winds,
And river-fountains, and of ocean waves
The multitudinous laughter,10 and thou Earth,
Boon mother of us all, and thou bright round
Of the all-seeing Sun, you I invoke!
Behold what ignominy of causeless wrongs
I suffer from the gods, myself a god.
See what piercing pains shall goad me
Through long ages myraid-numbered!
With such wrongful chains hath bound me
This new leader of the gods.
Ah me! present woes and future
I bemoan. O! when, O! when
Shall the just redemption dawn.
Yet why thus prate? I know what ills await me.
No unexpected torture can surprise
My soul prophetic; and with quiet mind
We all must bear our portioned fate, nor idly
Court battle with a strong necessity.
Alas! alas! ’tis hard to speak to the winds;
Still harder to be dumb! my well-deservings
To mortal men are all the offence that bowed me
Beneath this yoke. The secret fount of fire
I sought, and found, and in a reed concealed it;11
Whence arts have sprung to man, and life hath drawn
Rich store of comforts For such deed I suffer
These bonds, in the broad eye of gracious day,
Here crucified Ah me! ah me! who comes?12
What sound, what viewless breath, thus taints the air,
God sent, or mortal, or of mingled kind?
What errant traveller ill-sped comes to view
This naked ridge of extreme Earth, and me?
Whoe’er thou art, a hapless god thou see’st
Nailed to this crag, the foe of Jove thou seest.
Him thou see’st, whom all the Immortals
Whoso tread the Olympian threshold,
Name with hatred; thou beholdest
Man’s best friend, and, therefore, hated
For excess of love.
Hark, again! I hear the whirring
As of winged birds approaching;
With the light strokes of their pinions
Ether pipes ill-boding whispers!—
Alas! alas! that I should fear
Each breath that nears me.

TheOceanidesapproach, borne through the air in a winged car.

STROPHE I.

Chorus.

Fear nothing; for a friendly band approaches;
Fleet rivalry of wings
Oar’d us to this far height, with hard consent
Wrung from our careful sire
The winds swift-sweeping bore me: for I heard
The harsh hammer’s note deep deep in ocean caves,
And, throwing virgin shame aside, unshod
The winged car I mounted.

Prom.

Ah! ah!
Daughters of prolific Tethys,13
And of ancient father Ocean,
With his sleepless current whirling
Round the firm ball of the globe
Look! with rueful eyes behold me
Nailed by adamantine rivets,
Keeping weary watch unenvied
On this tempest-rifted rock!

ANTISTROPHE I.

Chorus.

I look, Prometheus, and a tearful cloud
My woeful sight bedims,
To see thy goodliest form with insult chained,
In adamantine bonds,
To this bare crag, where pinching airs shall blast thee.
New gods now hold the helm of Heaven; new laws
Mark Jove’s unrighteous rule; the giant trace
Of Titan times hath vanished.14

Prom.

Deep in death-receiving Hades
Had he bound me, had he whelmed me
In Tartarean pit, unfathomed,
Fettered with unyielding bonds!
Then nor god nor man had feasted
Eyes of triumph on my wrongs,
Nor I, thus swung in middle ether,*
Moved the laughter of my foes.

STROPHE II.

Chorus.

Which of the gods hath heart so hard
To mock thy woes? Who will withhold
The fellow-feeling and the tear,
Save only Jove But he doth nurse
Strong wrath within his stubborn breast,
And holds all Heaven in awe.
Nor will he cease till his hot rage is glutted,
Or some new venture shakes his stable throne.

Prom.

By my Titan soul, I swear it!
Though with harsh chains now he mocks me,
Even now the hour is ripening,
When this haughty lord of Heaven
Shall embrace my knees, beseeching
Me to unveil the new-forged counsels
That shall hurl him from his throne.15
But no honey-tongued persuasion,
No smooth words of artful charming,
No stout threats shall loose my tongue,
Till he loose these bonds of insult,
And himself make just atonement
For injustice done to me.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Chorus.

Thou art a bold man, and defiest
The keenest pangs to force thy will.
With a most unreined tongue thou speakest;
But me—sharp fear hath pierced my heart.
I fear for thee: and of thy woes
The distant, doubtful end
I see not. O, ’tis hard, most hard to reach
The heart of Jove!16 prayer beats his ear in vain.

Prom

Harsh is Jove, I know—he frameth
Justice for himself; but soon,
When the destined arm o’ertakes him,
He shall tremble as a child.
He shall smooth his bristling anger,
Courting friendship shunned before,
More importunate to unbind me
Than impatient I of bonds.

Chorus

Speak now, and let us know the whole offence
Jove charges thee withal, for which he seized,
And with dishonor and dire insult loads thee.
Unfold the tale, unless, perhaps, such sorrow
Irks thee to tell.

Prom.

To tell or not to tell
Irks me the same; which way I turn is pain.
When first the gods their fatal strife began,
And insurrection raged in Heaven—some striving
To cast old Kronos from his hoary throne,
That Jove might reign, and others to crush i’ the bud
His swelling mastery—I wise counsel gave
To the Titans, sons of primal Heaven and Earth;
But gave in vain Their dauntless stubborn souls
Spurned gentle ways, and patient-working wiles,
Weening swift triumph with a blow. But me,
My mother Themis, not once but oft, and Earth
(One shape of various names),17 prophetic told
That violence and rude strength in such a strife
Were vain—craft haply might prevail. This lesson
I taught the haughty Titans, but they deigned
Scarce with contempt to hear my prudent words.
Thus baffled in my plans, I deemed it best,
As things then were, leagued with my mother Themis,
To accept Jove’s proffered friendship. By my counsels
From his primeval throne was Kronos* hurled
Into the pit Tartarean, dark, profound,
With all his troop of friends. Such was the kindness
From me received by him who now doth hold
The masterdom of Heaven; these the rewards
Of my great zeal: for so it hath been ever.
Suspicion’s a disease that cleaves to tyrants,
And they who love most are the first suspected.18
As for your question, for what present fault
I bear the wrong that now afflicts me, hear.
Soon as he sat on his ancestral throne
He called the gods together, and assigned
To each his fair allotment, and his sphere
Of sway supreme; but, ah! for wretched man!
To him nor part nor portion fell: Jove vowed
To blot his memory from the Earth, and mould
The race anew.† I only of the gods
Thwarted his will;19 and, but for my strong aid,
Hades had whelmed, and hopeless ruin swamped
All men that breathe. Such were my crimes: these pains
Grievous to suffer, pitiful to behold,
Were purchased thus; and mercy’s now denied
To him whose crime was mercy to mankind:
And here I lie, in cunning torment stretched,20
A spectacle inglorious to Jove.

Chorus.

An iron-heart were his, and flinty hard,
Who on thy woes could look without a tear,
Prometheus; I had liefer not so seen thee,
And seeing thee fain would call mine eyesight liar.

Prom.

Certes no sight am I for friends to look on.

Chorus.

Was this thy sole offence?

Prom.

I taught weak mortals
Not to foresee harm, and forestall the Fates.

Chorus.

A sore disease to anticipate mischance:
How didst thou cure it?

Prom.

Blind hopes of good I planted
In their dark breasts.21

Chorus.

That was a boon indeed,
To ephemeral man.

Prom.

’Tis a light thing for him whose foot’s unwarped
By misadventure’s meshes to advise
And counsel the unfortunate. But I
Foreknew my fate, and if I erred, I erred
With conscious purpose, purchasing man’s weal
With mine own grief. I knew I should offend
The Thunderer, though deeming not that he
Would perch me thus to pine ’twixt Earth and Sky,
Of this wild wintry waste sole habitant.
But cease to weep for ills that weeping mends not;
Descend, and I’ll discourse to thee at length
Of chances yet to come. Nay, do not doubt;
But leave thy car, nor be ashamed to share
The afflictions of the afflicted; for Mishap,
Of things that lawless wander, wanders most;
With me to-day it is with you to-morrow.

Chorus.

Not to sluggish ears, Prometheus,
Hast thou spoken thy desire,
From our breeze-borne car descending,
With light foot we greet the ground.
Leaving ether chaste, smooth pathway
Of the gently-winnowing wing,
On this craggy rock I stand,
To hear the tale, while thou mayst tell it,
Of thy sorrows to the end.

EnterOcean.23

Ocean.

From my distant caves cerulean24
This fleet-pinioned bird hath borne me;
Needed neither bit nor bridle,
Thought instinctive reined the creature;
Thus, to know thy griefs, Prometheus,
And to grieve with thee I come
Soothly strong the tie of kindred
Binds the heart of man and god;
But, though no such tie had bound me,
I had wept for thee the same.
Well thou know’st not mine the cunning
To discourse with glozing phrase:
Tell me how I may relieve thee,
I am ready to relieve;
Friend thou boastest none than Ocean
Surer, in the hour of need.

Prom.

How now, old Ocean? thou too come to view
My dire disasters?—how shouldst thou have dared,
Leaving the billowy stream whose name thou bearest,
Thy rock-roofed halls, and self-built palaces,
To visit this Scythian land, stern mother of iron,
To know my sorrows, and to grieve with me?
Look on this sight—thy friend, the friend of Jove,
Who helped him to the sway which now he bears,
Crushed by the self-same god himself exalted.

Ocean.

I see, Prometheus; and I come to speak
A wise word to the wise; receive it wisely.
Know what thou art, and make thy manners new;
For a new king doth rule the subject gods.
Compose thy speech, nor cast such whetted words
’Gainst Jove, who, though he sits apart sublime,
Hath ears, and with new pains may smite his victim,
To which his present wrath shall seem a toy.
Listen to me, slack thy fierce ire, and seek
Speedy deliverance from these woes. Trite wisdom
Belike I speak, Prometheus; but thou knowest
A lofty-sounding tongue with passionate phrase
Buys its own ruin. Proud art thou, unyielding,
And heap’st new woes tenfold on thine own head.
Why should’st thou kick against the pricks? Jove reigns
A lord severe, and of his acts need give
Account to none. I go to plead for thee,
And, what I can, will try to save my kinsman;
But be thou calm the while, curb thy rash speech,
And let not fame report, that one so wise
Fell by the forfeit of a foolish tongue.

Prom.

Count thyself happy, Ocean, being free
From blame, who shared and dared with me. Be wise,
And what thy meddling aids not, let alone.
In vain thou plead’st with him; his ears are deaf.
Look to thyself: thy errand is not safe.

Ocean.

Wise art thou, passing wise, for others’ weal,
For thine own good most foolish. Prithee do not
So stretch thy stubborn whim to pull against
The friends that pull for thee. ’Tis no vain boast;
I know that Jove will hear me.

Prom.

Thou art kind;
And for thy kind intent and friendly feeling
Have my best thanks. But do not, I beseech thee,
Waste labour upon me. If thou wilt labour,
Seek a more hopeful subject. Thou wert wiser,
Being safe, to keep thee safe. I, when I suffer,
Wish not that all my friends should suffer with me.
Enough my brother Atlas’ miseries grieve me.25
Who in the extreme West stands, stoutly bearing
The pillars of Heaven and Earth upon his shoulders,26
No lightsome burden. Him too, I bewail,
That made his home in dark Cilician caverns.
The hostile portent, Earth-born, hundred-headed
Impetuous Typhon,27 quelled by force, who stood
Alone, against the embattled host of gods,
Hissing out murder from his monstrous jaws;
And from his eyes there flashed a Gorgon glare,
As he would smite the tyranny of great Jove
Clean down; but he, with sleepless thunder watching,
Hurl’d headlong a flame-breathing bolt, and laid
The big-mouthed vaunter low. Struck to the heart
With blasted strength, and shrunk to ashes, there
A huge and helpless hulk, outstretched he lies,
Beside the salt sea’s strait, pressed down beneath
The roots of Ætna, on whose peaks Hephaestus
Sits hammering the hot metal. Thence, one day,
Shall streams of liquid fire, swift passage forcing,
With savage jaws the wide-spread plains devour
Of the fair-fruited Sicilly. Such hot shafts,
From the flame-breathing ferment of the deep,
Shall Typhon cast with sateless wrath, though now
All scorched and cindered by the Thunderer’s stroke,
Moveless he lies. But why should I teach thee?
Thou art a wise man, thine own wisdom use
To save thyself. For me, I’ll even endure
These pains, till Jove shall please to slack his ire.

Ocean.

Know’st thou not this, Prometheus, that mild words
Are medicines of fierce wrath?28

Prom

They are, when spoken
In a mild hour; but the high-swelling heart
They do but fret the more.

Ocean.

But, in the attempt
To ward the threatened harm, what evil see’st thou?

Prom.

Most bootless toil, and folly most inane.

Ocean.

Be it so; but yet ’tis sometimes well, believe me,
That a wise man should seem to be a fool.

Prom.

Away! farewell; and may the prudent thoughts,
That sway thy bosom now, direct thee ever.

Ocean.

I go, and quickly. My four-footed bird
Brushes the broad path of the limpid air
With forward wing: right gladly will he bend
The wearied knee on his familiar stall.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Thy dire disasters, unexampled wrongs,
I weep, Prometheus.
From its soft founts distilled the flowing tear
My cheek bedashes.
’Tis hard, most hard! By self-made laws Jove rules,
And ’gainst the host of primal gods he points
The lordly spear.

ANTISTROPHE I.
With echoing groans the ambient waste bewails
Thy fate, Prometheus;
The neighbouring tribes of holy Asia weep
For thee, Prometheus;29
For thee and thine! names mighty and revered
Of yore, now shamed, dishonoured, and cast down,
And chained with thee.

STROPHE II.
And Colchis, with her belted daughters, weeps
For thee, Prometheus,
And Scythian tribes, on Earth’s remotest verge,
Where lone Mæotis* spreads her wintry waters,
Do weep for thee.

ANTISTROPHE II.
The flower of Araby’s wandering warriors weep
For thee, Prometheus;30
And they who high their airy holds have perched
On Caucasus’ ridge, with pointed lances bristling,
Do weep for thee.

EPODE.
One only vexed like thee, and even as thou,
In adamant bound,
A Titan, and a god scorned by the gods,
Atlas I knew.
He on his shoulders the surpassing weight
Of the celestial pole stoutly upbore,
And groaned beneath.
Roars billowy Ocean, and the Deep sucks back
Its waters when he sobs; from Earth’s dark caves
Deep hell resounds,
The fountains of the holy-streaming rivers
Do moan with him.

Prom.

Deem me not self-willed, nor with pride high-strung,
That I am dumb, my heart is gnawed to see
Myself thus mocked and jeered. These gods, to whom
Owe they their green advancement but to me?
But this ye know, and, not to teach the taught,
I’ll speak of it no more. Of human kind,
My great offence in aiding them, in teaching
The babe to speak, and rousing torpid mind
To take the grasp of itself—of this I’ll talk;
Meaning to mortal men no blame, but only
The true recital of mine own deserts.
For, soothly, having eyes to see they saw not,31
And hearing heard not, but like dreamy phantoms,
A random life they led from year to year,
All blindly floundering on. No craft they knew
With woven brick or jointed beam to pile
The sunward porch; but in the dark earth burrowed
And housed, like tiny ants in sunless caves.
No signs they knew to mark the wintry year.
The flower-strewn Spring, and the fruit-laden Summer,
Uncalendared, unregistered, returned—
Till I the difficult art of the stars revealed,
Their risings and their settings Numbers, too,
I taught them (a most choice device)32 and how
By marshalled signs to fix their shifting thoughts,
That Memory, mother of Muses, might achieve
Her wondrous works. I first slaved to the yoke
Both ox and ass. I, the rein-loving steeds
(Of wealth’s gay-flaunting pomp the chiefest pride)
Joined to the car; and bade them ease the toils
Of labouring men vicarious. I the first
Upon the lint-winged car of mariner
Was launched, sea-wandering. Such wise arts I found
To soothe the ills of man’s ephemeral life;
But for myself, plunged in this depth of woe,
No prop I find.

Chorus.

Sad chance! Thy wit hath slipt
From its firm footing then when needed most,
Like some unlearned leech who many healed,
But being sick himself, from all his store,
Cannot cull out one medicinal drug.

Prom.

Hear me yet farther, and in hearing marvel,
What arts and curious shifts my wit devised.
Chiefest of all, the cure of dire disease
Men owe to me. Nor healing food, nor drink,
Nor unguent knew they, but did slowly wither
And waste away for lack of pharmacy,
Till taught by me to mix the soothing drug,
And check corruption’s march. I fixed the art
Of divination with its various phase
Of dim revealings, making dreams speak truth,
Stray voices, and encounters by the way
Significant; the flight of taloned birds
On right and left I marked—these fraught with ban,
With blissful augury those; their way of life,
Their mutual loves and enmities, their flocks,
And friendly gatherings; the entrails’ smoothness,
The hue best liked by the gods, the gall, the liver
With all its just proportions. I first wrapped
In the smooth fat the thighs; first burnt the loins,
And from the flickering flame taught men to spell
No easy lore, and cleared the fire-faced signs33
Obscure before. Yet more: I probed the Earth,
To yield its hidden wealth to help man’s weakness—
Iron, copper, silver, gold None but a fool,
A prating fool, will stint me of this praise.
And thus, with one short word to sum the tale,
Prometheus taught all arts to mortal men.

Chorus.

Do good to men, but do it with discretion.
Why shouldst thou harm thyself? Good hope I nurse
To see thee soon from these harsh chains unbound,
As free, as mighty, as great Jove himself.

Prom.

This may not be; the destined course of things
Fate must accomplish; I must bend me yet
’Neath wrongs on wrongs, ere I may ’scape these bonds.
Though Art be strong, Necessity is stronger.

Chorus.

There’s some dread mystery in thy chary speech,
Close-veiled.

Prom.

Urge this no more: the truth thou’lt know
In fitting season; now it lies concealed
In deepest darkness! for relenting Jove
Himself must woo this secret from my breast.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Never, O never may Jove,
Who in Olympus reigns omnipotent lord,
Plant his high will against my weak opinion!36
Let me approach the gods
With blood of oxen and with holy feasts,
By father Ocean’s quenchless stream, and pay
No backward vows:
Nor let my tongue offend; but in my heart
Be lowly wisdom graven.

ANTISTROPHE I.
For thus old Wisdom speaks:
Thy life ’tis sweet to cherish, and while the length
Of years is thine, thy heart with cheerful hopes
And lightsome joys to feed.
But thee—ah me! my blood runs cold to see thee,
Pierced to the marrow with a thousand pains.
Not fearing Jove,
Self-willed thou hast respect to man, Prometheus,
Much more than man deserveth.

STROPHE II.
For what is man?* behold!
Can he requite thy love—child of a day—
Or help thy extreme need? Hast thou not seen
The blind and aimless strivings,
The barren blank endeavour,
The pithless deeds, of the fleeting dreamlike race?
Never, O nevermore,
May mortal wit Jove’s ordered plan deceive.

ANTISTROPHE II.
This lore my heart hath learned
From sight of thee, and thy sharp pains, Prometheus.
Alas! what diverse strain I sang thee then,
Around the bridal chamber,
And around the bridal bath,
When thou my sister fair, Hesione,
Won by rich gifts didst lead37
From Ocean’s caves thy spousal bed to share.

Enter Io.38

What land is this?—what race of mortals
Owns this desert? who art thou,
Rock-bound with these wintry fetters,
And for what crime tortured thus?
Worn and weary with far travel,
Tell me where my feet have borne me!
O pain! pain! pain! it stings and goads me again,
The fateful brize!—save me, O Earth!39 —Avaunt
Thou horrible shadow of the Earth-born Argus!
Could not the grave close up thy hundred eyes,
But thou must come,
Haunting my path with thy suspicious look,
Unhoused from Hades?
Avaunt! avaunt!—why wilt thou hound my track,
The famished wanderer on the waste sea-shore?

STROPHE.
Pipe not thy sounding wax-compacted reed
With drowsy drone at me! Ah wretched me!
Wandering, still wandering o’er wide Earth, and driven
Where? where? O tell me where?
O Son of Kronos, in what damned sin
Being caught hast thou to misery yoked me thus,
Pricked me to desperation, and my heart
Pierced with thy furious goads?
Blast me with lightnings! bury me in Earth! To the gape
Of greedy sea-monsters give me! Hear, O hear
My prayer, O King!
Enough, enough, these errant toils have tried me;
And yet no rest I find: nor when, nor where
These woes shall cease may know.

Chorus.

Dost hear the plaint of the ox-horned maid?

Prom

How should I not? the Inachian maid who knows not,
Stung by the god-sent brize? the maid who smote
Jove’s lustful heart with love: and his harsh spouse
Hounds her o’er Earth with chase interminable.

ANTISTROPHE.

Io

My father’s name thou know’st, and my descent!
Who art thou? god or mortal? Speak! what charm
Gives wretch like thee, the certain clue to know
My lamentable fate?
Aye, and the god-sent plague thou know’st; the sting
That spurs me o’er the far-stretched Earth; the goad
That mads me sheer, wastes, withers, and consumes,
A worn and famished maid,
Whipt by the scourge of jealous Hera’s wrath!
Ah me! ah me! Misery has many shapes,
But none like mine.
O thou, who named my Argive home, declare
What ills await me yet; what end, what hope?
If hope there be for Io

Chorus.

I pray thee speak to the weary way-worn maid.

Prom.

I’ll tell thee all thy wish, not in enigmas
Tangled and dark, but in plain phrase, as friend
Should speak to friend Thou see’st Prometheus, who
To mortal men gifted immortal fire.

Io

O thou, to man a common blessing given,
What crime hath bound thee to this wintry rock?

Prom.

This not to know
Were better than to learn

Io.

Nay, do not hide
This thing from me!

Prom.

If ’tis a boon, believe me,
I grudge it not.

Io.

Then why so slow to answer?

Prom.

I would not crush thee with the cruel truth.

Io

Fear not; I choose to hear it.

Prom.

Listen then.

Chorus.

Nay, hear me rather. With her own mouth this maid
Shall first her bygone woes rehearse; next thou
What yet remains shalt tell.

Prom.

Even so. [To Io.] Speak thou;
They are the sisters of thy father, Io;41
And to wail out our griefs, when they who listen
Our troubles with a willing tear requite,
Is not without its use.

Io

I will obey,
And in plain speech my chanceful story tell;
Though much it grieves me to retrace the source,
Whence sprung this god-sent pest, and of my shape
Disfigurement abhorred. Night after night
Strange dreams around my maiden pillow hovering
Whispered soft temptings. “O thrice-blessed maid,
Why pin’st thou thus in virgin loneliness,
When highest wedlock courts thee? Struck by the shaft
Of fond desire for thee Jove burns, and pants
To twine his loves with thine. Spurn not, O maid,
The proffered bed of Jove, but hie thee straight
To Lerne’s bosomed mead,42where are the sheep-folds
And ox-stalls of thy sire, that so the eye
Of Jove, being filled with thee, may cease from craving.”
Such nightly dreams my restless couch possessed
Till I, all tears, did force me to unfold
The portent to my father. He to Pytho*
Sent frequent messengers, and to Dodona,
Searching the pleasure of the gods, but they
With various-woven phrase came back, and answers
More doubtful than the quest. At length, a clear
And unambiguous voice came to my father,
Enjoining, with most strict command, to send me
Far from my home, and from my country far,
To the extreme bounds of Earth an outcast wanderer,
Else that the fire-faced bolt of Jove should smite
Our universal race. By such responses,
Moved of oracular Loxias, my father
Reluctant me reluctant drove from home,
And shut the door against me. What he did
He did perforce; Jove’s bit was in his mouth.
Forthwith my wit was frenzied, and my form
Assumed the brute. With maniac bound I rushed,
Horned as thou see’st, and with the sharp-mouthed sting
Of gad-fly pricked infuriate to the cliff
Of Lerne, and Cenchréa’s limpid wave;
While Argus, Earth-born cow-herd, hundred-eyed,
Followed the winding traces of my path
With sharp observance. Him swift-swooping Fate
Snatched unexpected from his sleepless guard;
But I from land to land still wander on,
Scourged by the wrath of Heaven’s relentless Queen.
Thou hast my tale; the sequel, if thou know’st it,
Is thine to tell; but do not seek, I pray thee,
In pity for me, to drop soft lies, for nothing
Is worse than the smooth craft of practised phrase.

Chorus.

Enough, enough! Woe’s me that ever
Such voices of strange grief should rend my ear!
That such a tale of woe,
Insults, and wrongs, and horrors, should freeze me through,
As with a two-edged sword!
O destiny! destiny! woes most hard to see,
More hard to bear! Alas! poor maid for thee!

Prom.

Thy wails anticipate her woes; restrain
Thy trembling tears till thou hast heard the whole.

Chorus.

Proceed: to know the worst some solace brings
To the vexed heart.

Prom.

Your first request I granted,
And lightly; from her own mouth, ye have heard
The spring of harm, the stream expect from me,
How Hera shall draw out her slow revenge.
Meanwhile, thou seed of Inachus, lend an ear
And learn thy future travel. First to the east43
Turn thee, and traverse the unploughed Scythian fields,
Whose wandering tribes their wattled homes transport
Aloft on well-wheeled wains, themselves well slung
With the far-darting bow. These pass, and, holding
Thy course by the salt sea’s sounding surge, pass through
The land; next, on thy left, thou’lt reach the Chalybs,
Workers in iron. These too avoid—for they
Are savage, and harsh to strangers. Thence proceeding,
Thou to a stream shalt come, not falsely named
Hubristes: but the fierce ill-forded wave
Pass not till Caucasus, hugest hill, receives thee,
There where the flood its gushing strength foams forth
Fresh from the rocky brow. Cross then the peaks
That neighbour with the stars, and thence direct
Southward thy path to where the Amazons
Dwell, husband-hated, who shall one day people
Thermódon’s bank, and Themiscyre, and where
Harsh Salmydessus whets his ravening jaws,
The sailor’s foe, stepmother to the ships.
These maids shall give thee escort. Next thou’lt reach
The narrow Cimmerian isthmus, skirting bleak
The waters of Mæotis. Here delay not,
But with bold breast cross thou the strait Thy passage
Linked with the storied name of Bosphorus
Shall live through endless time. Here, leaving Europe,
The Asian soil receives thee. Now, answer me,
Daughters of Ocean, doth not Jove in all things
Prove his despotic will?—In lawless love
Longing to mingle with this mortal maid,
He heaps her with these woes A bitter suitor,
Poor maid, was thine, and I have told thee scarce
The prelude of thy griefs

Io

Ah! wretched me!

Prom.

Alas, thy cries and groans!—What wilt thou do,
When the full measure of thy woes is told thee?

Chorus.

What! more? her cup of woes not full?

Prom

’Twill flow
And overflow, a sea of whelming woes.

Io.

Why do I live? Why not embrace the gain
That, with one cast, this toppling cliff secures,
And dash me headlong on the ground, to end
Life and life’s sorrows? Once to die is better
Than thus to drag sick life.

Prom.

Thou’rt happy, Io,
That death from all thy living wrongs may free thee;
But I, whom Fate hath made immortal, see
No end to my long-lingering pains appointed,
Till Jove from his usurping sway be hurled.

Io.

Jove from his tyranny hurled—can such thing be?

Prom.

Doubtless ’twould feast thine eyes to see’t?

Io.

Ay, truly,
Wronged as I am by him.

Prom

Then, learn from me
That ne is doomed to fall.

Io.

What hand shall wrest
Jove’s sceptre?

Prom.

Jove’s own empty wit.

Chorus.

Nay, divide the choice;
One half to her concede, to me the other,
Thus doubly gracious: to the maid her toils,
To me thy destined Saviour tell.

Prom

So be it!
Being thus whetted in desire, I would not
Oppose your wills. First Io, what remains
Of thy far-sweeping wanderings hear, and grave
My words on the sure tablets of thy mind.
When thou hast crossed the narrow stream that parts45
The continents, to the far flame-faced East
Thou shalt proceed, the highway of the Sun;
Then cross the sounding Ocean, till thou reach
Cisthené and the Gorgon plains, where dwell
Phorcys’ three daughters, maids with frosty eld
Hoar as the swan, with one eye and one tooth
Shared by the three; them Phœbus beamy-bright
Beholds not, nor the nightly Moon. Near them
Their winged sisters dwell, the Gorgons dire,
Man-hating monsters, snaky-locked, whom eye
Of mortal ne’er might look upon and live
This for thy warning. One more sight remains,
That fills the eye with horror: mark me well;
The sharp-beaked Griffins, hounds of Jove, avoid.
Fell dogs that bark not; and the one-eyed host
Of Arimaspian horsemen with swift hoofs
Beating the banks of golden-rolling Pluto.
A distant land, a swarthy people next
Receives thee: near the fountains of the Sun
They dwell by Aethiops’ wave. This river trace
Until thy weary feet shall reach the pass
Whence from the Bybline heights the sacred Nile
Pours his salubrious flood46 The winding wave
Thence to triangled Egypt guides thee, where
A distant home awaits thee, fated mother
Of no unstoried race And now, if aught
That I have spoken doubtful seem or dark,
Repeat the question, and in plainer speech
Expect reply. I feel no lack of leisure.

Chorus.

If thou hast more to speak to her, speak on;
Or aught omitted to supply, supply it;
But if her tale is finished, as thou say’st,
Remember our request

Prom.

Her tale is told,
But for the more assurance of my words
The path of toils through which her feet had struggled
Before she reached this coast I will declare,
Lightly, and with no cumbrous comment, touching
Thy latest travel only, wandering Io.
When thou hadst trod the Molossian plains, and reached
Steep-ridged Dodona, where Thesprotian Jove
In council sits, and from the articulate oaks
(Strange wonder!) speaks prophetic, there thine ears
This salutation with no doubtful phrase
Received: “All hail, great spouse of mighty Jove
That shall be!”—say, was it a pleasing sound?
Thence by the sting of jealous Hera goaded,
Along the coast of Rhea’s bosomed sea*
Thy steps were driven thence with mazy course
Tossed hither;47 gaining, if a gain, this solace,
That future times, by famous Io’s name,
Shall know that sea† These things may be a sign
That I, beyond the outward show, can pierce
To the heart of truth What yet remains, I tell
To thee and them in common, tracing back
My speech to whence it came There is a city
In extreme Egypt, where with outspread loam
Nile breasts the sea, its name Canopus. There
Jove to thy sober sense shall bring thee back,
Soft with no fearful touch, and thou shalt bear
A son, dark Epaphus, whose name shall tell
The wonder of his birth,48 he shall possess
What fruitful fields fat Nile broad-streaming laves.
Four generations then shall pass; the fifth
In fifty daughters* glorying shall return
To ancient Argos, fatal wedlock shunning
With fathers’ brothers’ sons; these, their wild hearts
Fooled with blind lust, as hawks the gentle doves,
Shall track the fugitive virgins; but a god
Shall disappoint their chase, and the fair prey
Save from their lawless touch, the Apian soil
Shall welcome them to death, and woman’s hands
Shall dare the deed amid the nuptial watches.
Each bride shall rob her lord of life, and dip
The sharp steel in his throat. Such nuptial bliss
May all my enemies know! Only one maid
Of all the fifty, with a blunted will,
Shall own the charm of love, and spare her mate,
And of two adverse reputations choose
The coward, not the murderess. She shall be
The mother of a royal race in Argos.
To tell what follows, with minute remark,
Were irksome; but from this same root shall spring
A hero, strong in the archer’s craft, whose hand
Shall free me from these bonds. Such oracle spake
Titanian Themis, my time-honoured mother,
But how and why were a long tale to tell,
Nor being told would boot thine ear to hear it.

Io.

Ah me! pain! pain! ah me!
Again the fevered spasm hath seized me,
And the stroke of madness smites!
Again that fiery sting torments me,
And my heart doth knock my ribs!
My aching eyes in dizziness roll,
And my helmless feet are driven
Whither gusty frenzy blows!
And my tongue with thick words struggling
Like a sinking swimmer plashes
’Gainst the whelming waves of woe!

[Exit.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE.
Wise was the man, most wise,
Who in deep-thoughted mood conceived, and first
In pictured speech and pregnant phrase declared
That marriage, if the Fates shall bless the bond,
Must be of like with like;
And that the daughters of an humble house
Shun tempting union with the pomp of wealth
And with the pride of birth.

ANTISTROPHE.
Never, O! never may Fate,
All-powerful Fate which rules both gods and men,
See me approaching the dread Thunderer’s bed,
And sharing marriage with the Olympian king,
An humble Ocean-maid!
May wretched Io, chased by Hera’s wrath,
Unhusbanded, unfriended, fill my sense
With profitable fear.

EPODE.
Me may an equal bond
Bind with my equal: never may the eye
Of a celestial suitor fix the gaze
Of forceful love on me.
This were against all odds of war to war,
And in such strife entangled I were lost;
For how should humble maid resist the embrace,
Against great Jove’s decree?

Prom

Nay, but this Jove, though insolent now, shall soon
Be humbled low. Such wedlock even now
He blindly broods, as shall uptear his kingdom,
And leave no trace behind; then shall the curse,
Which Kronos heaped upon his ingrate son,
When hurled unjustly from his hoary throne,
Be all fulfilled. What remedy remains
For that dread ruin I alone can tell;
I only know. Then let him sit aloft,
Rolling his thunder, his fire-breathing bolt
Far-brandishing; his arts are vain; his fall,
Unless my aid prevent, his shameful fall,
Is doomed. Against himself to life he brings
A champion fierce, a portent of grim war,
Who shall invent a fiercer flame than lightning,
And peals to outpeal the thunder, who shall shiver
The trident mace that stirs the sea, and shakes
The solid Earth, the spear of strong Poseidon.
Thus shall the tyrant learn how much to serve
Is different from to sway.

Chorus.

Thou dost but make
Thy wishes father to thy slanderous phrase.

Prom.

Worship, and pray, fawn on the powers that be;
But Jove to me is less than very nothing.
Let him command, and rule his little hour
To please himself; long time he cannot sway.
But lo! where comes the courier of this Jove,
The obsequious minion of this upstart King,
Doubtless the bearer of some weighty news.

EnterHermes.

Hermes

Thee, cunning sophist, dealing bitter words
Most bitterly against the gods, the friend
Of ephemeral man, the thief of sacred fire,
Thee, Father Jove commands to curb thy boasts,
And say what marriage threats his stable throne.
Answer this question in plain phrase, no dark
Tangled enigmas; do not add, Prometheus,
A second journey to my first: and, mark me!
Thy obduracy cannot soften Jove

Prom.

This solemn mouthing, this proud pomp of phrase
Beseems the lackey of the gods. New gods
Ye are, and, being new, ye ween to hold
Unshaken citadels. Have I not seen
Two Monarchs ousted from that throne? the third
I yet shall see precipitate hurled from Heaven
With baser, speedier, ruin. Do I seem
To quail before this new-forged dynasty?
Fear is my farthest thought. I pray thee go
Turn up the dust again upon the road
Thou cam’st. Reply from me thou shalt have none.

Hermes.

This haughty tone hath been thy sin before:
Thy pride will strand thee on a worser woe.

Prom.

And were my woe tenfold what now it is,
I would not barter it for thy sweet chains;
For liefer would I lackey this bare rock
Than trip the messages of Father Jove.
The insolent thus with insolence I repay.

Hermes.

Thou dost delight in miseries; thou art wanton.

Prom.

Wanton! delighted! would my worst enemies
Might wanton in these bonds, thyself the first!

Hermes.

Must I, too, share the blame of thy distress?

Prom.

In one round sentence, every god I hate
That injures me who never injured him.

Hermes.

If thou art not the bought and sold of folly,
Dare to learn wisdom from thy present ills.

Prom.

Speak to the waves: thou speak’st to me as vainly!
Deem not that I, to win a smile from Jove,
Will spread a maiden smoothness o’er my soul,
And importune the foe whom most I hate
With womanish upliftings of the hands.
Thou’lt see the deathless die first!

Hermes.

I have said
Much, but that much is vain: thy rigid nature
To thaw with prayer is hopeless. A young colt
That frets the bit, and fights against the reins,
Art thou, fierce-champing with most impotent rage;
For wilful strength that hath no wisdom in it
Is less than nothing.50 But bethink thee well;
If thou despise my words of timely warning,
What wintry storm, what threefold surge of woes
Whelms thee inevitable. Jove shall split
These craggy cliffs with his cloud-bosomed bolt,
And sink thee deep: the cold rock shall embrace thee;
There thou shalt lie, till he shall please to bring thee
Back to the day, to find new pains prepared:
For he will send his Eagle-messenger,
His winged hound,* in crimson food delighting,
To tear thy rags of flesh with bloody beak,
And daily come an uninvited guest
To banquet on thy gory liver. This,
And worse expect, unless some god endure
Vicarious thy tortures,51 and exchange
His sunny ether for the rayless homes
Of gloomy Hades, and deep Tartarus.
Consider well. No empty boast I speak,
But weighty words well weighed: the mouth of Jove
Hath never known a lie, and speech with him
Is prophet of its deed. Ponder and weigh,
Close not thy stubborn ears to good advice.

Chorus.

If we may speak, what Hermes says is wise,
And fitting the occasion. He advises
That stubborn will should yield to prudent counsel.
Obey: thy wisdom should not league with folly.

Prom.

Nothing new this preacher preaches:
Seems it strange that foe should suffer
From the vengeance of his foe?
I am ready. Let him wreathe
Curls of scorching flame around me;
Let him fret the air with thunder,
And the savage-blustering winds!
Let the deep abysmal tempest
Wrench the firm roots of the Earth!
Let the sea upheave her billows,
Mingling the fierce rush of waters
With the pathway of the stars!
Let the harsh-winged hurricane sweep me
In its whirls, and fling me down
To black Tartarus: there to lie
Bound in the iron folds of Fate.
I will bear . but cannot die.

Hermes.

Whom the nymphs have struck with madness
Raves as this loud blusterer raves;
Seems he not a willing madman,
Let him reap the fruits he sowed!52
But ye maids, who share his sorrows,
Not his crimes, with quick removal
Hie from this devoted spot,
Lest with idiocy the thunder
Harshly blast your maundering wits.

Chorus.

Wouldst thou with thy words persuade us,
Use a more persuasive speech;
Urge no reasons to convince me
That an honest heart must hate.
With his sorrows I will sorrow:
I will hate a traitor’s name,
Earth has plagues, but none more noisome
Than a faithless friend in need.

Hermes.

Ponder well my prudent counsel,
Nor, when evil hunts thee out,
Blame great Jove that he doth smite thee
With an unexpected stroke.
Not the gods; thy proper folly
Is the parent of thy woes.*
Jove hath laid no trap to snare thee,
But the scapeless net of ruin
Thou hast woven for thyself.

Prom.

Now his threats walk forth in action,
And the firm Earth quakes indeed.
Deep and loud the ambient Thunder
Bellows, and the flaring Lightning
Wreathes his fiery curls around me,
And the Whirlwind rolls his dust;
And the Winds from rival regions
Rush in elemental strife,
And the Ocean’s storm-vexed billows
Mingle with the startled stars!
Doubtless now the tyrant gathers
All his hoarded wrath to whelm me.
Mighty Mother, worshipped Themis,
Circling Ether that diffusest
Light, a common joy to all,
Thou beholdest these my wrongs!

NOTES TO PROMETHEUS BOUND

[* ]Classical Museum, No. XV. p. 1.

[* ]Buck (Introduction, p. xiii.) has very aptly compared here the position of Antigone, in the well-known play of that name, and the half-approving, half-condemning tone of the Chorus in that play

[* ]The most remarkable passages of the ancients where reference is made to the Prometheus Unbound of Æschylus are.—Cicero, Tusc II. 10, Arrian. Periplus Pont. Eux. p. 19; Strabo, Lib I p. 33 and IV. 182-3; Plutarchus vit Pompeii, init.; Athenæus. XV p 672, Cas.

[† ]“Veniat Æschylus non poeta solum, sed etiam Pythagoreus. Sic enim accepimus. Quo modo fert apud eum Prometheus dolorem, quem excipit ob furtum Lemnium “—Tusc Quast. II. 10, Welcker, Prilogie, p. 7.

[‡ ]“Chorus consilietur amicis.”—Horace.

[* ]On the stage, of course, her transmutation can only be indicated by the presence of a pair of ox horns on her virgin forehead.

[* ]ἡ ποικιλείμων νύξ. Buntgewandige—Schoe. “Various-vested Night.”—Coleridge, in a Sonnet to the Autumnal Moon.

[* ]ἀιθέριον κίνυγμα.

[* ]Saturn the father of Jove.

[† ]“And the Lord said, I will destroy man whom I have created from the face of the earth, both man and beast, and the creeping thing, and the fowls of the air: for it repenteth me that I have made him”—Gen. vi. 7.

[* ]The Sea of Azof

[* ]

“Of all the things that breathe the air, and creep upon the Earth,
The weakest thing that breathes and creeps on nurturing Earth is Man.”
Homer’s Odvs. xviii. 130.

[* ]i.e. Delphi —See Schol. to Iliad II. 519.

[* ]Rhea’s bosomed sea—the Hadriatic.

[† ]The Ionian sea.

[* ]The Danaids, daughters of Danaus, who colonized Argos from Egypt This forms the subject of the next plav—the Suppliants.

[* ]See the Agamemnon, Note 15

[* ]Compare Odyssey, I. 32.

[Note 1 (p. 183).]

“This Scythian soil, this wild untrodden waste”

“The ancient Greek writers called all the Northern tribes (i.e. all who dwelt in the Northern parts of Europe and Asia) generally by the name of Scythians and Celto-Scythians; while some even more ancient than these make a division, calling those beyond the Euxine, Ister, and Adria, Hyperboreans, Sarmatians, and Arimaspi; but those beyond the Caspian Sea, Sacæ and Massagetæ.” Strabo, Lib. XI. p. 507.—Stan.

[Note 2 (p 183).]

“This daring wretch”

λεωργὸν, a difficult word; “evil-doer”—Med. and Prow.;Bosewicht—Toelp.;Freveler—Schoe. The other translation of this word—“artificer of man” (Potter)—given in the Etym. was very likely an invention of Lexicographers to explain this very passage. But the expounders did not consider that Æschylus through the whole play makes no allusion to this function of the fire-worker. It was, I believe, altogether a recent form of the myth.—See Weiske. “The precise etymology of the word is uncertain.”—Lin.

[Note 3 (p 183).]

“. . . a kindred god”

“A fellow deity”—Med. But this is not enough. Vulcan, as a smith, and Prometheus were kindred in their divine functions, for which reason they were often confounded in the popular legends, as in the case of the birth of Pallas from the brain of Jove, effected by the axe, some say of Hephaestus, some of Prometheus—Apollodor. I. 3-6. Euripid. Ion. 455; from which passage of the tragedian Welcker is of opinion that Prometheus, not Hephaetus, must have a place in the pediment of the Parthenon representing the birth of Pallas.—Class. Museum, Vol. II. p. 385.

[Note 4 (p. 183).]

“High-counselled son
Of right-decreeing Themis”

Not Clymene according to the Theogony (V. 508) or Asia, one of the Oceanides according to Apollodorus (I. 2), which parentage has been adopted by Shelley in his Prometheus Unbound. That Æschylus in preferring this maternity meant to represent the Titan as suffering in the cause of Right against Might, as Welcker will have it (Trilog p. 42), is more than doubtful. One advantage, however, is certainly gained, viz., that Prometheus is thus brought one degree further up the line of ascent in direct progress from the two original divinities of the Theogony—Uranus or Heaven, and Gee or the Earth; for, according to Hesiod, Themis is the daughter, Clymene only the grand-daughter, of these primeval powers (Theog. 135, 315). Thus, Prometheus is invested with more dignity, and becomes a more worthy rival of Jove.

[Note 5 (p 183).]

“. . . saviour shall be none.”

I entirely agree with Schoe. that in the indefinite expression—ο̂ λωϕήσων γὰρ ὀυ πέϕυκέ πω any allusion, such as the Scholiast suggests, to Hercules, the person by whom salvation did at length come, would be in the worst possible taste here, and quite foreign to the tone of the passage.

[Note 6 (p. 184).]

“Jove is not weak that he should bend.”

This character of harshness and inexorability belongs as essentially to Jove as to the Fates. Pallas, in the Iliad, makes the same complaint—

“But my father, harsh and cruel, with no gentle humour raging,
Thwarts my will in all things”
Iliad VIII 360

We must bear in mind that Jove represents three things—(1) that iron firmness of purpose which is so essential to the character of a great ruler; (2) the impetuous violence and resistless power of the heavenly elements when in commotion; (3) the immutability of the laws of Nature.

[Note 7 (p 184).]

“All things may be, but this
To dictate to the gods.”

Ἅπαντ ἐπράχθη πλὴν θεο̂ισι κοιρανεɩ̂ν—literally, all things have been done, save commanding the gods. I do not know whether there is any philological difficulty in the way of this translation It certainly agrees perfectly well with the context, and has the advantage of not changing the received text. Schoe., however, adopting Herm.’s emendation of ἐπαχθη̂ translates—

“Last trägt ein jeder, nur der Götter König nicht.”
“All have their burdens save the king of the gods.”

On the theological sentiment, I would compare that of Seneca—“In regno nati sumus; Deo parere libertas est” (Vit. Beat. 15)—and that of Euripides, where the captive Trojan queen, finding the king of men, Agamemnon, willing to assist her, but afraid of the opinion of the Greeks, speaks as follows:—

“Ουκἔστι θνητωˆν [Editor: illegible character]στις ὲστ ’ελέυθερος,
[Editor: illegible character] χρημάτων γαρ δο̂υλος ὲστιν ἡ τύχης
η πλη̂θος άυτὸν πόλεως, [Editor: illegible character] νόμων γράϕαι
[Editor: illegible character]ιργουσι χρη̂σθαι μὴ κατὰ γνωˆμην τρόποις.”
Hec. 864.

[Note 8 (p. 185).]

“Thou hast been called
In vain the Provident.”

This is merely translating Prometheus (from προ before, and μη̂τις counsel) into English. These allusions to names are very frequent in Æschylus—so much so as to amount to a mannerism; but we who use a language, the heritage of years, a coinage from which the signature has been mostly rubbed off, must bear in mind that originally all words, and especially names, were significant. See the Old Testament everywhere (particularly Gen. c. xxix. and xli., with which compare Homer, Odyssey xix. 407). And, indeed, in all original languages, like Greek or German, which declare their own etymology publicly to the most unlearned, no taunt is more natural and more obvious than that derived from a name. Even in Scotland, a man who is called Bairnsfather will be apt to feel rather awkward if he has no children. “In the oldest Greek legend,” says Welcker (Tril. p. 356), “names were frequently invented, in order to fix down the character or main feature of the story”—(so Bunyan in the Pilgrim’s Progress)—a true principle, which many German writers abuse, to evaporate all tradition into mere fictitious allegory But the practice of the Old Testament patriarchs shows that the significancy of a name affords of itself no presumption against its historical reality.

[Note 9 (p. 185)]

Prometheus. The critics remark with good reason the propriety of the stout-hearted sufferer observing complete silence up to this point. It is natural for pain to find a vent in words, but a proud man will not complain in the presence of his adversary. Compare the similar silence of Cassandra in the Agamemnon; and for reasons equally wise, that of Faust in the Auerbach cellar scene. So true is it that a great poet, like a wise man, is often best known, not by what he says, but by what he does not say—(και τη̂ς ἂγαν γάρ έστί που σιγη̂ς βάρος, as Sophocles has it). As to the subject of the beautiful invocation here made by the Titan sufferer, the reader will observe not merely its poetical beauty (to which there is something analogous in Manfred, act I. sc. 2—

“My mother Earth,
And thou fresh-breaking day, and you, ye mountains,
And thou the bright eye of the Universe,”)

but also its mythological propriety in the person of the speaker, as in the early times the original elementary theology common to the Greeks with all polytheists, had not been superseded by those often sadly disguised impersonations which are represented by the dynasty of Jove. Ocean and Hyperion (ὑπερίων—he that walks aloft) are named in the Theogony, along with Themis and Iapetus, as the first generation of gods, directly begotten from Heaven and Earth.—(Theog. 133-4.) In the natural progress of religious opinion, this original cosmical meaning of the Greek gods, though lost by anthropomorphism to the vulgar, was afterwards brought out by the natural philosophers, and by the philosophical poets; of which examples occur everywhere among the later classics. Indeed, the elemental worship seems never to have been altogether exploded, but continued to exist in strange confusion along with the congregation of fictitious persons to which it had given birth. So in Homer, Agamemnon prays—

“Father Jove from Ida swaying, god most glorious and great,
And thou Sun, the all-perceiving and all-hearing power, and ye
Rivers and Earth,” etc.
—Il III 277

[Note 10 (p. 185).]

“The multitudinous laughter.”

ἀνήριθμον γέλασμα. I must offer an apology here for myself, Mr. Swayne, and Captain Medwyn, because I find we are in a minority. The Captain, indeed, has paraphrased it a little—

“With long loud laughs, exulting to be free,”

but he retains the laugh, which is the stumbling-block. Swayne has

“Ye ocean waves
That with incessant laughter bound and swell
Countless,”

also a little paraphrased, but giving due prominence to the characteristic idea. E. P. Oxon. has

“Ocean smiling with its countless waves,”

with a reference to Stanley’s note, “Refertur ad levem sonum undarum ventis exagitatarum qui etiam aliquantulum crispant maris dorsum quasi amabili quadam γελασιᾳ,” in which words we see the origin of Pot.’s—

“Ye waves
That o’er the interminable ocean wreathe
Your crisped smiles.”

Prow. has—

“Dimpled in multitudinous smiles.”

And Schoe.’s—

“Zahllosses Blinken”

And so Blom. in a note, emphatically—

“Lenis fluctuum agitatio”

But why all this gentleness? Does it agree either with the strength of the poet’s genius, or with the desolation of the wild scene around his hero? I at once admit that γελάω is often used in Greek, where, according to our usage, smile would be the word; but in the Old Testament we find the broad strong word laugh often retained in descriptions of nature; and I see not the least reason for walking in satin shoes here.

[Note 11 (p. 186).]

“. . . in a reed concealed it.”

νάρθηξ—“still used for this purpose in Cyprus, where the reed still retains the old Greek name”—Welcker,Tril. p. 8, who quotes Walpole’s Memoirs relative to Turkey, p. 284, and Tournefort, Letter 6. I recollect at school smoking a bit of bamboo cane for a cigar.

[Note 12 (p 186).]

“. . . Ah me! ah me! who comes?”

The increased agitation of mind is here expressed in the original by the abandonment of the Iambic verse, and the adoption of the Bacchic—τίς ἀχὼ, etc., which speedily passes into the anapæst, as imitated by my Trochees. Milton was so steeped in Greek, that I think he must have had this passage in his mind when he wrote the lines of Samson Agonistes, v. 110, beginning “But who are these?” Altogether, the Samson is, in its general tone and character, quite a sort of Jewish Prometheus.

[Note 13 (p. 187).]

“Daughters of prolific Tethys.”

The ancient sea-goddess, sister and wife of Oceanus, daughter of Heaven and Earth. The reader will observe that the mythology of this drama preserves a primeval or, according to our phrase, antediluvian character throughout. The mythic personages are true contemporaries belonging to the most ancient dynasty of the gods. For this reason Ocean appears in a future stage of the play, not Poseidon. Tethys, with the other Titans and Titanesses are enumerated by Hesiod, Theog. 132-7, as follows—

“Earth to Uranus wedded bore Ocean deep with whirling currents,
Coeus, Creios, Hyperion, Theia, Rhea, Iapetus,
Themis, Mnemosyne, lovely Tethys, likewise Phœbe golden-crowned,
Then the youngest of them all, deep-designing Kronos”

As for the epithet prolific applied to Tethys, the fecundity of fish is a proverb in natural history; but I suppose it is rather the infinite succession of waves on the expanded surface of Ocean that makes his daughters so numerous in the Theogony (362)—

“Thrice ten hundred they are counted delicate-ancled Ocean maids.”

[Note 14 (p 187).]

“. . . the giant trace
Of Titan times hath vanished.”

Here we have distinctly indicated that contrast between the old and the new gods, which Æschylus makes so prominent, not only in this play, but also in the Furies. The conclusion has been drawn by various scholars that Æschylus was secretly unfavourable to the recognised dynasty of Jove, and that his real allegiance was to these elder gods. But the inference is hasty and unauthorised. His taste for the sublime led him into these primeval ages, as it also did Milton: that is all we can say.

[Note 15 (p. 188).]

“. . . the new-forged counsels
That shall hurl him from his throne.”

The new-forged counsels were of Jove’s own devising—viz., that he should marry Thetis; of which marriage, if it should take place, the son was destined to usurp his father’s throne.—Scholiast.

[Note 16 (p 188)]

“O, ’tis hard, most hard to reach
The heart of Jove!”

Inexorability is a grand characteristic of the gods.

“Desine fata deum flecti sperare precando”
—Virg, Æn. VI.

And so Homer makes Nestor say of Agamemnon, vainly hoping to appease the wrath of Pallas Athena, by hecatombs—

“Witless in his heart he knew not what dire sufferings he must bear,
For not lightly from their purposed counsel swerve the eternal gods”
Odys III. 147.

And of Jove, in particular, Hera says to Themis, in the council of the gods—

“Well thou knowest
How the Olympian’s heart is haughty, and his temper how severe.”
—Iliad XV. 94.

[Note 17 (p. 188).]

“My mother Themis, not once but oft, and Earth
(One shape of various names).”

Æschylus does not and could not confound these two distinct persons, as Pot. will have it.—See Eumenides, 2. Schoe. has stated the whole case very clearly. Pot. remarks with great justice, that a multiplicity of names “is a mark of dignity;” it by no means follows, however, that Themis, in this passage, is one of those many names which Earth receives. In illustration we may quote a passage from the Kurma Ouran (Kennedy’s Researches on Hindoo Mythology; London, 1831; p. 208)—“That,” says Vishnu, pointing to Siva, “is the great god of gods, shining in his own refulgence, eternal, devoid of thought, who produced thee (Brahma), and gave to thee the Vedas, and who likewise originated me, and gave me various names.” Southey, in the roll of celestial dramatis personæ prefixed to the Curse of Kehama, says “that Siva boasts as many as one thousand and eight names.”

[Note 18 (p 189).]

“Suspicion’s a disease that cleaves to tyrants,
And they who love most are the first suspected.”

“Nam regibus boni quam mali suspectiores sunt, semperque his aliena virtus formidolosa est.”—Sall. Cat VII. “In princes fear is stronger than love; therefore it is often more difficult for them to tear themselves from persons whom they hate than to cast off persons whom they love.”—Richter (Titan).

[Note 19 (p. 189).]

“I only of the gods
Thwarted his will.”

This is one of the passages which has suggested to many minds a comparison between the mythical tortures of the Caucasus and the real agonies of Calvary. The analogy is just so far; only the Greek imagination never could look on Prometheus as suffering altogether without just cause; he suffered for his own sins. This Toepel. p. 71, has well expressed thus—“Prometheus deos laesit ut homines bearet: Christus homines beavit ut suae, Deique patris obsecundaret voluntati.”

[Note 20 (p. 189).]

“. . . in cunning torment stretched.”

ἀνηλεωˆς ἐῤῥύθμισμαι—“so bin ich sugerichtet”—Passow. A sort of studious malignity is here indicated. So we say allegorically to trim one handsomely, to dress him, when we mean to punish. The frequent use of this verb ρυθμίζω is characteristic of the Greeks, than whom no people, as has been frequently remarked, seem to have possessed a nicer sense of the beauty of measure and the propriety of limitation in their poetry and works of art. So Sophocles, Antig. 318, has ρυθμίζειν λύπην.

[Note 21 (p 190)]

“Blind hopes of good I planted
In their dark breasts”

A striking phrase, meaning, however, nothing more, I imagine, according to the use of the Greek writers (and also of the Latins with caecus) than dim, indistinct; neither, indeed, is the phrase foreign to our colloquial English idiom—“The swearing to a blind etcetera they (the Puritans) looked upon as intolerable.”—Calamy’s Life of Baxter. In the well-known story of Pandora, Hesiod relates that, when the lid of the fatal box was opened, innumerable plagues flew out, only Hope remained within.—Works and Days, 84.

[Note 22 (p. 190).]

“And flame-faced fire is now enjoyed by mortals?”

Lieutenant-Colonel Collins, in his account of New South Wales (London, 1804), mentions that the wild natives produced fire with much difficulty, and preserved it with the greatest care. The original inhabitants of New Holland, and the wild African bushmen described by Moffat, the missionary, are among the lowest specimens of human nature with which we are acquainted. As for Æschylus, it is evident he follows in this whole piece the notion of primitive humanity given in his introductory chapters by Diodorus, and generally received amongst the ancients, viz., that the fathers of our race were the most weak and helpless creatures imaginable, like the famous Egyptian frogs, as it were, only half developed from the primeval slime

[Note 23 (p. 191)]

EnterOcean. “This sea god enters,” says Brunoy, quoted by Pot., on “I know not what winged animal—bizarrerie inexplicable.” Very inexplicable certainly; and yet, as the tragedian expressly calls the animal a bird, I do not see why so many translators, both English and German, should insist on making it a steed. The bird certainly was a little anomalous, having, as we learn below, four feet (τετρασκελὴς ὀιωνός, v. 395—a four-footed bira); but it was a bird for all that, and the air was its element. If the creature must have a name, we must even call it a griffin, or a hippogriff, notwithstanding Welcker’s remarks (Tril. p. 26). Those who wish to see its physiognomy more minutely described may consult Aeliean. hist. animal. IV. 27, in an apt passage quoted from Jacobs by Both. There is an ambiguity in the passage which I have translated—

“Thought instinctive reined the creature,”

some applying γνώμῃ not to the animal, but to the will of the rider. So Prow.—

“Following still
Each impulse of my guiding will.”

But for the poetical propriety of my translation I can plead the authority of Southey—

“The ship of Heaven instinct with thought displayed
Its living sail, and glides along the sky”
Curse of Kehama, VII. 1

and of Milton—

“The chariot of paternal Deity
Instinct with spirit”
—VI 750

and what is much more conclusive in the present instance, that of Homer, whose τιτυσκόμεναι ϕρεσὶ νη̂ες (Odyssey VIII. 556), or self-piloted ships of the Phœnicians, belong clearly to the same mythical family as the self-reined griffin of old Ocean.

[Note 24 (p. 191).]

“From my distant caves cerulean.”

i.e., in the far West, extreme Atlantic, or “ends of the earth,” according to the Homeric phrase.

“To the ends I make my journey of the many-nurturing Earth,
There where Ocean, sire of gods, and ancient mother Tethys dwells,
They who nursed me in their palace, and my infant strength sustained,’

says Hera in the Iliad (XIV. 200).

[Note 25 (p. 192).]

“Enough my brother Atlas’ miseries grieve me”

The reader will see by referring to the old editions and to Pot. that the following description of the miseries of Atlas and Typhon is, in the MS., given to Ocean; and, it must be confessed, there seems a peculiar dramatic propriety in making the old sea god hold up the fate of the Cilician Blaster as a warning to the son of Iapetus, whom he saw embarked in a similar career of hopeless rebellion against the Thunderer. But philological considerations, well stated by Schoe., have weighed with that editor, as with his predecessors Blom. and Well., whose authority and arguments I am for the present willing to follow, though not without some lingering doubts. The alteration of the text originally proceeded from Elmsley, and the original order of the dialogue is stoutly defended by Toepel. in his notes.

[Note 26 (p. 192)]

“The pillars of Heaven and Earth upon his shoulders.”

If the reader is a curious person, he will ask how Atlas when standing on the Earth—in the extreme west of the Earth—could bear the pillars of HeavenandEarth? and the question will be a very proper one; for the fact is that, as Hesiod distinctly states the case, he bore the pillars of Heaven only (Theog. 517). This is, indeed, the only possible idea that could be admitted into a mythology which proceeded on the old principle that the Earth was a flat solid platform in the centre of the Universe, round which the celestial pole (πόλος) wheeled. The phrase “pillars of Heaven and Earth” is, therefore, to a certain extent an improper one; for the Earth, being the stable base of all things, required no pillars to support it. In one sense it is true that the pillars of Atlas are the pillars of Heaven and Earth, viz., in so far as they have Heaven at one end and Earth at the other, which is what Homer means when he says (Odyssey I. 54), that these pillars “γα̂ιάν τε καὶ ὀυρανὸν ἀμϕὶς ἔχουσιν.” And that this is the idea of Æschylus, also, is plain, both from the present passage, and from the Epode of the next following Chorus, where, unless we force in one conjecture of Schutz, or another of Hermann into the text, there is no mention of anything but the celestial pole. In all this I but express in my own words, and with a very decided conviction, the substance of the admirable note in Schoe. to v. 426, Well.

[Note 27 (p. 192).]

“. . . Typhon.”

The idea of Typhon is that of a strong windy power, δεινόν ὑβριστήν τ ἄνεμον, according to the express statement of Hesiod (Theog 307). The Greek word Typhon, with which our typhus fever is identical, expresses the state of being swollen or blown up, with this, the other idea of heat, which belongs also to Typhon (Sallust, περὶ θεωˆν, c. 4), is naturally connected. According to the elementary or physical system of mythology, therefore, Typhon is neither more nor less than a simoom or hot wind.

[Note 28 (p. 193).]

“Knowest thou not this, Prometheus, that mild words
Are medicines of fierce wrath?”

The reader may like to see Cicero’s version of these four lines—

“Oceanus Atqui Prometheu te hoc, tenere existimo
Mederi posse rationem iracundiæ.”
“Prom Si quidem qui tempestivam medicinam admovens
Non ad gravescens vulnus illidat manus.”
Tusc. Q., III. 31.

[Note 29 (p 194).]

“. . . holy Asia weep
For thee, Prometheus”

Here, and in the epithet of the rivers in the Epode (compare Homer’s Odyssey X 351, ἱερων ποταμων, and Nagelsbach, Homer, Theologie, p. 85), the original word is ἁγνος, a term to be particularly noted, both in the heathen writers and in the Old Testament, as denoting that religious purity in connection with external objects and outward ceremonies which the Christian sentiment confines exclusively to the moral state of the soul. I have thought it important, in all cases, to retain the Greek phrase, and not by modernizing to dilute it. The religious sentiment in connection with external nature is what the moderns generally do not understand, and least of all the English, whose piety does not readily exhibit itself beyond the precincts of the church porch. The Germans, in this regard, have a much more profound sympathy with the Greek mind.

[Note 30 (p. 194).]

“. . . Araby’s wandering warriors weep
For thee, Prometheus.”

Arabia certainly comes in, to a modern ear, not a little strangely here, between the Sea of Azof and the Caucasus; but the Greeks, we must remember, were a people whose notions of barbarian geography (as they would call it) were anything but distinct; and, in this play, the poet seems wisely to court vagueness in these matters rather than to study accuracy.

[Note 31 (p 195).]

“For, soothly, having eyes to see, they saw not.”

With regard to the origin of the human race there are two principal opinions, which have in all times prevailed. One is, that man was originally created perfect, or in a state of dignity far transcending what he now exhibits; that the state in which the earliest historical records present him is a state of declension and aberration from the primeval source; and that the whole progress of what is called civilization is only a series of attempts, for the most part sufficiently clumsy, and always painful, whereby we endeavour to reinstate ourselves in our lost position. This philosophy of history—for so it may most fitly be called—is that which has always been received in the general Christian world, and, indeed, it seems to flow necessarily from the reception of the Mosaic records, not merely as authentic Hebrew documents, but as veritable cosmogony and primeval history—as containing a historical exposition of the creation of the world, and the early history of man. The other doctrine is, that man was originally created in a condition extremely feeble and imperfect; very little removed from vegetable dulness and brutish stupidity; and that he gradually raised himself by slow steps to the exercise of the higher moral and intellectual faculties, by virtue of which he claims successful mastery over the brute, and affinity with the angel This doctrine was very common, I think I may safely say the current and generally received doctrine, among the educated Greeks and Romans; though the poets certainly did not omit, as they so often do, to contradict themselves by their famous tradition of a golden age, which it was their delight to trick out and embellish. In modern times, this theory of progressive development, as it may be called, has, as might have been expected, found little favour, except with philosophers of the French school; and those who have broached it in this country latterly have met with a most hot reception from scientific men, principally, we may presume, from the general conviction that such ideas go directly to undermine the authority of the Mosaic record. It has been thought, also, that there is something debasing and contrary to the dignity of human nature in the supposition that the great-grandfather of the primeval father of our race may have been a monkey, or not far removed from that species; but, however this be, with regard to Æschylus, it is plain he did not find it inconsistent with the loftiest views of human duty and destiny to adopt the then commonly received theory of a gradual development; and, in illustration, I cannot do better than translate a few sentences from Diodorus, where the same doctrine is stated in prose. “Men, as originally generated, lived in a confused and brutish condition, preserving existence by feeding on herbs and fruits that grew spontaneously. * * * Their speech was quite indistinct and confused, but by degrees they invented articulate speech. * * * They lived without any of the comforts and conveniences of life, without clothing, without habitations, without fire (Prometheus!), and without cooked victuals; and not knowing to lay up stores for future need, great numbers of them died during the winter from the effects of cold and starvation. By which sad experience taught, they learned to lodge themselves in caves, and laid up stores there. By-and-by, they discovered fire and other things pertaining to a comfortable existence. The arts were then invented, and man became in every respect such as a highly-gifted animal might well be, having hands and speech, and a devising mind ever present to work out his purposes.” Thus far the Sicilian (I. 8); and the intelligent reader need not be informed that, to a certain extent, many obvious and patent facts seemed to give a high probability to his doctrine. “Dwellers in caves,” for instance, or “troglodytes,” were well known to the ancients, and the modern reader will find a historical account of them in Strabo, and other obvious places. The Horites (Gen. xiv. 6) were so called from the Hebrew word Hor, a cave—(see Gesenius and Jahn, I. 2-26). But it is needless to accumulate learned references in a matter patent to the most modern observation.—Moffat’s “African Missions” will supply instances of human beings in a state as degraded as anything here described by the poet; and with regard to the aboriginal Australians, I have preserved in my notes the following passage from Collins: “The Australians dwell in miserable huts of bark, all huddled together promiscuously (ἔϕυρον εικη̂ πάντα!) amid much smoke and dirt. Some also live in caves.” I do by no means assert, however, that these creatures are remnants of primeval humanity, according to the development theory; I only say they afford that theory a historic analogy; while, on the other hand, they are equally consistent with the commonly received Christian doctrine, as man is a creature who degenerates from excellence much more readily in all circumstances than he attains to it. These Australians and Africans may be mere imbecile stragglers who have been dropt from the great army of humanity in its march.

[Note 32 (p. 195).]

“Numbers, too,
I taught them (a most choice device)”

“The Pythagorean tenets of Æschylus here display themselves. It was one of the doctrines attributed to this mysterious sect that they professed to find in numbers, and their combinations, the primordial types of everything cognisable by the mind, whether of a physical or moral nature. They even spoke of the soul as a number.”—Prow. But, apart from all Pythagorean notions, we may safely say—from observation of travellers indeed certainly affirm—that there is nothing in which the civilized man so remarkably distinguishes himself from the savage, as in the power to grasp and handle relations of number. The special reference to Pythagoras in this passage is, I perceive, decidedly rejected by Schoe.; Bergk. and Haupt., according to his statement, admitting it. Of course, such a reference in the mind of the poet can never be proved, only it does no harm to suppose it.

[Note 33 (p. 196).]

“. . . the fire-faced signs.”

(ϕλογωπὰ σήματα). Prowett refers this to lightning; but surely, in the present connection, the obvious reference is to the sacrificial flame, from which, as from most parts of the sacrificial ceremony, omens were wont to be taken. When the flame burned bright it was a good omen; when with a smoky and troublous flame, the omen was bad. See a well-known description of this in Sophocles’ Antigone, from the mouth of the blind old diviner Tiresias, when he first enters the stage, v. 1005; and another curious passage in Euripides’ Phœniss 1261.

[Note 34 (p. 196).]

“And who is lord of strong Necessity?”

Necessity (Ἀνάγκη), a favourite power to which reference is made by the Greek dramatists, is merely an impersonation of the fact patent to all, that the world is governed by a system of strict and inexorable law, from the operation of which no man can escape. That the gods themselves are subject to this Ἀνάγκη, is a method of expression not seldom used by Heathen writers, but that they had any distinct idea, or fixed theological notion of Necessity or Fate, as a power separate from and superior to the gods I see no reason to believe.—See my observations on the Homeric μοɩ̂ρα in Clas. Mus., No. XXVI., p. 437. And in the same way that Homer talks of the fate from the gods, so the tragedians talk of necessity from or imposed by the gods—τὰς γὰρ έκ θεωˆν ἀνάγκας θνητον ὀντα δεɩ̂ ϕέρειν. With regard to Æschylus, certainly one must beware of drawing any hasty inference with regard to his theological creed from this insulated passage. For here the poet adopts the notion of the strict subjection of Jove to an external Fate, principally, one may suppose, from dramatic propriety; it suits the person and the occasion. Otherwise, the Æschylean theology is very favourable to the absolute supremacy of Jove; and, accordingly, in the Eumenides, those very Furies, who are here called his superiors, though they dispute with Apollo, are careful not to be provoked into a single expression which shall seem to throw a doubt on the infallibility of “the Father.” For the rest, the Fates and Furies, both here and in the Eumenides, are aptly coupled, and, in signification, indeed, are identical; because a man’s fate in this world can never be separated from his conduct, nor his conduct from his conscience, of which the Furies are the impersonation.

[Note 35 (p. 196).]

“No more than others Jove can ’scape his doom.”

The idea that the Supreme Ruler of the Universe can ever be dethroned is foreign to every closely reasoned system of monotheism; but in polytheistic systems it is not unnatural (for gods who had a beginning may have an end); and in the Hindoo theology receives an especial prominence. Southey accordingly makes Indra, the Hindoo Jove, say—

“A stronger hand
May wrest my sceptre, and unparadise
The Swerga.”
—Curse of Kehama, VII.

We must bear in mind, however, that it is not Æschylus in the present passage, but Prometheus who says this.

[Note 36 (p. 197)]

“Plant his high will against my weak opinion!”

The original of these words, “μηδάμ θε̂ιτ’ εμᾀ γνώμα̂ κράτος ἀντίπαλον Ζεὺς,” has been otherwise translated “Minime Jupiter indat animo meo vim rebellem,” but, apart altogether from theological considerations, I entirely agree with Schoe. that this rendering puts a force upon the word κράτος, which is by no means called for, and which it will not easily bear.

[Note 37 (p. 197).]

“Won by rich gifts didst lead.”

Observe here the primitive practice according to which the bridegroom purchased his wife, by rich presents made to the father. In Iliad IX. 288, Agamemnon promises, as a particular favour, to give his daughter in marriage to Achilles ἀνάεδνον, that is, without any consideration in the shape of a marriage gift.

[Note 38 (p. 197)]

Enter Io. Io is one of those mysterious characters on the border-land between history and fable, concerning which it is difficult to say whether they are to be looked on as personal realities, or as impersonated ideas. According to the historical view of ancient legends, Io is the daughter of Inachus, a primeval king of Argos; and, from this fact as a root, the extravagant legends about her, sprouting from the ever active inoculation of human fancy, branched out. Interpreted by the principles of early theological allegory, however, she is, according to the witness of Suidas, the Moon, and her wanderings the revolutions of that satellite. In either view, the immense extent of these wanderings is well explained by mythological writers (1) from the influence of Argive colonies at Byzantium and elsewhere; and (2) from the vain desire of the Greeks to connect their horned virgin Io, with the horned Isis of the Egyptians. It need scarcely be remarked that, if Io means the moon, her horns are as naturally explained as her wanderings. But, in reading Æschylus, all these considerations are most wisely left out of view, the Athenians, no doubt, who introduced this play, believing in the historical reality of the Inachian maid, as firmly as we believe in that of Adam or Methuselah. As little can I agree with Both. that we are called upon to rationalize away the reality of the persecuting insect, whether under the name of ’ο̂ιστρος or μύωψ. In popular legends the sublime is ever apt to be associated with circumstances that either are, or, to the cultivated imagination, necessarily appear to be ridiculous.

[Note 39 (p. 198)]

“. . . save me, O Earth!”

I have here given the received traditionary rendering of Αλενˆ [Editor: illegible character] δα̂; but I must confess the appeal to Earth here in this passage always appeared to me something unexpected; and it is, accordingly, with pleasure that I submit the following observations of Schoe. to the consideration of the scholar—“Δα̂ is generally looked on as a dialectic variation of γα̂; and, in conformity with this opinion, Theocritus has used the accusation Δα̂ν. I consider this erroneous, and am of opinion that in Δημητηρ we are rather to understand Δεαμητηρ than Γημητηρ; and δα̂ is to be taken only as an interjection. This is not the place to discuss this matter fully; but, in the meantime, I may mention that Ahrensde dialecta Doricâ, p. 80, has refuted the traditionary notion with regard to δα̂

[Note 40 (p 198)]

Chorus. With Well., and Schoe, and the MSS., I give this verse to the Chorus, though certainly it is not to be denied that the continuation of the lyrical metre of the Strophe pleads strongly in favour of giving it to Io. It is also certain that, for the sake of symmetry, the last line of the Antistrophe must also be given to the Chorus, as Schoe. has done.

[Note 41 (p. 199).]

“. . . the sisters of thy father, Io.”

Inachus, the Argive river, was, like all other rivers, the son of Ocean, and, of course, the brother of the Ocean-maids, the Chorus of the present play. Afterwards, according to the historical method of conception, characteristic of the early legends, the elementary god became a human person—the river was metamorphosed into a king.

[Note 42 (p. 200)]

“. . . Lerne’s bosomed mead.”

We most commonly read of the water or fountain of Lerne; this implies a meadow—and this, again, implies high overhanging grounds, or cliffs, of which mention is made in the twenty-third line below. In that place, however, the reading ἄκρην is not at all certain; and, were I editing the text. I should have no objection to follow Pal. in reading Λέρνης τε κρήνην, with Canter. In fixing this point, something will depend upon the actual landscape.

[Note 43 (p. 201).]

“First to the east.”

Here begins the narration of the mythical wanderings of Io—a strange matter, and of a piece with the whole fable, which, however, with all its perplexities, Æschylus, no doubt, and his audience, following the old minstrels, took very lightly. In such matters, the less curious a man is. the greater chance is there of his not going far wrong; and to be superficial is safer than to be profound The following causes may be stated as presumptive grounds why we ought not to be surprised at any start ling inaccuracy in geographical detail in legends of this kind.—(1) The Greeks, as stated above, even in their most scientific days, had the vaguest possible ideas of the geography of the extreme circumference of the habitable globe and the parts nearest to it which are spoken of in the passage (2) The geographical ideas of Æschylus must be assumed as more kindred to those of Homer than of the best informed later Greeks. (3) Even supposing Æschylus to have had the most accurate geographical ideas, he had no reasons in handling a Titanic myth to make his geographical scenery particularly tangible; on the contrary, as a skilful artist, the more misty and indefinite he could keep it the better. (4) He may have taken the wanderings of Io, as Welcker still suggests (Trilog 137), literally from the old Epic poem “Aigimius,” or some other traditionary lay as old as Homer, leaving to himself no more discretion in the matter, and caring as little to do so as Shakespere did about the geographical localities in Macbeth, which he borrowed from Hollinshed. For all these reasons I am of opinion that any attempt to explain the geographical difficulties of the following wanderings would be labour lost to myself no less than to the reader; and shall, therefore, content myself with noting seriatim the different points of the progress, and explaining, for the sake of the general reader, what is or is not known in the learned world about the matter:—

(1) The starting-point is not from Mount Caucasus, according to the common representation, but from some indefinite point in the Northern parts of Europe. So the Scholiast on v. 1, arguing from the present passage, clearly concludes; and with him agree Her. and Schoe.; Welcker whimsically, I think, maintaining a contrary opinion.

(2) The Scythian nomads,vid. note on v. 2, supra, their particular customs alluded to here are well known, presenting a familiar ancient analogy to the gipsy life of the present day. The reader of Horace will recall the lines—

“Campestres melius Scythae
Quorum plaustra vagas rite trahunt domos”
—Ode III 24-9.

and the same poet (III. 4-35) mentions the “quiver-bearing Geloni”; for the bow is the most convenient weapon to all wandering and semi-civilized warriors.

(3) The Chalybs, or Chaldaei, are properly a people in Pontus, at the north-east corner of Asia Minor; but Æschylus, in his primeval Titanic geography, takes the liberty of planting them to the north of the Euxine.

(4) The river Hubristes. The Araxes, says the Scholiast; the Tanais, say others; or the Cuban (Dr. Schmitz in Smith’s Dict.) The word means boisterous or outrageous, and recalls the Virgilian

“pontem indignatus Araxes.”

(5) The Caucasus, as in modern geography.

(6) The Amazons; placed here in the country about Colchis to the northward of their final settlement in Themiscyre, on the Thermodon, in Pontus, east of the Halys.

(7) Salmydessus, on the Euxine, west of the Symplegades and the Thracian Bosphorus; of course a violent jump in the geography.

(8) The Cimmerian Bosphorus, between the Euxine and the Sea of Azof. Puzzling enough that this should come in here, and no mention be made of the Thracian Bosphorus in the whole flight! The word Bosporus means in Greek the passage of the Cow.

(9) The Asian continent; from the beginning a strange wheel! For the rest see below.

[Note 44 (p. 203).]

“When generations ten have passed, the third”

This mythical genealogy is thus given by Schutz from Apollodorus. 1. Epaphus; 2. Libya, 3. Belus (see Suppliants, p. 228, above); 4. Danaus, 5. Hypermnestra; 6. Abas; 7. Proetus; 8. Acrisias; 9. Danae; 10. Perseus; 11. Electryon, 12. Alcmena; 13. Heracles.

[Note 45 (p 203).]

“When thou hast crossed the narrow stream that parts.”

I now proceed with the mythical wanderings of the “ox-horned maid,” naming the different points, and continuing the numbers, from the former Note—

(10) The Sounding Ocean.—Before these words, something seems to have dropt out of the text, what the “sounding sea” (πόντου ϕλο̂ισβος) is, no man can say; but, as a southward direction is clearly indicated in what follows, we may suppose the Caspian, with Her.; or the Persian Gulf, with Schoe.

(11) The Gorgonian Plains.—“The Gorgons are conceived by Hesiod to live in the Western Ocean, in the neighbourhood of Night, and the Hesperides; but later traditions place them in Libya.”—Dr. Schmitz, in Smith’s Dict.: but Schoe., in his note, quotes a scholiast to Pindar, Pyth. X. 72, which places them near the Red Sea, and in Ethiopia. This latter habitation, of course, agrees best with the present passage of Æschylus.

With regard to Cisthene, the same writer (Schoe.) has an ingenious conjecture, that it may be a mistake of the old copyists, for the Cissians, a Persian people, mentioned in the opening chorus to the play of the Persians.

(12) The country of the Griffins, the Arimaspi, and the river Pluto. The Griffins and the Arimaspi are well known from Herodotus and Strabo, which latter, we have seen above (Note 1), places them to the north of the Euxine Sea, as a sub-division of the Scythians. Æschylus, however, either meant to confound all geographical distinctions, or followed a different tradition, which placed the Arimaspi in the south, as to which see Schoe. “The river Pluto is easily explained, from the accounts of golden-sanded rivers in the East which had reached Greece.”—Schoe.

(13) The river Aethiops seems altogether fabulous.

(14) The “Bybline Heights,” meaning the κατάδουπα (Herod. II. 17), or place where the Nile falls from the mountains.—Lin.in voce καταβασμός, which is translated pass. No such place as Byblus is mentioned here by the geographers, in want of which Pot. has allowed himself to be led, by the Scholiast, into rather a curious error. The old annotator, having nothing geographical to say about this Byblus, thought he might try what etymology could do; so he tells us that the Bybline Mountains were so called from the Byblos or Papyrus that grew on them. This Potter took up and gave—

“Where from the mountains with papyrus crowned
The venerable Nile impetuous pours,”

overlooking the fact that the papyrus is a sedge, and grows in flat, moist places.

[Note 46 (p. 204).]

“. . . the sacred Nile
Pours his salubrious flood”

ἔυποτον ρέος, literally, good for drinking The medicinal qualities of the Nile were famous in ancient times. In the Suppliants, v. 556, our poet calls the Nile water, νόσοις ἄθικτον, not to be reached by diseases; and in v 835, the nurturing river that makes the blood flow more buoyantly. On this subject, the celebrated Venetian physician, Prosper Alpin, in his Rerum Ægyptiarum, Lib. IV. (Lugd. Bat. 1735) writes as follows: “Nili aqua merito omnibus aliis præfertur quod ipsa alvum subducat, menses pellat ut propterea raro mensium suppressio in Ægypti mulieribus reperiatur. Potui suavis est, et dulcís; sitim promptissime extinguit; frigida tuto bibitur, concoctionem juvat, ac distributioni auxilio est, minime hypochondriis gravis corpus firmum et coloratum reddit,” etc.—Lib. I. c. 3. If the water of the Nile really be not only pleasant to drink, but, strictly speaking, of medicinal virtue, it has a companion in the Ness, at Inverness, the waters of which are said to possess such a drastic power, that they cannot be drunk with safety by strangers.

[Note 47 (p 204).]

“. . . thence with mazy course
Tossed hither.”

I quite agree with Schoe. that, in the word παλιμπλάγκτος, in this passage, we must understand πάλιν to mean to and fro, not backwards. With a backward or reverted course from the Adriatic, Io could never have been brought northward to Scythia. The maziness of Io’s course arises naturally from the fitful attacks of the persecuting insect of which she was the victim. A direct course is followed by sane reason, a zigzag course by insane impulse.

[Note 48 (p. 204).]

“. . . Epaphus, whose name shall tell
The wonder of his birth.”

As Io was identified with Isis, so Epaphus seems merely a Greek term for the famous bull-god Apis.—(Herod. III. 27, and Muller’s Prolegom. myth.) The etymology, like many others given by the ancients, is ridiculous enough; ὲπαϕἡ, touch. This derivation is often alluded to in the next play, The Suppliants. With regard to the idea of a virgin mother so prominent in this legend of Io, Prow. has remarked that it occurs in the Hindoo and in the Mexican mythology; but nothing can be more purile than the attempt which he mentions as made by Faber to connect this idea with the “promise respecting the seed of the woman made to man at the fall.” Sound philosophy will never seek a distant reason for a phenomenon, when a near one is ready. When an object of worship or admiration is once acknowledged as superhuman, it is the most natural thing in the world for the imagination to supply a superhuman birth. A miraculous life flows most fitly from a miraculous generation. The mother of the great type of Roman warriors is a vestal, and his father is the god of war. Romans and Greeks will wisely be left to settle such matters for themselves, without the aid of “patriarchal traditions” or “the prophecy of Isaiah.” The ancient Hellenes were not so barren, either of fancy or feeling, as that they required to borrow matters of this kind from the Hebrews. On the idea of “generation by a god” generally, see the admirable note in Grote’s History of Greece, P. I c. 16 (Vol. I. p 471).

[Note 49 (p. 207).]

“. . . they are wise who worship Adrastéa”

“A surname of Nemesis, derived by some writers from Adrastus, who is said to have built the first sanctuary of Nemesis on the river Asopus (Strabo XIII p 588), and by others from the verb διδράσκειν, according to which it would signify the goddess whom none could escape.”—Dr. Schmitz. On this subject, Stan. has a long note, where the student will find various illustrative references.

[Note 50 (p. 209).]

“For wilful strength that hath no wisdom in it
Is less than nothing.”

The word in the original, ἀυθαδιά, literally “self-pleasing,” expresses a state of mind which the Greeks, with no shallow ethical discernment, were accustomed to denounce as the great source of all those sins whose consequences are the most fearful to the individual and to society. St. Paul, in his epistle to Titus (i. 7), uses the same word emphatically to express what a Christian bishop should not be (ἀυθὰδη, self-willed). The same word is used by the blind old soothsayer Tiresias in the Antigone, when preaching repentance to the passionate and self-willed tyrant of Thebes, ἀυθαδιά τοι σκαιότητ ὀϕλισκάνει, where Donaldson gives the whole passage as follows:—

“Then take these things to heart, my son; for error
Is as the universal lot of man,
But, whensoe’er he errs, that man no longer
Is witless, or unblest, who, having fallen
Into misfortune, seeks to mend his ways,
And is not obstinate: the stiff-necked temper
Must oft plead guilty to the charge of folly.”
Sophocles, Antig. v. 1028.

[Note 51 (p. 209).]

“. . . unless some god endure
Vicarious thy tortures.”

The idea of vicarious sacrifice, or punishment by substitution of one person for another, does not seem to have been very familiar to the Greek mind; at least, I do not trace it in Homer. It occurs, however, most distinctly in the well-known case of Menœceus, in Euripides’ play of the Phænissæ. In this passage, also, it is plainly implied, though the word διάδοχος, strictly translated, means only a successor, and not a substitute.Welck. (Trilog. p 47) has pointed out that the person here alluded to is the centaur Chiron, of whom Apollodorus (II. 5-11-12) says that “Hercules, after freeing Prometheus, who had assumed the olive chaplet (Welck. reads ὲλόμένον), delivered up Chiron to Jove willing, though immortal, to die in his room (θνήσκειν ἀντ’ ἁυτου). This is literally the Christian idea of vicarious death. The Druids, according to Cæsar (b. c. VI. 16), held the doctrine strictly—“pro vita hominis nisi hominis vita reddatur non posse aliter deorum immortalium numen placari.” Of existing heathens practising human sacrifice, the religious rites of the Khonds in Orissa present the idea of vicarious sacrifice in the most distinct outline. See the interesting memoir of Captain M‘Pherson in Blackwood’s Magazine for August, 1842.

[Note 52 (p. 210).]

“Seems he not a willing madman,
Let him reap the fruits he sowed.”

I have translated these lines quite freely, as the text is corrupt, and the emendations proposed do not contain any idea worth the translator’s adopting. Schoe. reads—

Τί γὰρ ἐλλείπει μὴ παραπάιειν
Ἐι τάδ ἐπαυχεɩ̂ τί χαλ[Editor: illegible character] μανιωˆν;

and translates

Was fehlet ihm noch wahnwitzig zo seyn,
Wenn also er pocht? Wie zahmt er die Wuth?

Prow. from a different reading, has

To thee, if this resolve seems good,
Why shouldst thou check thy frenzied mood.

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PROMETHEUS BOUND A LYRICO-DRAMATIC SPECTACLE - Aeschylus, The Lyrical Dramas of Aeschylus [1906]

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PROMETHEUS BOUND A LYRICO-DRAMATIC SPECTACLE

PERSONS

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

PROMETHEUS BOUND

Might.

Heph.

Might

Heph.

Might.

Heph.

Might.

Heph.

Might.

Heph.

Might.

Heph

Might

Heph.

Might.

Heph.

Might.

Heph.

Might.

Heph

Might.

Heph.

Might.

Heph.

Might.

Heph.

Might.

Heph.

Might.

Heph.

Might.

Heph.

Might.

Prom.

STROPHE I.

Chorus.

Prom.

ANTISTROPHE I.

Chorus.

Prom.

STROPHE II.

Chorus.

Prom.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Chorus.

Prom

Chorus

Prom.

Chorus.

Prom.

Chorus.

Prom.

Chorus.

Prom.

Chorus.

Prom.

Chorus.

Prom.

Chorus.

Prom.

PROMETHEUS BOUND

A LYRICO-DRAMATIC SPECTACLE