But seven of the seventy-five tragedies of Æschylus are extant. Of these, “Prometheus Chained” is considered the greatest, and from it we have selected our extracts. The opening scene is laid on the grim ocean’s shore near frowning Caucasus, to which, in obedience to Jove’s command, the giant Prometheus is to be chained. For thirty thousand years a vulture is to tear his vitals, constantly growing out afresh, as a punishment for his having given fire to mortals, and taught them useful arts in opposition to the will of heaven. Strength and Force, grandly personified, drag the victim to the place of torture; and Vulcan, the god of fire, rivets his fetters to the rock. The chorus is composed of sea-nymphs, who come to offer their sympathy to the sufferer and advise him to submit; but Prometheus, who is the embodiment of stern independence, fortitude, and decision, endures unyieldingly to the last. Even amid “the thunder’s deepening roar, blazing wreaths of lightning, and eddying sands whirled on high,” while the earth rocks to its centre, and “boisterous billows rise, confounding sea and sky,” he hurls a proud defiance at his oppressors. SCENE FROM PROMETHEUS CHAINED. _STROPHE._ “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._ With echoing groans the ambient waste bewails Thy fate, Prometheus; The neighboring tribes of holy Asia weep For thee, Prometheus. For thee and thine! names mighty and revered Of yore, now shamed, dishonored, and cast down, And chained with thee. _STROPHE._ And Colchis, with her belted daughters, weeps For thee, Prometheus; And Scythian tribes, on earth’s remotest verge, Where lone Mæotis[30] spreads her wintry waters, Do weep for thee. _ANTISTROPHE._ The flower of Araby’s wandering warriors weep For thee, Prometheus; 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.