Aeschylus -- Translations into English; Mythology, Greek -- Drama
_Chor._ Ah! ne'er may Zeus the Lord,
Whose sovran sway rules all,
His strength in conflict set
Against my feeble will!
Nor may I fail to serve
The Gods with holy feast
Of whole burnt-offerings,
Where the stream ever flows
That bears my father's name,
The great Okeanos!
Nor may I sin in speech! 540
May this grace more and more
Sink deep into my soul
And never fade away!
ANTISTROPHE I
Sweet is it in strong hope
To spend long years of life,
With bright and cheering joy
Our heart's thoughts nourishing.
I shudder, seeing thee
Thus vexed and harassed sore.
By twice ten thousand woes;
For thou in pride of heart,
Having no fear of Zeus, 550
In thine own obstinacy,
Dost show for mortal men,
Prometheus, love o'ermuch.
STROPHE II
See how that boon, dear friends,
For thee is bootless found.
Say, where is any help?
What aid from mortals comes?
Hast thou not seen this brief and powerless life,
Fleeting as dreams, with which man's purblind race
Is fast in fetters bound? 560
Never shall counsels vain
Of mortal men break through
The harmony of Zeus.
ANTISTROPHE II
This lesson have I learnt
Beholding thy sad fate,
Prometheus! Other strains
Come back upon my mind,
When I sang wedding hymns around thy bath,
And at thy bridal bed, when thou did'st take
In wedlock's holy bands
One of the same sire born,
Our own Hesione, 570
Persuading her with gifts
As wife to share thy couch.
_Enter_ IO _in form like a fair woman with a heifer's
horns_,[171] _followed by the Spectre of_ ARGOS
_Io._ What land is this? What people? Whom shall I
Say that I see thus vexed
With bit and curb of rock?
For what offence dost thou
Bear fatal punishment?
Tell me to what far land
I've wandered here in woe.
Ah me! ah me!
Again the gadfly stings me miserable.
Spectre of Argos, thou, the earth-born one—
Ah, keep him off, O Earth!
I fear to look upon that herdsman dread, 580
Him with ten thousand eyes:
Ah lo! he cometh with his crafty look,
Whom Earth refuses even dead to hold;[172]
But coming from beneath
He hunts me miserable,
And drives me famished o'er the sea-beach sand.
STROPHE
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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