_Chorus, 1st Strophe._ Never, oh never May Zeus, the all-giver, Wrestle down from his throne In that might of his own To antagonize mine! Nor let me delay As I bend on my way Toward the gods of the shrine Where the altar is full Of the blood of the bull, Near the tossing brine Of Ocean my father. May no sin be sped in the word that is said, But my vow be rather Consummated, Nor evermore fail, nor evermore pine. _1st Antistrophe._ 'Tis sweet to have Life lengthened out With hopes proved brave By the very doubt, Till the spirit enfold Those manifest joys which were foretold. But I thrill to behold Thee, victim doomed, By the countless cares And the drear despairs Forever consumed,-- And all because thou, who art fearless now Of Zeus above, Didst overflow for mankind below With a free-souled, reverent love. Ah friend, behold and see! What's all the beauty of humanity? Can it be fair? What's all the strength? is it strong? And what hope can they bear, These dying livers--living one day long? Ah, seest thou not, my friend, How feeble and slow And like a dream, doth go This poor blind manhood, drifted from its end? And how no mortal wranglings can confuse The harmony of Zeus? Prometheus, I have learnt these things From the sorrow in thy face. Another song did fold its wings Upon my lips in other days, When round the bath and round the bed The hymeneal chant instead I sang for thee, and smiled,-- And thou didst lead, with gifts and vows, Hesione, my father's child, To be thy wedded spouse. _IO enters_. _Io._ What land is this? what people is here? And who is he that writhes, I see, In the rock-hung chain? Now what is the crime that hath brought thee to pain? Now what is the land--make answer free-- Which I wander through, in my wrong and fear? Ah! ah! ah me! The gad-fly strength to agony! O Earth, keep off that phantasm pale Of earth-born Argus!--ah!--I quail When my soul descries That herdsman with the myriad eyes Which seem, as he comes, one crafty eye Graves hide him not, though he should die, But he doggeth me in my misery From the roots of death, on high--on high-- And along the sands of the siding deep, All famine-worn, he follows me, And his waxen reed doth undersound The waters round And giveth a measure that giveth sleep.