[32]The food of man in deep concealment lies: The angry gods have hid it from our eyes. Else had one day bestow’d sufficient cheer, And, though inactive, fed thee through the year. Then might thy hand [33]have laid the rudder by, In blackening smoke for ever hung on high; Then had the labouring ox foregone the soil, And patient mules had found reprieve from toil. But Jove conceal’d our food: incensed at heart, Since [34]mock’d by wise Prometheus’ wily art. Sore ills to man devised the heavenly Sire, And hid the shining element of fire. Prometheus then, benevolent of soul, In hollow reed the spark recovering stole; Cheering to man; and mock’d the god, whose gaze Serene rejoices in the lightning’s blaze. “Oh son of Japhet!” with indignant heart, Spake the Cloud-gatherer: “oh, unmatch’d in art! Exultest thou in this the flame retrieved, And dost thou triumph in the god deceived? But thou, with the posterity of man, Shalt rue the fraud whence mightier ills began: I will send evil for thy stealthy fire, [35]An ill which all shall love, and all desire. The Sire who rules the earth and sways the pole Had said, and laughter fill’d his secret soul: He bade famed Vulcan with the speed of thought Mould plastic clay with tempering waters wrought: Inform with voice of man the murmuring tongue; The limbs with man’s elastic vigour strung; The aspect fair as goddesses above, A virgin’s likeness with the brows of love. He bade Minerva teach the skill, that sheds A thousand colours in the gliding threads: Bade lovely Venus breathe around her face The charm of air, the witchery of grace: Infuse corroding pangs of keen desire, And cares that trick the form with prank’d attire: Bade Hermes last implant the craft refined Of thievish manners and a shameless mind. He gives command; th’ inferior powers obey: The crippled artist moulds the temper’d clay: By Jove’s design a maid’s coy image rose: [36]The zone, the dress, Minerva’s hands dispose: Adored Persuasion, and the Graces young, [37]With chains of gold her shapely person hung: Round her smooth brow [38]the beauteous-tressed Hours A garland twined of spring’s purpureal flowers: The whole, Minerva with adjusting art Forms to her shape and fits to every part. Last by the counsels of deep-thundering Jove, The Argicide, [39]his herald from above, Adds thievish manners, adds insidious lies, And prattled speech of sprightly railleries: Then by the wise interpreter of heaven The name Pandora to the maid was given: Since all in heaven conferr’d their gifts to charm, For man’s inventive race, this beauteous harm. When now the Sire had form’d this mischief fair, He bade heaven’s messenger convey through air To Epimetheus’ hands th’ inextricable snare: