Chorus.
Off! lost one! off! Horror, I cry!
Horror and misery!
Was this the traveller's tale I craved to hear?
Oh, that mine eyes should see
A sight so ill to look upon! Ah me!
Sorrow, defilement, haunting fear,
Fan my blood cold,
Stabbed with a two-edged sting!
O Fate, Fate, Fate, tremblingly I behold
The plight of Io, thine apportioning!
Prometheus.
Thou dost lament too soon, and art as one
All fear. Refrain thyself till thou hast heard
What's yet to be.
Chorus.
Speak and be our instructor:
There is a kind of balm to the sick soul
In certain knowledge of the grief to come.
Prometheus.
Your former wish I lightly granted ye:
And ye have heard, even as ye desired,
From this maid's lips the story of her sorrow.
Now hear the sequel, the ensuing woes
The damsel must endure from Hera's hate.
And thou, O seed of Inachæan loins,
Weigh well my words, that thou may'st understand
Thy journey's end. First towards the rising sun
Turn hence, and traverse fields that ne'er felt plough
Until thou reach the country of the Scyths,
A race of wanderers handling the long-bow
