PROMETHEUS BOUND
Make me meat to be
For the dragons of the sea;—
Yea, this my great desire,
Vouchsafe to grant, O God!
For far I have gone, and farther is to go,
Though my flesh cries
For respite: but to rid me of my woe
I find no wise.
The voice that fills thine ears
Hers is, whose forehead wears,
Set for a wonder and sign,
Horns as the horns of kine.
PROMETHEUS
Surely the voice I hear none other is
Than hers, the maiden driven of the fly,
The child of Inachos, that sets afire 590
The heart of Zeus with love, and now, ill-seen
Of Hera, fares perforce her infinite way.
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