pitiful. And when, at the last, he calls no longer upon the sun, and earth, and waters, from whom the Avenger is secluding him; but demands of Æther, who is rolling light to all eyes excepting his, whether he beholds how he suffers by injustice;—our hearts rise up within us, and bear witness that the suffering is indeed unjust.
It is apparent with what bitter feeling the conceiver of this character must have regarded the transferred praise and love of Athens—of his country. "Are you not ashamed," said Menander to Philemon, "to conquer me in comedy?" Such a reproach might Æschylus have used to his dramatic rival, and extracted as deep a blush as ever stained Philemon's cheek. But he did not. Silent as his own Prometheus, he left for ever the Athens on whom he had conferred the immortality of his name and works; and
