PROMETHEUS BOUND.
9
View me a bound and sorrowing god,
The foe of Jove, the hate of such
As Jove's imperial courts have trod;
Because I loved man too much.
Ah me! ah me! what sound I hear
Of coming birds! Air murm'ring sings,
Beneath the soft light stroke of wings—
And all society is fear.
Prometheus and Chorus.
Chorus.
Fear nothing. Lo! This friendly train
On the fast-flashing oar of pinions,
Draws nigh; but scarce such boon could gain
From him who holdeth sea dominions.
Me too the rapid winds have borne afar.
Deep thro' our caves the clank of iron came—
Forth from my cheek was struck the blush of shame
And rush'd I shoonless on my wingëd car.6
