PROMETHEUS BOUND.
55
And round and round mine eyes are wheeling,
And from their course my steps are reeling,
By frenzy's blast impell'd to motion:
My tongue is all without a chain,
And beat my turbid words in vain
'Gainst dreary Atè's ocean.
Prometheus and Chorus.
Chorus.
Strophe.
And spake it with his tongue;
That happier far a marriage is,
Our equals form'd among:
That ne'er the poor should loving be
To those corrupt with luxury,
Nor yet to those of high degree.
