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Prometheus Bound [6]

By Root 123 0
chain,

Atlas in strength supreme, who groaning stoops, downbent

Under the burthen of the earth and heaven's broad firmament.

Bellows the main of waters, surge with foam-seethed surge

Clashing tumultuous; for thee the deep seas chant their dirge;

And Hell's dark under-world a hollow moaning fills;

Thee mourn the sacred streams with all their fountain-rills.

PROMETHEUS

Think not that I for pride and stubbornness

Am silent: rather is my heart the prey

Of gnawing thoughts, both for the past, and now

Seeing myself by vengeance buffeted.

For to these younger Gods their precedence

Who severally determined if not I?

No more of that: I should but weary you

With things ye know; but listen to the tale

Of human sufferings, and how at first

Senseless as beasts I gave men sense, possessed them

Of mind. I speak not in contempt of man;

I do but tell of good gifts I conferred.

In the beginning, seeing they saw amiss,

And hearing heard not, but, like phantoms huddled

In dreams, the perplexed story of their days

Confounded; knowing neither timber-work

Nor brick-built dwellings basking in the light,

But dug for themselves holes, wherein like ants,

That hardly may contend against a breath,

They dwelt in burrows of their unsunned caves.

Neither of winter's cold had they fixed sign,

Nor of the spring when she comes decked with flowers,

Nor yet of summer's heat with melting fruits

Sure token: but utterly without knowledge

Moiled, until I the rising of the stars

Showed them, and when they set, though much obscure.

Moreover, number, the most excellent

Of all inventions, I for them devised,

And gave them writing that retaineth all,

The serviceable mother of the Muse.

I was the first that yoked unmanaged beasts,

To serve as slaves with collar and with pack,

And take upon themselves, to man's relief,

The heaviest labour of his hands: and

Tamed to the rein and drove in wheeled cars

The horse, of sumptuous pride the ornament.

And those sea-wanderers with the wings of cloth,

The shipman's waggons, none but I contrived.

These manifold inventions for mankind

I perfected, who, out upon't, have none-

No, not one shift-to rid me of this shame.

CHORUS

Thy sufferings have been shameful, and thy mind

Strays at a loss: like to a bad physician

Fallen sick, thou'rt out of heart: nor cans't prescribe

For thine own case the draught to make thee sound.

PROMETHEUS

But hear the sequel and the more admire

What arts, what aids I cleverly evolved.

The chiefest that, if any man fell sick,

There was no help for him, comestible,

Lotion or potion; but for lack of drugs

They dwindled quite away; until I taught them

To compound draughts and mixtures sanative,

Wherewith they now are armed against disease.

I staked the winding path of divination

And was the first distinguisher of dreams,

The true from false; and voices ominous

Of meaning dark interpreted; and tokens

Seen when men take the road; and augury

By flight of all the greater crook-clawed birds

With nice discrimination I defined;

These by their nature fair and favourable,

Those, flattered with fair name. And of each sort

The habits I described; their mutual feuds

And friendships and the assemblages they hold.

And of the plumpness of the inward parts

What colour is acceptable to the Gods,

The well-streaked liver-lobe and gall-bladder.

Also by roasting limbs well wrapped in fat

And the long chine, I led men on the road

Of dark and riddling knowledge; and I purged

The glancing eye of fire, dim before,

And made its meaning plain. These are my works.

Then, things beneath
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