Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/196

166 What yet we must. Beyond the haunt of man,

Unto this rock, with fetters grimly forged,

I must transfix and shackle up thy limbs,

Where thou shalt mark no voice nor human form,

But, parching in the glow and glare of sun,

Thy body's flower shall suffer a sky-change;

And gladly wilt thou hail the hour when Night

Shall in her starry robe invest the day,

Or when the Sun shall melt the morning rime.

But, day or night, for ever shall the load

Of wasting agony, that may not pass,

Wear thee away; for know, the womb of Time

Hath not conceived a power to set thee free.

Such meed thou hast, for love toward mankind;

For thou, a god defying wrath of gods,

Beyond the ordinance didst champion men,

And for reward shalt keep a sleepless watch,

Stiff-kneed, erect, nailed to this dismal rock,

With manifold laments and useless cries

Against the will inexorable of Zeus.

Hard is the heart of fresh-usurpèd power!

Enough of useless ruth! why tarriest thou?

Why pitiest one whom all gods wholly hate,

One who to man gave o'er thy privilege?

Kinship and friendship wring my heart for him.

Ay—but how disregard our Sire's command?

Is not thy pity weaker than thy fear?