Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (Cookson).djvu/187

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Prometheus, we have heard thy call:

Not on deaf ears these awful accents fall.

Lo! lightly leaving at thy words

My flying car

And holy air, the pathway of great birds,

I long to tread this land of peak and scar,

And certify myself by tidings sure

Of all thou hast endured and must endure.

[While the winged chariot of the comes to ground their father  enters, riding on a monster.

Now have I traversed the unending plain

And unto thee, Prometheus, am I come,

Guiding this wingèd monster with no rein,

Nor any bit, but mind's firm masterdom.

And know that for thy grief my heart is sore;

The bond of kind, methinks, constraineth me;

Nor is there any I would honour more,

Apart from kinship, than I reverence thee.

And thou shalt learn that I speak verity:

Mine is no smooth, false tongue; for do but show

How I can serve thee, grieved and outraged thus,

Thou ne'er shalt say thou hast, come weal, come woe,

A friend more faithful than Oceanus.

How now? Who greets me? What! Art thou too come

To gaze upon my woes? How could'st thou leave

The stream that bears thy name, thine antres arched

With native rock, to visit earth that breeds