Page:Prometheus Bound, and other poems.djvu/19

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Of honors, crown withal thy mortal men

Who live a whole day out! Why how could they

Draw off from thee one single of thy griefs?

Methinks the Demons gave thee a wrong name,

Prometheus, which means Providence,—because

Thou dost thyself require a providence,

To escape the crushing of this rolling Doom.

Prometheus alone. O holy Æther, and swift-winged Winds,

And River-wells, and laughter infinite

Of yon Sea-waves! Earth, mother of us all,

And all-viewing cyclic Sun, I cry on you!—

Behold me a god, what I endure from gods!

Behold, with throe on throe,

How, wasted by this woe,

I wrestle down the myriad years of Time!

Behold, how, fast around me,

The new King of the happy ones sublime

Has flung the chain he forged, has shamed and bound me!

Woe, woe! to-day's woe and the coming morrow's,

I cover with one groan! And where is found me

A limit to these sorrows?

And yet what word do I say? I have foreknown

Clearly all things that should be—nothing done,

Comes sudden to my soul—and I must bear

What is ordained with patience, being aware

Necessity doth front the universe

With an invincible gesture. Yet this curse

Which strikes me now, I find it hard to brave

In silence or in speech. Because I gave

Honor to mortals, I have yoked my soul

To this compelling fate! Because I stole