Page:Prometheus Bound, and other poems.djvu/53

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Whither, from Zeus's infinite,

I can have power to flee.

Prometheus. Yet Zeus, howbeit most absolute of will,

Shall turn to meekness,—such a marriage-rite

He holds in preparation, which anon

Shall thrust him headlong from his gerent seat,

And leave no track behind! and so the curse

His father Chronos muttered in his fall,

As he fell from his ancient throne and cursed,

Shall be accomplished wholly—no escape

From all this ruin shall the filial Zeus

Have granted to him, from one of all his gods,

Unless I teach it—I, the refuge, know,

And I, the means—Now, therefore, let him sit

And brave the imminent doom, and fix his faith

On his supernal noises, hurtling on

With restless hand, the bolt that breathes out fire—

For these things shall not help him—none of them—

Nor hinder his perdition when he falls

To shame, and lower than patience,—such a foe,

He doth himself prepare against himself,

A wonder of unconquerable Hate,

A new deviser of a nobler fire

Than shines in lightnings, and of grander sound

Than aught the thunder rolls,—outthundering it,—

Of power to shatter in Poseidon's fist

The trident-spear, which, while it plagues the sea,

Doth shake the shores around it. Ay, and Zeus,

By this destruction, lost, shall mete at length

The gulf which severs rule from servitude.

Chorus. Thou makest threats for Zeus of thy desires.