Page:Prometheus Bound (Bevan 1902).djvu/49

 Thou thoughtest not a thing redoubtable

The wrath of thine own kind, but unto man

Increasedst honour inordinate: whereof

Behold the guerdon! to stand sentinel

Of this grim scar, where is not any stooping

Or sleep or slacking of the knees, but long

Lament redoubled on lament, and groans

Wind-wasted. Who shall turn the heart of Zeus?

That one is ever harsh, whose rule is new.

Good now! what use to linger and make ruth?

The god, whom gods abhor, dost thou not hate,

Seeing he betray'd thy precious thing to men?

A thrill in kinship lives and ancient converse.

Aye, aye, but to ignore the Father's word,

May that be? doth not that fear thrill thee more?