Page:Prometheus Bound (Bevan 1902).djvu/90



Whence, whence hast thou my father's name? Yea, who,

O who art thou, that art sore-afflicted too,

And to me afflicted givest greeting true,

Naming aright

The sharp god-sent

Torment unsleeping,

That goads me, spent,

To the uttermost land

In wilder'd flight?

Yea, I come made mad with famine and with leaping.

As a tempest, unavailing to withstand

Wiles of a goddess wroth,

Even Hera.—There! again!

The sting! O who of all

That men ill-fated call

Do tread such troublous path

As I? But tell me plain,