Page:Prometheus Bound (Webster 1866).djvu/17



Thy voice jars loathsome on me like thy shape.

Pule thou away, but do not fling at me

My ruthlessness and harshness of my mood.

Let us depart; his limbs are in the toils.

Now then be insolent, and spoil the gods

Of their royalties, to lay them at the feet

Of creatures of a day. Well, how far now

Can mortals drain away thy deeps of woe?

'Twas a rare blunder when the gods assigned

Thy name Prometheus, the forecasting one,

For thou needst surely a forecaster now

For how thou mayst elude these shrewd-wrought bonds.

Oh marvellous sky, and swiftly winging winds,

And streams, and myriad laughter of sea-waves,