Page:The Tragedies of Aeschylus - tr. Potter - 1812.pdf/55

Rh And tho my cheek glows with shame's crimson dye,

Thus with un-andalld foot with winged speed I fly.

Ah me! Ah me!,

Ye virgin sisters, who derive your race

From fruitful Thetis, and th' embrace

Of old Oceanus, your sire, that rolls

Around the wide world his unquiet waves,

This way turn your eyes, behold

With what a chain fix d to this rugged steep

Th' unenvied station of the rock I keep.


 * I see, I see; and o'er my eyes,


 * Surcharg'd with sorrow's tearful rain,


 * Dark'ning the misty clouds arise;


 * I see thy adamantine chain;


 * In its strong grasp thy limbs confin'd,


 * And withering in the parching wind:

Such the stern-pow'r of heav'n's new-sceptired lord,

And law-controlling Jove's irrevocable word.

Beneath the earth,

Beneath the gulfs of Tartarus, that spread

Interminable o'er the dead,

Had his stern fury fix'd this rigid chain,

Nor gods, nor men had triumph'd in my pain

But pendent in th' ethereal air,

The pageant gratifies my ruthless foes,

That gaze, insult, and glory in my woes.


 * Is there a god, whose sullen soul


 * Feels a stern joy in thy despair?


 * Owns he not pity's soft control,


 * And drops in sympathy the tear?