Page:The Tragedies of Aeschylus - tr. Potter - 1812.pdf/56

12 All, all, save Jove; with fury drivn

Severe he tames the sons of heav'n;

And he will tame them, till some pow'r arise

To wrest from his strong hand the sceptre of the skies.

Yet he, e'en he,

That o'er the gods holds his despotic reign,

And fixes this disgraceful chain,

Shall need my aid, the counsels to disclose

Destructive to his honour and his throne.

But not the honied blandishment, that flows

From his alluring lips, shall ought avail;

His rigid menaces shall fail;

Nor will I make the fatal secret known,

Till his proud hands this galling chain unbind,

And his remorse sooths my indignant mind.


 * Bold and intrepid is thy soul,


 * Fir'd with resentment's warmest glow;


 * And thy free voice disdains control,


 * Disdains the tort'ring curb of woe.


 * My softer bosom, thrill'd with fear


 * Lest heavier ills await thee here,

By milder counşels wishes thee repose:

For Jove's relentless rage no tender pity knows.

Stern tho' he be,

And, in the pride of pow'r terrific drest,

Rears o'er insulted right his crest,

Yet gentler thoughts shall mitigate his soul,

When o'er his head this storm shall roll;

Then shall his stubborn indigation bend,

Submit to sue, and court me for a friend.

But say, relate at large for what offence.

Committed doth the wrath of Jove inflict

This punishment so shameful, so severe:

if the tale shocks not thy soul.

Instruct us, if the tale shocks not thy soul.