Page:The Tragedies of Aeschylus - tr. Potter - 1812.pdf/60

16 My mind presag'd it not. But cease your grief,

Wail not my present woes; on the rough point

Of this firm cliff descend, and there observe

What further may betide me, e'en the whole

Of my hard fate; indulge me, O indulge

This my request, and sympathize with me

Thus wretched; for affliction knows no rest,

But rolls from breast to breast its vagrant tide.

Not to th' unwilling are thy words directed.

With light foot now this nimble-moving seat,

This pure sir, thro' whose liquid fields the birds

Wimow their wonton way, I leave; and now

Alight I on this rude and craggy reck,

Anxious ta hear all thy unhappy tale.

. Far distant, thro' the vast expanse of air,

To thee, Prometheus, on this swift-wing'd steed ,

Whose neck unreign'd obeys my will, I come,

In social sorrow sympathizing with thee.

To this the near affinity of blood

Moves me; and be assur'd, that tie apart,

There'is not´who can tax my dear regard

Deeper than thou: helieve me, this is trath,

Not the false glozings of a flat'rng tongue.

Instruct me then n what my pow'e mmay serve thee,

For never shalt thou say thou hast a friend

More firm, more constant than Oceanus.

Ah ac! What draws thee bitheti Art thou come

Spectator of my toils? Hew hast thou ventur'd