itself a teacher of every art to
mortals, and a great resource. Such then as this is the vengeance that I
endure for my trespasses, being riveted in fetters beneath the naked
sky.

Hah! what sound, what ineffable odor[17] hath been wafted to me,
emanating from a god, or from mortal, or of some intermediate nature?
Has there come anyone to the remote rock as a spectator of my
sufferings, or with what intent![18] Behold me an ill-fated god in
durance, the foe of Jupiter, him that hath incurred the detestation of
all the gods who frequent the court of Jupiter, by reason of my
excessive friendliness to mortals. Alas! alas! what can this hasty
motion of birds be which I again hear hard by me? The air too is
whistling faintly with the whirrings of pinions. Every thing that
approaches is to me an object of dread.

CHORUS. Dread thou nothing; for this is a friendly band that has come
with the fleet rivalry of their pinions to this rock, after prevailing
with difficulty on the mind of our father. And the swiftly-wafting
breezes escorted me; for the echo of the clang of steel pierced to the
recess of our grots, and banished my demure-looking reserve; and I sped
without my sandals in my winged chariot.

PR. Alas! alas! ye offspring of prolific Thetys, and daughters of Ocean
your sire, who rolls around the whole earth in his unslumbering stream;
look upon me, see clasped in what bonds I shall keep an unenviable watch
on the topmost crags of this ravine.

CH. I see, Prometheus: and a fearful mist full of tears darts over mine
eyes, as I looked on thy frame withering on the rocks[19] in these
galling adamantine fetters: for new pilots are the masters of Olympus;
and Jove, contrary to right, lords it with new laws, and things
aforetime had in reverence he is obliterating.

PR. Oh would that he had sent me beneath the earth, and below into the
boundless Tartarus of Hades that receives the dead, after savagely
securing me in indissoluble bonds, so that no god at any time, nor any
other being, had exulted in this my doom. Whereas now, hapless one, I,
the sport of the winds, suffer pangs that gladden my foes.

CH. Who of the gods is so hard-hearted as that these things should be
grateful to him? Who is there that sympathizes not with thy sufferings,
Jove excepted? He, indeed, in his wrath, assuming an inflexible temper,
is evermore oppressing the celestial race! nor will he cease before that
either he shall have sated his heart, or