Chorus, 2d Antistrophe.
Thou art, sooth, a brave god,
And, for all thou hast borne
From the stroke of the rod,
Naught relaxest from scorn!
But thou speakest unto me
Too free and unworn—
And a terror strikes through me,
And festers my soul,—
And I fear, in the roll
Of the storm, for thy fate,
In the ship far from shore—
Since the son of Saturnius is hard in his hate,
And unmoved in his heart evermore.
Prometheus. I know that Zeus is stern!
I know he metes his justice by his will!
And yet, I also know his soul shall learn
More softness when once broken by this ill,—
That, curbing his unconquerable wrath,
He shall rush on in fear, to meet with me
Who rush to meet with him, in agony,
To issues of harmonious covenant.
Chorus. Remove the veil from all things, and relate
The story to us!—of what crime accused,
Zeus smites thee with dishonorable pangs.
Speak! if to teach us do not grieve thyself.
Prometheus. The utterance of these things is torture to me,—
But so, too, is their silence! each way lies
Woe strong as fate!—
