31
And blasted in his strength. And now he lies
A paralyzed and helpless form beside
The narrow-straited sea, crushed down beneath 390 (372)
The roots of Etna. And Hephaistos sits
Forging his iron on the topmost peak—
Whence streams of fire will one day burst and prey
With ravening jaws upon the level plains
Of richly fruited Sicily. Such rage 395 (377)
Will Typhon bubble up with seething jets
Of unapproachable fire-breathing surge,
Albeit the bolt of Zeus have blasted him.
But thou art not ignorant, nor needest me
To teach this. Save thyself as thou knowst how.
But I shall drain to the dregs my present fate 401 (383)
Till the high heart of Zeus abate its wrath.
Oceanus.
Knowst thou not this, Prometheus, arguments
Are the physicians of a mind diseased?
Prometheus.
Yes, if in season one should soothe the heart; 405 (387)
Not if one press the swelling down by force.
