PROMETHEUS
To me who knew them, hath he told
His messages, with utterance shrill.
But nowise I unseemly hold
That foe from foe should suffer ill.
So 'gainst me now be hurled amain
Curled lightning's two-edged glare!
By thunder and spasmodic whirl
Of savage gales be upper air
Madly convulsed! Let hurricane
Earth from its deep foundation rend,
E'en from its roots. Let ocean's wave,
Surging aloft, tumultuous rave,
And, foaming, with the courses blend
Of heavenly stars! Ay, let him hurl
This body to the murky gloom
Of Tartaros, in stubborn whirl
Of fortune caught! Do what he will
My death he may not doom.
Prometheus Bound. Aeschylus. Anna Swanwick (Translator). London. 1886.
Sponsored by University of Leipzig.
Funding provided by European Social Fund Saxony.