PROMETHEUS
Neath earth, 'neath Hades' shade-receiving plains,
Sheer down to Tartaros' unmeasured gloom
Would he had hurled me ruthless, bound with chains
That none may loose ;-So then at this my doom
Had no one mock'd,—nor god, nor other kind.
But now most wretched, sport of every wind,
The laughter of my foes, I bear these pains.
Prometheus Bound. Aeschylus. Anna Swanwick (Translator). London. 1886.
Sponsored by University of Leipzig.
Funding provided by European Social Fund Saxony.