Prometheus

COVER thy spacious heavens, Zeus,
With clouds of mist,
And, like the boy who lops

The thistles' heads,
Disport with oaks and mountain-peaks,
Yet thou must leave

My earth still standing;
My cottage too, which was not raised by thee;
Leave me my hearth,

Whose kindly glow
By thee is envied.
I know nought poorer

Under the sun, than ye gods!
Ye nourish painfully,
With sacrifices

And votive prayers,
Your majesty:
Ye would e'en starve,

If children and beggars
Were not trusting fools.
While yet a child

And ignorant of life,
I turned my wandering gaze
Up tow'rd the sun, as if with him

There were an ear to hear my wailings,
A heart, like mine,
To feel compassion for distress.

Who help'd me
Against the Titans' insolence?
Who rescued me from certain death,

From slavery?
Didst thou not do all this thyself,
My sacred glowing heart?

And glowedst, young and good,
Deceived with grateful thanks
To yonder slumbering one?

I honour thee! and why?
Hast thou e'er lighten'd the sorrows
Of the heavy laden?

Hast thou e'er dried up the tears
Of the anguish-stricken?
Was I not fashion'd to be a man

By omnipotent Time,
And by eternal Fate,
Masters of me and thee?

Didst thou e'er fancy
That life I should learn to hate,
And fly to deserts,

Because not all
My blossoming dreams grew ripe?
Here sit I, forming mortals

After my image;
A race resembling me,
To suffer, to weep,

To enjoy, to be glad,
And thee to scorn,
As I!