commands to every gliding sprite To feed all things with colour, from the ray Of thy bright-glancing, white And silver-spinning light: Unweaving its thin tissue for the bow Of Iris, separating countless hues Of various splendour for the grateful flowers To crown the hasting hours, Changing their special garlands as they choose. O spirit of rage and might, 1270 Who canst unchain the links of winter stark, And bid earth's stubborn metals flow like oil, Her porphyrous heart-veins boil; Whose arrows pierce the cloudy shields of dark; Let now this flame, which did to life awaken{41} Beyond the cold dew-gathering veils of morn, And thence by me was taken, And in this reed was borne, A smothered theft and gift to man below, Here with my breath revive, 1280 Restore thy lapsèd realm, and be the sire Of many an earthly fire. O flame, flame bright and live, Appear upon the altar as I blow. Chor. 'Twas in the marish reed. See to his mouth he sets its hollow flute And breathes therein with heed, As one who from a pipe with breathings mute Will music's voice evoke.— See, the curl of a cloud. 1290 In. The smoke, the smoke! Semichorus. Thin clouds mounting higher. In. 'Tis smoke, the smoke of fire. Semichorus. Thick they come and thicker,
Quick arise and quicker,
Higher still and higher.
Their wreaths the wood enfold.
—I see a spot of gold.
They spring from a spot of gold,
Red gold, deep among 1300
The leaves: a golden tongue.
O behold, behold,
Dancing tongues of gold,
That leaping aloft flicker,
Higher still and higher.
In. 'Tis fire, the flame of fire!
Semichorus. The blue smoke overhead
Is turned to angry red.
The fire, the fire, it stirs.
Hark, a crackling sound, 1310{42}
As when all around
Ripened pods of furze
Split in the parching sun
Their dry caps one by one,
And shed their seeds on the ground.
—Ah! what clouds arise.
Away! O come away.
The wind-wafted smoke,
Blowing all astray,
Blinds and pricks my eyes.
[Prometheus,
after writing his name on the altar, goes out unobserved.] Ah! I choke, I choke. —All the midst is rent: See, the twigs are all By the flaming spent White and gold, and fall. How they writhe, resist, Blacken, flake, and twist, Snap in gold and fall. —See the stars that mount, Momentary bright 1330 Flitting specks of light More than eye can count. Insects of the air, As in summer night Show a fire in flying Flickering here and there, Waving past and dying. —Look, a common cone Of the mountain pine Solid gold is grown; 1340 Till its scales outshine, Standing each alone In the spiral rows Of their fair design, All the brightest shows Of the sun's decline.{43} —Hark, there came a hiss, Like a startled snake Sliding through the brake. Oh, and what is this? 1350 Smaller flames that flee Sidelong from the tree, Hark, they hiss, they hiss. —How the gay flames flicker, Spurting, dancing, leaping Quicker yet and quicker, Higher yet and higher, —Flaming, flaring, fuming, Cracking, crackling, creeping, Hissing and consuming: 1360 Mighty is the fire.
In. Stay, stay, cease your rejoicings. Where is he,
The prophet—nay, what say I—the god, the giver?
Chor. He is not here—he is gone.
In. Search, search around.
Search all, search well.
Chor. He is gone—he is not here.
In. The palace gate lies open: go, Argeia,
Maybe he went within: go seek him there.
[Exit Ar.
Look down the sea road, down the country road:
Follow him if ye see him.
Chor. He is not there.
In. Strain, strain your eyes: look well: search everywhere.
Look townwards—is he there?
Part of Chorus returning. He is not there.— 1371 Other part returning. He is not there.
Argeia re-entering.
Ar. He is not there.
Chor. O see!
Chor. See where?{44}
Chor. See on the altar—see!
Chor. What see ye on the altar?
Chor. Here in front
Words newly writ.
Chor. What words?
Chor. A name—
In. Ay true—
There is the name. How like a child was I,
That I must wait till these dumb letters gave
The shape and soul to knowledge: when the god
Stood here so self-revealed to ears and eyes
That, 'tis a god I said, yet wavering still, 1380
Doubting what god—and now, who else but he?
I knew him, yet not well; I knew him not:
Prometheus—ay, Prometheus. Know ye, my children,
This name we see was writ by him we seek.
'Tis his own name, his own heart-stirring name,
Feared and revered among the immortal gods;
Divine Prometheus: see how here the large
Cadmeian characters run, scoring out
The hated title of his ancient foe—
To Zeus 'twas made—and now 'tis to Prometheus—1390
Writ with the charrèd reed—theft upon theft.
He hath stolen from Zeus his altar, and with his fire
Hath lit our sacrifice unto himself.
Ió Prometheus, friend
