Prometheus Bound (517-605)

May Zeus, who apportions everything, never set his power in conflict with my will,

nor may I be slow to approach the gods, with holy sacrifices of oxen slain, by the side of the ceaseless stream of Oceanus, my father;

and may I not offend in speech; but may this rule abide in my heart and never fade away.

Come, my friend, how mutual was your reciprocity? Tell me, what kind of help is there in creatures of a day? What aid? Did you not see the helpless infirmity, no better than a dream, in which the blind

generation of men is shackled? Never shall the counsels of mortal men transgress the ordering of Zeus.

The waxen pipe drones forth in accompaniment a clear-sounding slumberous strain. Alas, alas! Where is my far-roaming wandering course taking me? In what, O son of Cronus, in what have you found offence so that you have bound me

to this yoke of misery—aah! are you harassing a wretched maiden to frenzy by this terror of the pursuing gadfly? Consume me with fire, or hide me in the earth, or give me to the monsters of the deep to devour; but do not grudge, O Lord, the favor that I pray for.

My far-roaming wanderings have taught me enough, and I cannot discern how to escape my sufferings. Do you hear the voice of the horned virgin?

How can I fail to hear the maiden frenzied by the gadfly, the

daughter of Inachus? It is she who fires the heart of Zeus with passion, and now, through Hera’s hate, is disciplined by force with interminable wandering.