No More Learning

Yet list not to lament my present pains,
But, stepping from your cars unto the ground,
Listen, the while I tell the future fates
Now drawing near, until ye know the whole.
Grant ye, O grant my prayer, be pitiful
To one now racked with woe! the doom of pain
Wanders, but settles, soon or late, on all.

CHORUS

To willing hearts, and schooled to feel,
Prometheus, came thy tongue's appeal;
Therefore we leave, with lightsome tread,
The flying cars in which we sped--
We leave the stainless virgin air
Where winged creatures float and fare,
And by thy side, on rocky land,
Thus gently we alight and stand,
Willing, from end to end, to know
Thine history of woe.
[_The_ CHORUS _alight from their winged cars.
Enter_ OCEANUS, _mounted on a griffin_.
OCEANUS

Thus, over leagues and leagues of space
I come, Prometheus, to thy place--
By will alone, not rein, I guide
The winged thing on which I ride;
And much, be sure, I mourn thy case--
Kinship is Pity's bond, I trow;
And, wert thou not akin, I vow
None other should have more than thou
Of my compassion's grace!
'Tis said, and shall be proved; no skill
Have I to gloze and feign goodwill!
Name but some mode of helpfulness,
And thou wilt in a trice confess
That I, Oceanus, am best
Of all thy friends, and trustiest.

PROMETHEUS

Ho, what a sight of marvel! what, thou too
Comest to contemplate my pains, and darest--
(Yet how, I wot not! ) leaving far behind
The circling tide, thy namefellow, and those
Rock-arched, self-hollowed caverns--thus to come
Unto this land, whose womb bears iron ore?
Art come to see my lot, resent with me
The ills I bear? Well, gaze thy fill! behold
Me, friend of Zeus, part-author of his power--
Mark, in what ruthlessness he bows me down!
OCEANUS

Yea, I behold, Prometheus! and would warn
Thee, spite of all thy wisdom, for thy weal!
Learn now thyself to know, and to renew
A rightful spirit within thee, for, made new
With pride of place, sits Zeus among the gods!
Now, if thou choosest to fling forth on him
Words rough with anger thus and edged with scorn,
Zeus, though he sit aloof, afar, on high,
May hear thine utterance, and make thee deem
His present wrath a mere pretence of pain.
Banish, poor wretch! the passion of thy soul,
And seek, instead, acquittance from thy pangs!
Belike my words seem ancientry to thee--
Such, natheless, O Prometheus, is the meed
That doth await the overweening tongue!
Meek wert thou never, wilt not crouch to pain,
But, set amid misfortunes, cravest more!
Now--if thou let thyself be schooled by me--
Thou must not kick against the goad. Thou knowest,
A despot rules, harsh, resolute, supreme,
Whose law is will. Yet shall I go to him,
With all endeavour to relieve thy plight--
So thou wilt curb the tempest of thy tongue!
Surely thou knowest, in thy wisdom deep,
The saw--_Who vaunts amiss, quick pain is his_.

PROMETHEUS

O enviable thou, and unaccused--
Thou who wast art and part in all I dared!
And now, let be! make this no care of thine,
For Zeus is past persuasion--urge him not!
Look to thyself, lest thine emprise thou rue.