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PROMETHEUS TO ZEUS. Monarch of Gods and Demons, and all spirits But one, who throng those bright and rolling worlds Which Thou and I alone of living things Behold with sleepless eyes ; regard this Earth Made multitudinous with thy slaves, whom thou Requitest for knee-worship, prayer and praise, And toil, and hecatombs of broken hearts, With fear and self-contempt and barren hope; Whilst me, who am thy foe, eyeless in hate, Hast thou made reign and triumph, to thy scorn, O'er mine own misery and thy vain revenge. Three thousand years of sleep-unsheltered hours, And moments aye divided by keen pangs Till they seemed years, torture and solitude, Scorn and despair—these are mine empire, More glorious far than that which thou surveyesi
. From thine unenvied throne, O Mighty God! Almighty, had I deigned to share the shame Of thine ill tyranny, and hung not here Nailed to this wall of eagle-baffling mountain, Black, wintry, dead, unmeasured ; without herb, Insect, or beast, or shape or sound of life. Ah me! alas, pain, pain ever, forever! The crawling glaciers pierce me with the spears Of their moon-freezing crystals, the bright chains Eat with their burning cold into my bones, Heaven's winged hound, polluting from thy lips His beak in poison not his own, tears up My heart; and shapeless sights come wandering by, The ghastly people of the realm of dream, Mocking me; and the earthquake fiends are charged To wrench the rivets from my quivering wounds When the rocks split and close again behind ; While from their loud abysses, howling, throng The genii of the storm, urging the rage Of whirlwind, and afflict me with keen hail. And yet to me welcome is Day and Night, Whether one breaks the hoar-frost of the morn, Or, starry, dim, and slow, the other climbs The ieaden-colored east; for then they lead
The wingless, crawling Hours, one among whom
THE LAW OF LIFE.
Demogorgon Speaks. This is the day which down the void abysm At the Earth-born's spell yawns for Heaven's despotism,
And Conquest is dragged captive through the deep ; Love from its awful throne of patient power In the wise heart, from the last giddy hour
Of dead endurance, from the slippery, steep,
Which bars the pit over Destruction's strength ;
The serpent that would clasp her with his length,
To defy Power which seems omnipotent;
Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent :-
-Prometheus Unbound, Act IV.