Act 1

SCENE:TIME, NIGHT.

PROMETHEUS:Monarch of Gods and DAEmons, and all SpiritsBut One, who throng those bright and rolling worldsWhich Thou and I alone of living thingsBehold with sleepless eyes! regard this EarthMade multitudinous with thy slaves, whom thouRequitest 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 pangsTill they seemed years, torture and solitude,Scorn and despair,--these are mine empire:--More glorious far than that which thou surveyestFrom thine unenvied throne, O Mighty God!Almighty, had I deigned to share the shameOf thine ill tyranny, and hung not hereNailed 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, for ever!

No change, no pause, no hope! Yet I endure.I ask the Earth, have not the mountains felt?I ask yon Heaven, the all-beholding Sun,Has it not seen? The Sea, in storm or calm,Heaven's ever-changing Shadow, spread below,Have its deaf waves not heard my agony?Ah me! alas, pain, pain ever, for ever!

The crawling glaciers pierce me with the spearsOf their moon-freezing crystals; the bright chainsEat with their burning cold into my bones.Heaven's winged hound, polluting from thy lipsHis beak in poison not his own, tears upMy heart; and shapeless sights come wandering by,The ghastly people of the realm of dream,Mocking me: and the Earthquake-fiends are chargedTo wrench the rivets from my quivering woundsWhen the rocks split and close again behind:While from their loud abysses howling throngThe genii of the storm, urging the rageOf 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 climbsThe leaden-coloured east; for then they leadThe wingless, crawling hours, one among whom--As some dark Priest hales the reluctant victim--Shall drag thee, cruel King, to kiss the bloodFrom these pale feet, which then might trample theeIf they disdained not such a prostrate slave.Disdain! Ah, no! I pity thee. What ruinWill hunt thee undefended through wide Heaven!How will thy soul, cloven to its depth with terror,Gape like a hell within! I speak in grief,Not exultation, for I hate no more,As then ere misery made me wise. The curseOnce breathed on thee I would recall. Ye Mountains,Whose many-voiced Echoes, through the mistOf cataracts, flung the thunder of that spell!Ye icy Springs, stagnant with wrinkling frost,Which vibrated to hear me, and then creptShuddering through India! Thou serenest Air,Through which the Sun walks burning without beams!And ye swift Whirlwinds, who on poised wingsHung mute and moveless o'er yon hushed abyss,As thunder, louder than your own, made rockThe orbed world! If then my words had power,Though I am changed so that aught evil wishIs dead within; although no memory beOf what is hate, let them not lose it now!What was that curse? for ye all heard me speak.

Thrice three hundred thousand yearsO'er the Earthquake's couch we stood:Oft, as men convulsed with fears,We trembled in our multitude.

Thunderbolts had parched our water,We had been stained with bitter blood,And had run mute, 'mid shrieks of slaughter,Thro' a city and a solitude.

I had clothed, since Earth uprose,Its wastes in colours not their own,And oft had my serene reposeBeen cloven by many a rending groan.

We had soared beneath these mountainsUnresting ages; nor had thunder,Nor yon volcano's flaming fountains,Nor any power above or underEver made us mute with wonder.

FIRST VOICE:But never bowed our snowy crestAs at the voice of thine unrest.

Never such a sound beforeTo the Indian waves we bore.A pilot asleep on the howling seaLeaped up from the deck in agony,And heard, and cried, 'Ah, woe is me!'And died as mad as the wild waves be.

THIRD VOICE:By such dread words from Earth to HeavenMy still realm was never riven:When its wound was closed, there stoodDarkness o'er the day like blood.

And we shrank back: for dreams of ruinTo frozen caves our flight pursuingMade us keep silence--thus--and thus--Though silence is a hell to us.

THE EARTH:The tongueless caverns of the craggy hillsCried, 'Misery!' then; the hollow Heaven replied,'Misery!' And the Ocean's purple waves,Climbing the land, howled to the lashing winds,And the pale nations heard it, 'Misery!'

PROMETHEUS:I hear a sound of voices: not the voiceWhich I gave forth. Mother, thy sons and thouScorn him, without whose all-enduring willBeneath the fierce omnipotence of Jove,Both they and thou had vanished, like thin mistUnrolled on the morning wind. Know ye not me,The Titan? He who made his agonyThe barrier to your else all-conquering foe?Oh, rock-embosomed lawns, and snow-fed streams,Now seen athwart frore vapours, deep below,Through whose o'ershadowing woods I wandered onceWith Asia, drinking life from her loved eyes;Why scorns the spirit which informs ye, nowTo commune with me? me alone, who checked,As one who checks a fiend-drawn charioteer,The falsehood and the force of him who reignsSupreme, and with the groans of pining slavesFills your dim glens and liquid wildernesses:Why answer ye not, still? Brethren!

THE EARTH:They dare not.

PROMETHEUS:Who dares? for I would hear that curse again.Ha, what an awful whisper rises up!'Tis scarce like sound: it tingles through the frameAs lightning tingles, hovering ere it strike.Speak, Spirit! from thine inorganic voiceI only know that thou art moving nearAnd love. How cursed I him?

THE EARTH:How canst thou hearWho knowest not the language of the dead?

PROMETHEUS:Thou art a living spirit; speak as they.

THE EARTH:I dare not speak like life, lest Heaven's fell KingShould hear, and link me to some wheel of painMore torturing than the one whereon I roll.Subtle thou art and good; and though the GodsHear not this voice, yet thou art more than God,Being wise and kind: earnestly hearken now.

PROMETHEUS:Obscurely through my brain, like shadows dim,Sweep awful thoughts, rapid and thick. I feelFaint, like one mingled in entwining love;Yet 'tis not pleasure.

THE EARTH:No, thou canst not hear:Thou art immortal, and this tongue is knownOnly to those who die.

PROMETHEUS:And what art thou,O, melancholy Voice?

THE EARTH:I am the Earth,Thy mother; she within whose stony veins,To the last fibre of the loftiest treeWhose thin leaves trembled in the frozen air,Joy ran, as blood within a living frame,When thou didst from her bosom, like a cloudOf glory, arise, a spirit of keen joy!And at thy voice her pining sons upliftedTheir prostrate brows from the polluting dust,And our almighty Tyrant with fierce dreadGrew pale, until his thunder chained thee here.Then, see those million worlds which burn and rollAround us: their inhabitants beheldMy sphered light wane in wide Heaven; the seaWas lifted by strange tempest, and new fireFrom earthquake-rifted mountains of bright snowShook its portentous hair beneath Heaven's frown;Lightning and Inundation vexed the plains;Blue thistles bloomed in cities; foodless toadsWithin voluptuous chambers panting crawled:When Plague had fallen on man, and beast, and worm,And Famine; and black blight on herb and tree;And in the corn, and vines, and meadow-grass,Teemed ineradicable poisonous weedsDraining their growth, for my wan breast was dryWith grief; and the thin air, my breath, was stainedWith the contagion of a mother's hateBreathed on her child's destroyer; ay, I heardThy curse, the which, if thou rememberest not,Yet my innumerable seas and streams,Mountains, and caves, and winds, and yon wide air,And the inarticulate people of the dead,Preserve, a treasured spell. We meditateIn secret joy and hope those dreadful words,But dare not speak them.

PROMETHEUS:Venerable mother!All else who live and suffer take from theeSome comfort; flowers, and fruits, and happy sounds,And love, though fleeting; these may not be mine.But mine own words, I pray, deny me not.

THE EARTH:They shall be told. Ere Babylon was dust,The Magus Zoroaster, my dead child,Met his own image walking in the garden.That apparition, sole of men, he saw.For know there are two worlds of life and death:One that which thou beholdest; but the otherIs underneath the grave, where do inhabitThe shadows of all forms that think and liveTill death unite them and they part no more;Dreams and the light imaginings of men,And all that faith creates or love desires,Terrible, strange, sublime and beauteous shapes.There thou art, and dost hang, a writhing shade,'Mid whirlwind-peopled mountains; all the godsAre there, and all the powers of nameless worlds,Vast, sceptred phantoms; heroes, men, and beasts;And Demogorgon, a tremendous gloom;And he, the supreme Tyrant, on his throneOf burning gold. Son, one of these shall utterThe curse which all remember. Call at willThine own ghost, or the ghost of Jupiter,Hades or Typhon, or what mightier GodsFrom all-prolific Evil, since thy ruin,Have sprung, and trampled on my prostrate sons.Ask, and they must reply: so the revengeOf the Supreme may sweep through vacant shades,As rainy wind through the abandoned gateOf a fallen palace.

PROMETHEUS:Mother, let not aughtOf that which may be evil, pass againMy lips, or those of aught resembling me.Phantasm of Jupiter, arise, appear!

IONE:My wings are folded o'er mine ears:My wings are crossed o'er mine eyes:Yet through their silver shade appears,And through their lulling plumes arise,A Shape, a throng of sounds;May it be no ill to theeO thou of many wounds!Near whom, for our sweet sister's sake,Ever thus we watch and wake.

PANTHEA:The sound is of whirlwind underground,Earthquake, and fire, and mountains cloven;The shape is awful like the sound,Clothed in dark purple, star-inwoven.A sceptre of pale goldTo stay steps proud, o'er the slow cloudHis veined hand doth hold.Cruel he looks, but calm and strong,Like one who does, not suffers wrong.

Why have the secret powers of this strange worldDriven me, a frail and empty phantom, hitherOn direst storms? What unaccustomed soundsAre hovering on my lips, unlike the voiceWith which our pallid race hold ghastly talkIn darkness? And, proud sufferer, who art thou?

PROMETHEUS:Tremendous Image, as thou art must beHe whom thou shadowest forth. I am his foe,The Titan. Speak the words which I would hear,Although no thought inform thine empty voice.

THE EARTH:Listen! And though your echoes must be mute,Grey mountains, and old woods, and haunted springs,Prophetic caves, and isle-surrounding streams,Rejoice to hear what yet ye cannot speak.

PHANTASM:A spirit seizes me and speaks within:It tears me as fire tears a thunder-cloud.

PANTHEA:See, how he lifts his mighty looks, the HeavenDarkens above.

IONE:He speaks! O shelter me!

PROMETHEUS:I see the curse on gestures proud and cold,And looks of firm defiance, and calm hate,And such despair as mocks itself with smiles,Written as on a scroll: yet speak! Oh, speak!

PHANTASM:Fiend, I defy thee! with a calm, fixed mind,All that thou canst inflict I bid thee do;Foul Tyrant both of Gods and Humankind,One only being shalt thou not subdue.Rain then thy plagues upon me here,Ghastly disease, and frenzying fear;And let alternate frost and fireEat into me, and be thine ireLightning, and cutting hail, and legioned formsOf furies, driving by upon the wounding storms.

Ay, do thy worst. Thou art omnipotent.O'er all things but thyself I gave thee power,And my own will. Be thy swift mischiefs sentTo blast mankind, from yon ethereal tower.Let thy malignant spirit moveIn darkness over those I love:On me and mine I imprecateThe utmost torture of thy hate;And thus devote to sleepless agony,This undeclining head while thou must reign on high.

But thou, who art the God and Lord: O, thou,Who fillest with thy soul this world of woe,To whom all things of Earth and Heaven do bowIn fear and worship: all-prevailing foe!I curse thee! let a sufferer's curseClasp thee, his torturer, like remorse;Till thine Infinity shall beA robe of envenomed agony;And thine Omnipotence a crown of pain,To cling like burning gold round thy dissolving brain.

Heap on thy soul, by virtue of this Curse,Ill deeds, then be thou damned, beholding good;Both infinite as is the universe,And thou, and thy self-torturing solitude.An awful image of calm powerThough now thou sittest, let the hourCome, when thou must appear to beThat which thou art internally;And after many a false and fruitless crimeScorn track thy lagging fall through boundless space and time.

PROMETHEUS:Were these my words, O Parent?

THE EARTH:They were thine.

PROMETHEUS:It doth repent me: words are quick and vain;Grief for awhile is blind, and so was mine.I wish no living thing to suffer pain.

THE EARTH:Misery, Oh misery to me,That Jove at length should vanquish thee.Wail, howl aloud, Land and Sea,The Earth's rent heart shall answer ye.Howl, Spirits of the living and the dead,Your refuge, your defence, lies fallen and vanquished.

FIRST ECHO:Lies fallen and vanquished!

SECOND ECHO:Fallen and vanquished!

IONE:Fear not: 'tis but some passing spasm,The Titan is unvanquished still.But see, where through the azure chasmOf yon forked and snowy hillTrampling the slant winds on highWith golden-sandalled feet, that glowUnder plumes of purple dye,Like rose-ensanguined ivory,A Shape comes now,Stretching on high from his right handA serpent-cinctured wand.

PANTHEA:'Tis Jove's world-wandering herald, Mercury.

IONE:And who are those with hydra tressesAnd iron wings that climb the wind,Whom the frowning God repressesLike vapours steaming up behind,Clanging loud, an endless crowd--

PANTHEA:These are Jove's tempest-walking hounds,Whom he gluts with groans and blood,When charioted on sulphurous cloudHe bursts Heaven's bounds.

IONE:Are they now led, from the thin deadOn new pangs to be fed?

PANTHEA:The Titan looks as ever, firm, not proud.

FIRST FURY:Ha! I scent life!

SECOND FURY:Let me but look into his eyes!

THIRD FURY:The hope of torturing him smells like a heapOf corpses, to a death-bird after battle.

FIRST FURY:Darest thou delay, O Herald! take cheer, HoundsOf Hell: what if the Son of Maia soonShould make us food and sport--who can please longThe Omnipotent?

MERCURY:Back to your towers of iron,And gnash, beside the streams of fire and wail,Your foodless teeth. Geryon, arise! and Gorgon,Chimaera, and thou Sphinx, subtlest of fiendsWho ministered to Thebes Heaven's poisoned wine,Unnatural love, and more unnatural hate:These shall perform your task.

FIRST FURY:Oh, mercy! mercy!We die with our desire: drive us not back!

MERCURY:Crouch then in silence.Awful Sufferer!To thee unwilling, most unwillinglyI come, by the great Father's will driven down,To execute a doom of new revenge.Alas! I pity thee, and hate myselfThat I can do no more: aye from thy sightReturning, for a season, Heaven seems Hell,So thy worn form pursues me night and day,Smiling reproach. Wise art thou, firm and good,But vainly wouldst stand forth alone in strifeAgainst the Omnipotent; as yon clear lampsThat measure and divide the weary yearsFrom which there is no refuge, long have taughtAnd long must teach. Even now thy Torturer armsWith the strange might of unimagined painsThe powers who scheme slow agonies in Hell,And my commission is to lead them here,Or what more subtle, foul, or savage fiendsPeople the abyss, and leave them to their task.Be it not so! there is a secret knownTo thee, and to none else of living things,Which may transfer the sceptre of wide Heaven,The fear of which perplexes the Supreme:Clothe it in words, and bid it clasp his throneIn intercession; bend thy soul in prayer,And like a suppliant in some gorgeous fane,Let the will kneel within thy haughty heart:For benefits and meek submission tameThe fiercest and the mightiest.

PROMETHEUS:Evil mindsChange good to their own nature. I gave allHe has; and in return he chains me hereYears, ages, night and day: whether the SunSplit my parched skin, or in the moony nightThe crystal-winged snow cling round my hair:Whilst my beloved race is trampled downBy his thought-executing ministers.Such is the tyrant's recompense: 'tis just:He who is evil can receive no good;And for a world bestowed, or a friend lost,He can feel hate, fear, shame; not gratitude:He but requites me for his own misdeed.Kindness to such is keen reproach, which breaksWith bitter stings the light sleep of Revenge.Submission, thou dost know I cannot try:For what submission but that fatal word,The death-seal of mankind's captivity,Like the Sicilian's hair-suspended sword,Which trembles o'er his crown, would he accept,Or could I yield? Which yet I will not yield.Let others flatter Crime, where it sits thronedIn brief Omnipotence: secure are they:For Justice, when triumphant, will weep downPity, not punishment, on her own wrongs,Too much avenged by those who err. I wait,Enduring thus, the retributive hourWhich since we spake is even nearer now.But hark, the hell-hounds clamour: fear delay:Behold! Heaven lowers under thy Father's frown.

MERCURY:Oh, that we might be spared; I to inflictAnd thou to suffer! Once more answer me:Thou knowest not the period of Jove's power?

PROMETHEUS:I know but this, that it must come.

MERCURY:Alas!Thou canst not count thy years to come of pain?

PROMETHEUS:They last while Jove must reign: nor more, nor lessDo I desire or fear.

MERCURY:Yet pause, and plungeInto Eternity, where recorded time,Even all that we imagine, age on age,Seems but a point, and the reluctant mindFlags wearily in its unending flight,Till it sink, dizzy, blind, lost, shelterless;Perchance it has not numbered the slow yearsWhich thou must spend in torture, unreprieved?

PROMETHEUS:Perchance no thought can count them, yet they pass.

MERCURY:If thou might'st dwell among the Gods the whileLapped in voluptuous joy?

PROMETHEUS:I would not quitThis bleak ravine, these unrepentant pains.

MERCURY:Alas! I wonder at, yet pity thee.

PROMETHEUS:Pity the self-despising slaves of Heaven,Not me, within whose mind sits peace serene.As light in the sun, throned: how vain is talk!Call up the fiends.

IONE:O, sister, look! White fireHas cloven to the roots yon huge snow-loaded cedar;How fearfully God's thunder howls behind!

MERCURY:I must obey his words and thine: alas!Most heavily remorse hangs at my heart!

PANTHEA:See where the child of Heaven, with winged feet,Runs down the slanted sunlight of the dawn.

IONE:Dear sister, close thy plumes over thine eyesLest thou behold and die: they come: they comeBlackening the birth of day with countless wings,And hollow underneath, like death.