The bridal of Vaumond A Metrical Romance |
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 | The bridal of Vaumond |  |
97
XVI.
Prometheus, mind's proud sacrifice,
Where the burning flame
From the bright centre of the blooming world
Shall scorch the colour fading on the cheek—
[OMITTED]
—Wherefore in sleepless nights and restless days
Thy form erect, thy knee unbent, shalt thou
Stand the sad guardian of this dismal cliff.
[OMITTED]
With brazen bolts, too strong for power to break,
Here must I chain thee to this lonely crag.
[OMITTED]
Prom.
Ah! what sound is that I hear!
The voice of wings approaching near—
The air resounds, as lightly they
Press through its liquid paths their way.
[Enter chorus of sea-nymphs.]
Prom.
Yet shall he seek me in my wo,
Thus chain'd, insulted, and thus low;
Yet shall that chief of gods from me
Implore the tale of destiny,
And seek to learn the new design
That threatens danger to his line.
See also Lord Byron's “Prometheus.”
Fix'd on his sea-lash'd precipice,
And scorch'd by central fire,—
While God-wrought chains his soul corrode,
His madden'd heart th' undying food
On which the vampire vulture fasten'd
To mock the desperate hope that hasten'd
In triumph to expire,—
Even he—was not all desolate;
The sea-nymphs mourn'd his iron fate,
And sympathy upon the billow
Wafted her notes to his stony pillow;
One human drop from his heart she led—
While the vulture wonder'd as he fed!
I borrow the following translation from a friend's version of Æschylus.
Vulcan.Where the burning flame
From the bright centre of the blooming world
Shall scorch the colour fading on the cheek—
[OMITTED]
—Wherefore in sleepless nights and restless days
Thy form erect, thy knee unbent, shalt thou
Stand the sad guardian of this dismal cliff.
[OMITTED]
With brazen bolts, too strong for power to break,
Here must I chain thee to this lonely crag.
[OMITTED]
Prom.
Ah! what sound is that I hear!
The voice of wings approaching near—
The air resounds, as lightly they
Press through its liquid paths their way.
[Enter chorus of sea-nymphs.]
Prom.
Yet shall he seek me in my wo,
Thus chain'd, insulted, and thus low;
Yet shall that chief of gods from me
Implore the tale of destiny,
And seek to learn the new design
That threatens danger to his line.
See also Lord Byron's “Prometheus.”
Fix'd on his sea-lash'd precipice,
And scorch'd by central fire,—
While God-wrought chains his soul corrode,
His madden'd heart th' undying food
On which the vampire vulture fasten'd
To mock the desperate hope that hasten'd
In triumph to expire,—
Even he—was not all desolate;
The sea-nymphs mourn'd his iron fate,
And sympathy upon the billow
Wafted her notes to his stony pillow;
One human drop from his heart she led—
While the vulture wonder'd as he fed!
Ay—even in his foe's full boast
Of his power the plenitude—
Revenge his sinking bosom crost
That could taste no other food;—
The God from him alone the key
Must seek, that opes futurity;
And though the seer hath known the worst
The full of destiny accurst,—
Yet with that light with hope unblended
A ray of gladness fell descended;
And like the lightning round his head,
Whose pale, unharming fury play'd,
Revell'd revenge on the clouds of fate—
No! he was not all desolate!
Of his power the plenitude—
Revenge his sinking bosom crost
That could taste no other food;—
The God from him alone the key
Must seek, that opes futurity;
And though the seer hath known the worst
The full of destiny accurst,—
Yet with that light with hope unblended
A ray of gladness fell descended;
And like the lightning round his head,
Whose pale, unharming fury play'd,
Revell'd revenge on the clouds of fate—
No! he was not all desolate!
| The bridal of Vaumond | |