Prometheus monologue — Four Plays of Aeschylus

Lightly, with help of mine, did ye achieve That which ye first desired: from Io’s mouth craved to hear, recounted by herself, The story of her strivings. Listen now To what shall follow, to what woefulness The wrath of Hera must compel this maid. (_To_ Io) And thou, O child of Inachus, within Thine inmost heart store up these words of mine, That thou may’st learn thy wanderings and their goal. First from this spot toward the sunrise turn, And cross the steppe that knoweth not the plough: Thus to the nomad Scythians shalt thou come, Who dwell in wattled homes, not built on earth But borne along on wains of sturdy wheel— Equipped, themselves, with bows of mighty reach. Pass them avoidingly, and leave their land, And skirt the beaches where the tides make moan, Till lo! upon the left hand thou shalt find The Chalybes, stout craftsmen of the steel— Beware of them! no gentleness is theirs, No kindly welcome to a stranger’s foot! Thence to the Stream of Violence shalt thou come— Like name, like nature; see thou cross it not, (’Tis fatal to the forder!) till thou come Right to the very Caucasus, the peak That overtops the world, and from its brows The river pants in spray its wrathful stream. Thence, o’er the pinnacles that court the stars, Onward and southward thou must take thy way, And reach the warlike horde of Amazons, Maidens through hate of man; and gladly they Will guide thy maiden feet. That host, in days That are not yet, shall fix their home and dwell At Themiscyra, on Thermodon’s bank, Nigh whereunto the grim projecting fang Of Salmydessus’ cape affronts the main, The seaman’s curse, to ships a stepmother! Then at the jutting land, Cimmerian styled, That screens the narrowing portal of the mere, Thou shalt arrive; pass o’er it, brave at heart, And ferry thee across Macotis’ ford. So shall there be great rumour evermore, In ears of mortals, of thy passage strange; And Bosporos shall be that channel’s name, Because the ox-horned thing did pass thereby. So, from the wilds of Europe wander’d o’er, To Asia’s continent thou com’st at last. (_To the_ CHORUS) And ye, what think ye? Seems he not, that lord And tyrant of the gods, as tyrannous Unto all other lives? A high god’s lust Constrained this mortal maid to roam the world! (_To_ Io) Poor maid! a brutal wooer sure was thine! For know that all which I have told thee now Is scarce the prelude of thy woes to come.