THE SHRIEK OF PROMETHEUS.

SUGGESTED BY A PASSAGE IN THE SECOND BOOK OF APOLLONIUS RHODIUS.

FRESH was the breeze, and the rowers plied
Their oars with a simultaneous motion,
When the Argo sail'd in her stately pride
By the laurel'd shores of the Pontic Ocean.

The island of Mars with its palmy coves,

The Sacred Mount, and Aretia's strands, And Philyra's Isle with its linden groves, And Ophir's flood with its shelly sands,

Swiftly they past-till, stretching far,

On their right Bechiria's coast appears, Where painted Sapirians, fierce in war,

Bristle the beech with bows and spears.

At distance they saw the sun-beams quiver
Where the long-sought towers of Colchos stood,
And mark'd the foam of the Phasis river,

As it flung from its rocky mouth the flood.

The Argonauts gaze with hungry eyes

On the land enrich'd by the Golden Fleece,Already in fancy they grasp the prize,

And hear the shouts of applauding Greece.

Jason look'd out with a proud delight,
Castor and Pollux stood hand in hand,
Showing each other the welcome sight;

While fierce Meleager unsheath'd his brand.

Laocöon bade the rowers check

Their oars as the sun to the waters slanted, For Orpheus sate with his harp on the deck,

And sweetly the hymn of evening chanted, While the heroes round, at each pause of sound, Stretch'd their right hands to the god of day, And fervently join'd in the choral lay.

THE HYMN OF ORpheus.

Twin-born with Dian in the Delos isle,
Which after the Ogygian deluge thou
Didst first illume with renovating smile,
Apollo! deign to hear our evening vow.

CHORUS.

When thou'rt dim, our harp and hymn
Thy downward course shall follow :
Hail to thee!-hail to thee!

Hail to thee, Apollo !

God of the art that heals the shatter'd frame, And poetry that soothes the wounded mind, Ten thousand temples, honour'd with thy name, Attest thy ceaseless blessings to mankind.

CHORUS.

When thou'rt dim, our harp and hymn
Thy downward course shall follow :

Hail to thee!-hail to thee!

Hail to thee, Apollo !

Thy golden bow emits a gushing strain

Of music when the Pythian serpent dies: His eyes flash fire-his writhings plough the plain; Hissing he leaps aloft-then lifeless lies.

Pan of his pipe and rural science proud,

Dreamt that his music might with thine aspire: The mountain Tmolus was the judge-and bow'd His nodding woods in homage to thy lyre.

CHORUS.

When thou 'rt dim, with harp and hymn
Thy downward course we follow :
Hail to thee !-hail to thee!

Hail to thee, Apollo !

From bowers of Daphne on Parnassus' Mount,
While Delphic girls their Io Pæans sing,
The gifted Muses by Castalia's fount
With choral symphonies salute their king.

CHORUS.

When thou'rt dim, with harp and hymn
Thy downward course we follow :

Hail to thee !-hail to thee!

Hail to thee, Apollo !

God of the golden lyre and laurel wreath,
To thee each poet turns with yearning heart
And thoughtful eyes, invoking thee to breathe
Thine inspiration

With a start

The minstrel ceased, for over all the bark
A baleful shadow on a sudden spread!

The Argonauts look'd up, and saw a dark

And monstrous eagle hovering o'er their head;

So vast and fearful, that transfix'd and pale
They stood, with wild amaze o'ertaken :-
The vessel trembles, and the shivering sail
Flaps as if with terror shaken.
Entranced they gazed—and silent till
Phlias, the son of Bacchus, seized his bow,
And would have aim'd it at the feather'd foe,
But Mopsus, gifted with an augur's skill,
Gently held back his arm, and bade him wait
This dread portent-pronounce no word,
Nor dare to challenge Jove's own bird,
The minister of unrelenting fate.
Extending now his oar-like wings,
Twice round the ship the monster swings,
As if prepared to pounce upon his prey;
His
eyes from forth their sable shroud
Shot fire, like lightning from a cloud;

But with a sudden dart he rush'd away,
And clove the northward distance, where
The heights of Caucasus their barrier throw,
Where crag on crag, chaotic giants bare
Their granite foreheads to the sky, and sit

In desolate state beneath their crowns of snow. Within these topmost peaks, there is a pit,A dizzy, gaunt, precipitous ravine, Upon whose rocky floor environ'd round

With walls of ice-by every eye unseen,

With adamantine chains Prometheus lies bound.

Thither the ravenous wonder wing'd his flight.-
They saw him clear the intervening height,
And sink behind it :-every eye

Is fix'd upon the spot, and every heart
Throbs with expectant agony,—
But nought is seen-no sounds impart
The secret of that dread abyss :-
Still do they gaze, half-willing to dismiss

Their fears and hopes, for over plain, and hill,
And smiling ocean-all is hush'd and still.

Gracious God, what a shriek !
The monster with his beak

Is tearing out his victim's heart!
Lo! as that desolating cry
Echoes from the mountains nigh,
And throws its fear afar, a start

Of horror seems to darken Nature's face.-
Athwart the quaking deep,
Revolting shudders creep,

Earth trembles to her very base

Air seems to swoon- -the sky to frown-
The sun with ghastly glare shrinks faster down.-

Hark! what a furious clash of chains!
Victim! thou never can'st unlock

The brazen bolts that root thee to the rock ;
Vain are thy struggles and convulsive strains.
Ah me! what dreadful groans are those,

Wrung from the very depths of agonies ;Now weaker moanings rise, till, worn with woes, The fainting wretch exhausted lies,

And all again is grim repose.

But still with thrilling breasts and steadfast eyes
The heroes gazed upon the mountain's peak,
Till gorged with gore they saw the monster rise
With blood-stain'd claws, and breast, and beak ;
And as above them he resumed his flight,
Th' arrested vessel shakes,

The flapping main-sail quakes,

And all seem'd turn'd to statues at the sight.

All but the son of Bacchus, who

With flashing eyes and visage red, Again uprear'd his bow, and drew

His longest arrow to the head,