And as Prometheus was bored in the evening, he called his eagle.--The
eagle came.
--I have waited a long time for thee, said Prometheus.
Why didst thou not call me before? replied the eagle.
For the first time Prometheus looked at his eagle, casually perched
upon the twisted bars of the dungeon. In the golden light of the sunset
he appeared more spiritless than ever; he was grey, ugly, stunted,
surly, resigned, and miserable; he seemed too feeble to fly, seeing
which Prometheus cried with pity.
--Faithful bird, he said to him, dost thou suffer?--tell me: what is
the matter?
--I am hungry, said the eagle.
--Eat, said Prometheus, uncovering his liver.
The bird ate.
--I suffer, said Prometheus.
But the eagle said nothing more that day.