_Io._ How is it that thou speak'st my father's name?
Tell me, the suffering one, 610
Who art thou, who, poor wretch,
Who thus so truly nam'st me miserable,
And tell'st the plague from Heaven,
Which with its haunting stings
Wears me to death? Ah woe!
And I with famished and unseemly bounds
Rush madly, driven by Hera's jealous craft.
Ah, who of all that suffer, born to woe, 620
Have trouble like the pain that I endure?
But thou, make clear to me,
What yet for me remains,
What remedy, what healing for my pangs.
Show me, if thou dost know:
Speak out and tell to me,
The maid by wanderings vexed.
_Prom._ I will say plainly all thou seek'st to know;
Not in dark tangled riddles, but plain speech,
As it is meet that friends to friends should speak;
Thou see'st Prometheus who gave fire to men. 630
_Io._ O thou to men as benefactor known,
Why, poor Prometheus, sufferest thou this pain?
_Prom._ I have but now mine own woes ceased to wail.
_Io._ Wilt thou not then bestow this boon on me?
_Prom._ Say what thou seek'st, for I will tell thee all.
_Io._ Tell me, who fettered thee in this ravine?
_Prom._ The counsel was of Zeus, the hand Hephæstos'.
_Io._ Of what offence dost thou the forfeit pay?
_Prom._ Thus much alone am I content to tell.
_Io._ Tell me, at least, besides, what end shall come 640
To my drear wanderings; when the time shall be.
_Prom._ Not to know this is better than to know.
_Io._ Nay, hide not from me what I have to bear.
_Prom._ It is not that I grudge the boon to thee.
_Io._ Why then delayest thou to tell the whole?
_Prom._ Not from ill will, but loth to vex thy soul.
_Io._ Nay, care thou not beyond what pleases me.
_Prom._ If thou desire it I must speak. Hear then.
_Chor._ Not yet though; grant me share of pleasure too.
Let us first ask the tale of her great woe, 650
While she unfolds her life's consuming chances;
Her future sufferings let her learn from thee.
_Prom._ 'Tis thy work, Io, to grant these their wish,
On other grounds and as thy father's kin:[173]
For to bewail and moan one's evil chance,
Here where one trusts to gain a pitying tear
From those who hear,—this is not labour lost.
_Io._ I know not how to disobey your wish;
So ye shall learn the whole that ye desire
In speech full clear. And yet I blush to tell 660
The storm that came from God, and brought the loss
Of maiden face, what way it seized on me.
For nightly visions coming evermore
Into my virgin bower, sought to woo me
With glozing words. “O virgin greatly blest,
Why art thou still a virgin when thou might'st
Attain to highest wedlock? For with dart
Of passion for thee Zeus doth glow, and fain
Would make thee his. And thou, O child, spurn not
The bed of Zeus, but go to Lerna's field, 670
Where feed thy father's flocks and herds,
That so the eye of Zeus may find repose
From this his craving.” With such visions I
Was haunted every evening, till I dared
To tell my father all these dreams of night,
And he to Pytho and Dodona sent
Full many to consult the Gods, that he,
Might learn what deeds and words would please Heaven's lords.
And they came bringing speech of oracles
Shot with dark sayings, dim and hard to know. 680
At last a clear word came to Inachos
Charging him plainly, and commanding him
To thrust me from my country and my home,
To stray at large[174] to utmost bounds of earth;
And, should he gainsay, that the fiery bolt
Of Zeus should come and sweep away his race.
And he, by Loxias' oracles induced,
Thrust me, against his will, against mine too,
And drove me from my home; but spite of all,
The curb of Zeus constrained him this to do. 690
And then forthwith my face and mind were changed;
And hornèd, as ye see me, stung to the quick
By biting gadfly, I with maddened leap
Rushed to Kerchneia's fair and limpid stream,
And fount of Lerna.[175] And a giant herdsman,
Argos, full rough of temper, followed me,
With many an eye beholding, on my track:
And him a sudden and unlooked-for doom
Deprived of life. And I, by gadfly stung,
By scourge from Heaven am driven from land to land. 700
What has been done thou hearest. And if thou
Can'st tell what yet remains of woe, declare it;
Nor in thy pity soothe me with false words;
For hollow words, I deem, are worst of ills.
_Chor._ Away, away, let be:
Ne'er thought I that such tales
Would ever, ever come unto mine ears;
Nor that such terrors, woes and outrages,
Hard to look on, hard to bear, 710
Would chill my soul with sharp goad, double-edged.
Ah fate! Ah fate!
I shudder, seeing Io's fortune strange.
_Prom._ Thou art too quick in groaning, full of fear:
Wait thou a while until thou hear the rest.
_Chor._ Speak thou and tell. Unto the sick 'tis sweet
Clearly to know what yet remains of pain.
_Prom._ Your former wish ye gained full easily.
Your first desire was to learn of her 720
The tale she tells of her own sufferings;
Now therefore hear the woes that yet remain
For this poor maid to bear at Hera's hands.
And thou, O child of Inachos! take heed
To these my words, that thou may'st hear the goal
Of all thy wanderings. First then, turning hence
Towards the sunrise, tread the untilled plains,
And thou shalt reach the Skythian nomads, those[176]
Who on smooth-rolling waggons dwell aloft
In wicker houses, with far-darting bows 730
Duly equipped. Approach thou not to these,
But trending round the coasts on which the surf
Beats with loud murmurs,[177] traverse thou that clime.
On the left hand there dwell the Chalybes,[178]
Who work in iron. Of these do thou beware,
For fierce are they and most inhospitable;
And thou wilt reach the river fierce and strong,
True to its name.[179] This seek not thou to cross,
For it is hard to ford, until thou come
To Caucasos itself, of all high hills
The highest, where a river pours its strength
From the high peaks themselves. And thou must cross 740
Those summits near the stars, must onward go
Towards the south, where thou shalt find the host
Of the Amâzons, hating men, whose home
Shall one day be around Thermôdon's bank,
By Themiskyra,[180] where the ravenous jaws
Of Salmydessos ope upon the sea,
Treacherous to sailors, stepdame stern to ships.[181]
And they with right good-will shall be thy guides;
And thou, hard by a broad pool's narrow gates,
Wilt pass to the Kimmerian isthmus. Leaving
This boldly, thou must cross Mæotic channel;[182] 750
And there shall be great fame 'mong mortal men
Of this thy journey, and the Bosporos[183]
Shall take its name from thee. And Europe's plain
Then quitting, thou shalt gain the Asian coast.
Doth not the all-ruling monarch of the Gods
Seem all ways cruel? For, although a God,
He, seeking to embrace this mortal maid,
Imposed these wanderings on her. Thou hast found,
O maiden! bitter suitor for thy hand;
For great as are the ills thou now hast heard,
Know that as yet not e'en the prelude's known. 760
_Io._ Ah woe! woe! woe!
_Prom._ Again thou groan'st and criest. What wilt do
When thou shall learn the evils yet to come?
_Chor._ What! are there troubles still to come for her?
_Prom._ Yea, stormy sea of woe most lamentable.
_Io._ What gain is it to live? Why cast I not
Myself at once from this high precipice,
And, dashed to earth, be free from all my woes?
Far better were it once for all to die
Than all one's days to suffer pain and grief. 770
_Prom._ My struggles then full hardly thou would'st bear,
For whom there is no destiny of death;
For that might bring a respite from my woes:
But now there is no limit to my pangs
Till Zeus be hurled out from his sovereignty.
_Io._ What! shall Zeus e'er be hurled from his high state?
_Prom._ Thou would'st rejoice, I trow, to see that fall.
_Io._ How should I not, when Zeus so foully wrongs me?
_Prom._ That this is so thou now may'st hear from me.
_Io._ Who then shall rob him of his sceptred sway? 780
_Prom._ Himself shall do it by his own rash plans.
_Io._ But how? Tell this, unless it bringeth harm.
_Prom._ He shall wed one for whom one day he'll grieve.
_Io._ Heaven-born or mortal? Tell, if tell thou may'st.
_Prom._ Why ask'st thou who? I may not tell thee that.
_Io._ Shall his bride hurl him from his throne of might?
_Prom._ Yea; she shall bear child mightier than his sire.
_Io._ Has he no way to turn aside that doom?
_Prom._ No, none; unless I from my bonds be loosed.[184]
_Io._ Who then shall loose thee 'gainst the will of Zeus? 790
_Prom._ It must be one of thy posterity.
_Io._ What, shall a child of mine free thee from ills?
_Prom._ Yea, the third generation after ten.[185]
_Io._ No more thine oracles are clear to me.
*_Prom._ Nay, seek not thou thine own drear fate to know.
_Io._ Do not, a boon presenting, then withdraw it.
_Prom._ Of two alternatives, I'll give thee choice.
_Io._ Tell me of what, then give me leave to choose.
_Prom._ I give it then. Choose, or that I should tell
Thy woes to come, or who shall set me free. 800
_Chor._ Of these be willing one request to grant
To her, and one to me; nor scorn my words:
Tell her what yet of wanderings she must bear,
And me who shall release thee. This I crave.
_Prom._ Since ye are eager, I will not refuse
To utter fully all that ye desire.
Thee, Io, first I'll tell thy wanderings wild,
Thou, write it in the tablets of thy mind.
When thou shalt cross the straits, of continents
The boundary,[186] take thou the onward path
On to the fiery-hued and sun-tracked East. 810
[And first of all, to frozen Northern blasts
Thou'lt come, and there beware the rushing whirl,
Lest it should come upon thee suddenly,
And sweep thee onward with the cloud-rack wild;][187]
Crossing the sea-surf till thou come at last
Unto Kisthene's Gorgoneian plains,
Where dwell the grey-haired virgin Phorkides,[188]
Three, swan-shaped, with one eye between them all
And but one tooth; whom nor the sun beholds
With radiant beams, nor yet the moon by night:
And near them are their wingèd sisters three,
The Gorgons, serpent-tressed, and hating men,
Whom mortal wight may not behold and live. 820
*Such is one ill I bid thee guard against;
Now hear another monstrous sight: Beware
The sharp-beaked hounds of Zeus that never bark,[189]
The Gryphons, and the one-eyed, mounted host
Of Arimaspians, who around the stream
That flows o'er gold, the ford of Pluto, dwell:[190]
Draw not thou nigh to them. But distant land
Thou shalt approach, the swarthy tribes who dwell
By the sun's fountain,[191] Æthiopia's stream:
By its banks wend thy way until thou come
To that great fall where from the Bybline hills 830
The Neilos pours its pure and holy flood;
And it shall guide thee to Neilotic land,
Three-angled, where, O Io, 'tis decreed
For thee and for thy progeny to found
A far-off colony. And if of this
Aught seem to thee as stammering speech obscure,
Ask yet again and learn it thoroughly:
Far more of leisure have I than I like.
_Chor._ If thou hast aught to add, aught left untold
Of her sore-wasting wanderings, speak it out; 840
But if thou hast said all, then grant to us
The boon we asked. Thou dost not, sure, forget it.
_Prom._ The whole course of her journeying she hath heard,
And that she know she hath not heard in vain
I will tell out what troubles she hath borne
Before she came here, giving her sure proof
Of these my words. The greater bulk of things
I will pass o'er, and to the very goal
Of all thy wanderings go. For when thou cam'st
To the Molossian plains, and by the grove[192]
Of lofty-ridged Dodona, and the shrine
Oracular of Zeus Thesprotian, 850
And the strange portent of the talking oaks,
By which full clearly, not in riddle dark,
Thou wast addressed as noble spouse of Zeus,—
If aught of pleasure such things give to thee,—
Thence strung to frenzy, thou did'st rush along
The sea-coast's path to Rhea's mighty gulf,[193]
In backward way from whence thou now art vexed,
And for all time to come that reach of sea,
Know well, from thee Ionian shall be called,
To all men record of thy journeyings. 860
These then are tokens to thee that my mind
Sees somewhat more than that is manifest.
What follows (_to the Chorus_) I will speak to you and her
In common, on the track of former words
Returning once again. A city stands,
Canôbos, at its country's furthest bound,
Hard by the mouth and silt-bank of the Nile;
There Zeus shall give thee back thy mind again,[194]
With hand that works no terror touching thee,—
Touch only—and thou then shalt bear a child
Of Zeus begotten, Epaphos, “Touch-born,” 870
Swarthy of hue, whose lot shall be to reap
The whole plain watered by the broad-streamed Neilos:
And in the generation fifth from him
A household numbering fifty shall return
Against their will to Argos, in their flight
From wedlock with their cousins.[195] And they too,
(Kites but a little space behind the doves)
With eager hopes pursuing marriage rites
Beyond pursuit shall come; and God shall grudge
To give up their sweet bodies. And the land
Pelasgian[196] shall receive them, when by stroke
Of woman's murderous hand these men shall lie
Smitten to death by daring deed of night: 880
For every bride shall take her husband's life,
And dip in blood the sharp two-edgèd sword
(So to my foes may Kypris show herself!)[197]
Yet one of that fair band shall love persuade
Her husband not to slaughter, and her will
Shall lose its edge; and she shall make her choice
Rather as weak than murderous to be known.
And she at Argos shall a royal seed
Bring forth (long speech 'twould take to tell this clear) 890
Famed for his arrows, who shall set me free[198]
From these my woes. Such was the oracle
Mine ancient mother Themis, Titan-born,
Gave to me; but the manner and the means,—
That needs a lengthy tale to tell the whole,
And thou can'st nothing gain by learning it.
_Io._ Eleleu! Oh, Eleleu![199]
The throbbing pain inflames me, and the mood
Of frenzy-smitten rage;
The gadfly's pointed sting,
Not forged with fire, attacks,
And my heart beats against my breast with fear. 900
Mine eyes whirl round and round:
Out of my course I'm borne
By the wild spirit of fierce agony,
And cannot curb my lips,
And turbid speech at random dashes on
Upon the waves of dread calamity.