So hard to gaze on, and so hard to bear,
With double-pointed goad, my soul would chill.
Fate! Fate! ah me! ah me!
I shudder Io's woeful plight to see.
Prometheus.
Too soon thou groanest and art full of fears.
Forbear till heard the remnant of my tale.
Chorus.
Speak, teach the whole. To ailing ones 'tis sweet
Clearly their coming sorrow to foreknow.
Prometheus.
Your former boon from me lightly ye won,
For first ye craved from Io's self to learn 720
The story of her toil. The rest now hearken,
What trials this young maid hath yet to bear
From Hera. Thou, too, seed of Inachos,
Cast in thy heart my words, that thou in full
May'st of thy weary travel learn the goal.
First, turning hence towards the rising sun,
Traverse uncultured wastes; so shalt thou reach
The Scythian nomads, who, 'neath wattled roofs,[1]
Uplifted dwell on waggons amply-wheeled,
And are accoutred with far-darting bows. 730
Approach not these but, skirting with thy foot
The sounding breakers, hie thee from their land.
Towards the left the iron-workers dwell,
The Chalybes, of whom thou must beware,
