HOW wretched does Promethe'us state appear, Whilst he his Second Mis'ry suffers here! Draw him no more, lest as he tortur'd stands, He blame great Jove's less then the Painter's hands. It would the Vultur's cruelty out-go, If once again his Liver thus should grow. Pity him, Jove, and his bold Theft allow; The Flames he once stole from Thee grant him now. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THREE SPRING NOTATIONS ON BIPEDS by CARL SANDBURG KU KLUX by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN LOVE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE TO OUR BLESSED LADY (1) by HENRY CONSTABLE A RENUNCIATION by EDWARD DE VERE A CHRISTMAS CAROL by JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND |