Eclipse and cloud your heavens, Zeus,
With fogs and mists!
And practice, like a boy
Who lops the thistles,
Beheading oaks and mountain peaks!
Leave my Earth alone, though;
You must let stand
My little hut
That you did not build,
And my own hearth
For whose bright glow
You envy me.
I know nothing more wretched
Under the sun than you, you gods!
Miserably do you feed
With taxed burnt offerings
And whispered prayers
Your Majesties,
And would starve, were not
Children and beggars
Still such hopeful fools.
When I was a child
Knowing not out from in,
I turned my errant eye
Up to the sun as if there were
An ear to hear my lamentations,
A heart like mine
Swelling with pity for the overburdened.
*
Against the Titans’ arrogance?
And who delivered me from death,
From slavery?
Holy and glowing heart, did you not
Accomplish it yourself?
And glowed too, young and good,
Swindled, salvation-thankful to
The Sleeping One above?
I honor thee? What for?
Did ever yet you salve the pains
Of the afflicted?
Have you ever stilled the tears
Of those who are terrified?
Was I not forged into a man
By almighty Time
And by eternal Fate,
My masters, and yours too?
Was it your will,
Perhaps, that I should hate life,
Flee into deserts,
Because not all
My boy-mornings
Could ripen into flower-dreams?
Here sit I, fashion humans
After my own image,
A race that, like me,
Can suffer, can weep,
And will no more revere you
Than do I.
1773