Sorrow with me,
      Sorrowful one! Tell me, whose voice proclaims
        Things true and sad,
      Naming by all their old, unhappy names,
          What drove me mad -
      Sick! Sick! ye Gods, with suffering ye have sent,       		 
            That clings and clings;
      Wasting my lamp of life till it be spent!       		 
              Crazed with your stings! 
      Famished I come with trampling and with leaping,
                Torment and shame,
      To Hera's cruel wrath, her craft unsleeping,
                  Captive and tame
      Of all wights woe-begone and fortune-crossed,
                    Oh, in the storm
      Of the world's sorrow is there one so lost?
                      Speak, godlike form,
      And be in this dark world my oracle!
                        Can'st thou not sift
      The things to come? Hast thou no art to tell
                          What subtle shift,
      Or sound of charming song shall make me well?
      Aeschylos: "Prometheus Bound"