Chapter 4

SONG OF THE FATES.

YE children of mortals The deities dread! The mastery hold they In hands all-eternal, And use them, unquestioned, What manner they like.

Let him fear them doubly, Whom they have uplifted! On cliffs and on clouds, oh, Round tables all-golden, he seats are made ready.

When rises contention, The guests are humid downwards With shame and dishonor To deep depths of midnight, And vainly await they, Bound fast in the darkness, A just condemnation.

But they remain ever In firmness unshaken Round tables all-golden. On stride they from mountain To mountain far distant: From out the abysses' Dark jaws, the breath rises Of torment-choked Titans Up tow'rds them, like incense In light clouds ascending.

The rulers immortal Avert from whole peoples Their blessing-fraught glances, And shun, in the children, To trace the once cherish'd, Still, eloquent features Their ancestors wore.

Thus chanted the Parae; The old man, the banish'd, In gloomy vault lying, Their song overheareth, Sons, grandsons remembereth, And shaketh his head. ----- FROM GOTZ VON BERLICHINGEN.