Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/388

354 SONG OF THE FATES.

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, lo, Round tables all-golden, The seats are made ready. When rises contention, The guests are hurled downward With shame and dishonour 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'rd them, like incense In light clouds ascending.