We all must bear our portioned fate, nor idly
Court battle with a strong necessity.
Alas! alas! ’tis hard to speak to the winds;
Still harder to be dumb! my well-deservings
To mortal men are all the offence that bowed me
Beneath this yoke. The secret fount of fire
I sought, and found, and in a reed concealed it;[n11]
Whence arts have sprung to man, and life hath drawn
Rich store of comforts. For such deed I suffer
These bonds, in the broad eye of gracious day,