The flowery wreath to mark the sacrifice,
And call Death’s arrows on the destined prey. 930
High Fortune seems in cruel league with Fate.
Ask you for what? To give his war on man 932
The deeper dread, and more illustrious spoil;
Thus to keep daring mortals more in awe.
And burns Lorenzo still for the sublime
Of life? to hang his airy nest on high,
On the slight timber of the topmost bough,
Rock’d at each breeze, and menacing a fall?