Press toward the mount,—yet find it strewn
With corses, perished by the way,
Of those who Fate did importune
Too rashly, or her will gainsay.
If I have been thrust out from heaven,
This night, for insolent disdain,
Of putting a young god in pain,
How shall I hope to be forgiven?
Yet let me not be judged as one
Who mocks at any high behest;