When he himself no more has power to shield?
A man repels the lion with his sword
When, by the goad of rage or hunger driven,
He flashes rampant at the midday heat;
No brave man calls on Zeus to hurl his bolts,
But ward against the base snake’s crept surprisal
When he is steeped in calm war-weary slumber;
There is your work; to you belongs the night.
And I—and I—rests then a curse on me,
A curse from ancient time that holds your power