Where rest is and the setting sun:
But yet a pride is ours that will not brook
The taunts of fools too saucy grown,
He that is rash to prove it, let him look
He kindle not a fire unknown.
Since first we flung our gauntlet to the skies
And dared the high Gods’ will to bend,
A fire that still may burn deceit and lies
Burn and consume them to the end.
[pg 51]