E’en from that hour, the dwellers upon earth
Consume the whitening bones, when climbs the smoke
Wreath’d from their flaming altars. Then again
Cloud-gatherer Jove with indignation spake:
“Son of Iäpetus! of all most wise!
Still, friend! rememberest thou thy arts of guile?”
So spake, incensed, the god, whose wisdom yields
To no decay: and from that very hour,
Remembering still the treachery, he denied
The strength of indefatigable fire