Well, here too happier, if not wiser, those
Who, with the heart of unsuspicious youth,
Take up tradition from their fathers’ hands
To pass it on to others in their turn;
But leaving me behind them in the race
With less indeed than little appetite
For ceremonies, and to gods, like these,
That, let the rabble shout for as they please,
Another sort begin to shake their heads at,
And heaven to rumble with uneasily