Act Iv. Scene 5. Song Of The Fates. Ye Children Of Mortals The Deities Dread! The Mastery Hold They In Hands All-Eternal, And Use Them, Unquestioned, What Manner They Like. Let Him Fear Them Doubly, Whom They Have Uplifted! On Cliffs And On Clouds, Oh, Round Tables All-Golden, He Seats Are Made Ready. When Rises Contention, The Guests Are Humid Downwards With Shame And Dishonor To Deep Depths Of Midnight, And Vainly Await They, Bound Fast In The Darkness, A Just Condemnation. But They Remain Ever In Firmness Unshaken Round Tables All-Golden. On Stride They From Mountain To Mountain Far Distant: From Out The Abysses' Dark Jaws, The Breath Rises Of Torment-Choked Titans Up Tow'Rds Them, Like Incense In Light Clouds Ascending. The Rulers Immortal Avert From Whole Peoples Their Blessing-Fraught Glances, And Shun, In The Children, To Trace The Once Cherish'D, Still, Eloquent Features Their Ancestors Wore. Thus Chanted The Parae; The Old Man, The Banish'D, In Gloomy Vault Lying, Their Song Overheareth, Sons, Grandsons Remembereth, And Shaketh His Head.