Chapter_182

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The other, that in the recesses most holy

Of the bride-bower of Zeus did he make essay

Of the Queen of Heaven! Meet is it to know

Our mortality’s limits, meet to forego

The lawless loves that their victim throw

Into gulfs of destruction. Such was his folly;

For with nought but a cloud it was that he lay,

Unknowing all, to his own confusion

Lured on by a sweetly-beckoning lie;

For the cloud-wrought image the semblance bare

Of Kronos’ Child, Heaven’s fairest fair;

For the hands of Zeus had fashioned the snare,

The beautiful bane, for his soul’s delusion.

So he compassed his own dire doom thereby,