Fixed is the law, no lack of means find we; 360
We work out all our will,
We, the dread Powers, the registrars of crime,
Whom mortals fail to soothe,
Fulfilling tasks dishonoured, unrevered,
Apart from all the Gods,
*In foul and sunless gloom,[499]
Driving o'er rough steep road both those that see,
And those whose eyes are dark.