In this distress he buoyed himself with words, Cheer seeking in the sound of his own voice: "A merry place that in Lucretius Where this bold poet rallies Jupiter-- The whole Olympian crew, Jupiter most-- In such a rattling vein of pleasantry, On his plenipotence with thunderbolts! Lucretius, thou shouldst know, interpreter Of Epicurus is to Roman minds; From whom we moderns learn the truth of things And generation of the universe. 'If Jupiter,' Lucretius sings and says, 'If Jupiter it be, and other gods, 'That with terrific sound the temple shake, 'Shake the resplendent temple of the skies, 'And launch the lightning whither each one wills, 'Why is it that the strokes transfix not those 'Guilty of some abominable crime, 'As these within their breast the flames inhale, 'Instruction sharp to mortals--why not this, 'Rather than that the man of no base thing 'To himself conscious should be wrapt about 'Innocent in the flames, and suddenly 'With whirlwind and with fire from heaven consumed? 'Also, why seek they out, the gods, for work 'Like this, deserted spots, and waste their pains? 'Or haply do they then just exercise 'Their muscles, that thereby their arms be strong?'" Sergius so far, from his Lucretius, When the cloud, cloven, let out an arrowy flash, And, following soon, a muffled muttering threat Prolonged, that ended in a ragged roar-- As if, with angry rupture, violent hands Atwain had torn the fabric of the sky. A shuddering pause, but again Sergius, Flying his poet's gibes at Jupiter: "'Why never from a sky clear everywhere 'Does Jupiter upon the lands hurl down 'His thunderbolts, and thunder-booms outpour? 'Or, when the clouds have come, does he descend 'Then into them that nigh at hand he thence 'The striking of his weapon may direct?'" One sheet of flame the bending welkin wrapt, And a broadside of thunder roared amain. With mortal strife against a mortal fear, Hidden, the Roman struggled, not in vain-- As, faltering yet from his feigned gayety, He, in a forced voice almost grim, went on With that Lucretian blasphemy of Jove: "'Why lofty places seeks out Jupiter, 'And why most numerous vestiges find we 'Traced of his fires on lonely mountain-tops?'" No farther--flash on flash and crash on crash, Chaos of light and universe of sound!-- For the wind roared a tumult like the sea Which the gulfs filled between the thunder-peals.