Those angels owned, in words: “To rule is Thine, O God. Without Thy strong protection, safety’s soon downtrod.” Such were their lip-words. But their hearts’ rebellious pride, With foolish boasting, thought: “No harm can us betide.” They never ceased to brood on vanities thus framed, Till fire of arrogance burst forth from breasts inflamed; Then proclamation made: “O elemental men! How little have ye known the range of angel’s ken. 195 We’ll weave dense curtains o’er the sky’s revolving face; Descending then to earth, we’ll there our temple place. We’ll justice distribute, and worship we’ll commend, Returning every night to heaven, whence we descend. So shall we be admired by all who dwell on earth, And fill the world with gladness, safety, peace, and mirth.” Alas! Such fancy’s false! Earth cannot heaven be; Their difference is radical, as all may see! 199 XIV. The Chinese and Roman Artists. Give ear to this advice from one who’s well informed: “Lay down your head where’er by wine you’ve been transformed.” Whene’er a drunken man reels forth from tavern door, A laughingstock he’s made by urchin and by boor. Now here, now there, he lurches, stumbling on his road; Falls in the mire; is mocked and jeered, scorned as a toad. The children of the neighbourhood his steps surround, Unconscious what is wine’s hilarity profound. So are all people children, round the saints of God; 5 None adults are, save they who’ve cast off passion’s clod. ’Twas said: “The world’s a toy, a plaything; and men all Are infants.”[369] These are God’s words. True in sense they fall. No child but loves his toys, his playthings, games, and sports; By cultivation of the mind man sense imports. Man’s love for worldly things is like child’s love for toys; The child and man, in these, repeat each other’s joys. The child, in play, performs the very selfsame part, He’ll act when grown a hero, learnt debating art. Men’s quarrels are the same as those fought out by boys; They’re senseless, reasonless; they squabble for mere toys. 10 Their weapons are but wooden swords, as used in play; Their objects are not worth a thought, by night or day. They mount their hobby-horses, ride about on sticks; Declaring ’tis Bucephalus, Eclipse, that kicks. ’Tis they who bear a burden, pack-horse-like, or ass; Their vanity converts them into horsemen’s mass. So let it be till that day when God’s riders shall, On steeds of fire, transcend the seventh heaven’s rolling ball. “The spirit and the angels mount unto their God.”[370] The spheres shall shake, when under saintly footsteps trod. 15 Whereas the raff of mankind mount their own coat-tails; Imagining they’re horsemen, prancing as ship sails.