Knights of Tezoth

The presence of a foreigner at the celebration — Ambrose Turbon — did not taint the mood of those gathered, and his speech was met with approving applause.

- Hmm. - Deus was finally left alone — only briefly, but here was the long-awaited moment of rest — for her, this day was tantamount to exhausting work. - Tell me, O knight of the Hegemony, how does it come to pass that they celebrate me, yet I feel no joy whatsoever?

Having thought a little — for, though Ambrose's attention was primarily fixed on Mariarnelia, there were too many notable faces in the hall for his gaze and mind not to linger on them even for a moment — the knight answered thus:
-- To this question, O mistress of the soul

Two answers I can provide

And the first shall be the wisdom of the ancestors

The second — my own personal opinion

It is known that nothing is harder than freedom

And no greater freedom is there for us than power

The ruler bears more, implicitly,

Than the peasant, whose burden is heavy but visible

And therefore rulers are sorrowful

When a simple man can lose himself

The sovereign's soul always for the evil and the good

Of their land and subjects doth care.

But I shall speak differently. I am certain, alongside

The visible inborn gifts —

Like the strength of body, the nobility of countenance —

There are granted to us invisible blessings.

One soul is fierce in the heat of battle

Another with a discerning mind

Is gifted from birth. But sometimes

One cannot tell whether for good or for ill

We are as we are. Incapable of sorrow,

Of course, is the peasant, who in wild half-brutishness

Finds pleasure for himself.

But let a worthy man look upon such a one

And say: rather than such happiness

I would prefer to throw myself upon a sword.

The tall oak is the first to be broken by the storm

The fairest flower is the most vulnerable of all.

The finer the fold of the soul, the higher the summit of happiness —

More beautiful, yet harder to attain.

And the more terrible the depths of despair

To which a path is always laid

For everyone born beneath the sun.

While in the world there is more sorrow than joy,

Like a thin string trembling in the wind, the spirit,

Devoid of the armor of indifference with which

Other souls are clad from birth,

Feels the world's grief when others are blind,

Hears the vibrations of subtle matters

And clearly sees the truth of things.

At times not even conscious of their nature,

By sound reason alone. Here is the answer —

Tangled perhaps, but honest