X.

I tread the marble leading to his door, (Allowed the freedom of a chosen friend;) He greets me not as was his wont before, The Fates within frown on me as of yore,— Could ye not once your offices suspend? Had Atropos her severing shears forbore! Or Clotho stooped the sundered thread to mend! Yet why dear Ion’s destiny deplore? What more had envious Time himself to give? His fame had reached the ocean’s farthest shore,— Why prisoned here should Ion longer live? The questioning Sphinx declared him void of blame; For wiser answer none could ever frame; Beyond all time survives his mighty name.