 | The collected works of Ambrose Bierce |  |
TEMPORA MUTANTUR
“The world is dull,” I cried in my despair:
“Its myths and fables are no longer fair.
“Its myths and fables are no longer fair.
“Roll back thy centuries, O Father Time:
To Greece transport me in her golden prime.
To Greece transport me in her golden prime.
“Give back the beautiful old gods again—
The sportive Nymphs, the Dryad's jocund train,
The sportive Nymphs, the Dryad's jocund train,
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“Pan piping on his reeds, the Naiades,
The Sirens singing by the sleepy seas.
The Sirens singing by the sleepy seas.
“Nay, show me but a Gorgon and I'll dare
To lift mine eyes to her peculiar hair
To lift mine eyes to her peculiar hair
“(The fatal horrors of her snaky pate,
That stiffen men into a stony state)
That stiffen men into a stony state)
“And die—becoming, as my spirit flies,
A noble statue of myself, life size.”
A noble statue of myself, life size.”
Straight as I spoke I heard the voice of Fate:
“Look up, my lad, the Gorgon sisters wait.”
“Look up, my lad, the Gorgon sisters wait.”
Lifting my eyes, I saw Medusa stand,
Stheno, Euryale, on either hand.
Stheno, Euryale, on either hand.
I gazed unpetrified and unappalled—
The girls had aged and were entirely bald!
The girls had aged and were entirely bald!
| The collected works of Ambrose Bierce | |