TEMPORA MUTANTUR.

“The world is dull,” I cried in my despair:

“Its myths and fables are no longer fair.

“Roll back thy centuries, O Father Time.

To Greece transport me in her golden prime.

“Give back the beautiful old Gods again —

The sportive Nymphs, the Dryad's jocund train,

“Pan piping on his reeds, the Naiades,

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

“( The fatal horrors of her snaky pate,

That stiffen men into a stony state )

“And die — erecting, as my soul goes hence,

A statue of myself, without expense.”

Straight as I spoke I heard the voice of Fate:

“Look up, my lad, the Gorgon sisters wait.”

Raising my eyes, I saw Medusa stand,

Stheno, Euryale, on either hand.

I gazed unpetrified and unappalled —

The girls had aged and were entirely bald!