TEMPORA MUTANTUR

by: Ambrose Bierce (1842-1914)

      "HE 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 -- becoming as my spirit flies,
      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."
       
      Lifting my eyes, I saw Medusa stand,
      Stheno, Euryale, on either hand.
       
      I gazed unpetrified and unappalled--
      The girls had aged and were entirely bald!

"Tempora Mutantur" is reprinted from The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce Vol. IV: Shapes of Clay. Ambrose Bierce. New York: Neale Publishing Company, 1910.

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