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Mysta.(Touches his hand):
Folding his frail hands for the workless night,
Lo, he has breath'd his life out, with a smile.
Theonöe.(Throwing herself on to the body of Ion):
Ah, tarry, tarry, Ion, wait for me,
Who weary of this strange bewild'ring world;
You have escap'd from prison and shall I stay.
(Rises.)
Ion is dead, and Julian is dead,
Ion has flitted, moth-like, from the world,
And Julian, disdainful of the dust
That men call Empire, gold, or power here,
Wings in a strong flight up the burning blue,
A Roman eagle hungry for the sky
To gaze for ever on the Sovereign Sun.
Their goal the Sun and Moon, but what were mine?
