Page:Three Plays Sunderland Hills.pdf/128

Rh (Touches his hand):

Folding his frail hands for the workless night, Lo, he has breath'd his life out, with a smile.

(Throwing herself on to the body of ):

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?