M ACEDON lay in arms round Athens, in Athens Philemon
Dwelt, the poet beloved, whose years lacked one of a hundred.
He, as he sat in his study at even, saw by the lamplight
Figures nine, august, white-robed, passing out of the chamber.
" Whither and wherefore," exclaimed he, " Muses, forsaking your poet?"
" Lest," they answered, " staying we see the ruin of Athens."
" Reach me my tablets," he cried; the last verse of a drama unfinished
Wrote he; from the dead hands then fell both pencil and tablets.
Free was Athens that night, in the morning Antigonus ruled her.
Woe and alas for the land that the Muse and the Poet abandon!