Here, in this grotto of the wave-worn shore,
They passed the Tropic's red meridian o'er;
Nor long the hours-they never paused o'er time,
Unbroken by the clock's funereal chime,[391]
Which deals the daily pittance of our span,350
And points and mocks with iron laugh at man.[fn]
What deemed they of the future or the past?
The pre