“You mean, When is it to happen,—the last thing? Plato, my friend, my dearest... it hastens.... I have just now enjoyed a sleep. I have been over the river on the other side; I have seen for a moment the original forms of imperishable Beauty, of which things on earth are only dim copies.... I have seen the future, the destinies of the human race; I have spoken to the mighty, the lofty, and the pure; I have learnt the wise Order which guides the apparent great disorder; I trembled at the unfathomable secret of the Universe of which I had a glimmering perception, and I felt the immensity of my ignorance. Plato, you shall write what I have seen. You shall teach the children of men to estimate things at their proper value, to look up to the Invisible with awe, to revere Beauty, to cultivate virtue, and to hope for final deliverance, as they work, through faithful performance of duty and self-renunciation.”
He went to the bed, and lay down.
Plato followed him, “Are you ill, Master?”
“No, I have been; but now I am getting well.”
“Have you already....”
“I have already emptied the cup!”
“Our Wisest leaves us.”
“No mortal is wise! But I thank the gods who gave me modesty and conscience.”
There was silence in the room.
“Socrates is dead!”