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 present, like a tyrant, held them fast:

Their hour-glass was the sea-sand, and the tide,

Like her smooth billow, saw their moments glide

Their clock the Sun, in his unbounded tower