Let her dear mother's grief with hers have share,
One mourn a husband, one a son bewail!
Then call upon my ghost with holy prayer,
And pour ablution o'er their fingers pale.
The white bones, which my body's wreck outlast,
Girdled in flowing black they will upbear,
Sprinkle with rare, old wine, and gently cast
In bath of snowy milk, with pious care.
These will they swathe with linen mantles o'er,
And lay unmouldering in their marble bed;
Then gift of Arab or Panchaian shore,
Assyrian balm and Orient incense shed.
And may they o'er my tomb the gift disburse
Of faithful tears, remembering him below;
For those cold ashes I have made this verse,
That all my doleful way of death may know.
My oft-frequented grave the words shall bear,
And all who pass will read with pitying eyes:--
"_Here Lygdamus, consumed with grief and care
"For his lost bride Neaera, hapless lies_."
ELEGY THE THIRD
RICHES ARE USELESS
'Tis vain to plague the skies with eager prayer,
And offer incense with thy votive song,
If only thou dost ask for marbles fair,
To deck thy palace for the gazing throng.
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