FLORENCIO ROMANO, ON THE DEATH OF GARCILASSO.

Chi audace osera mai tue lodi sparte?

What daring hand may hope to raise
To thee the double trophy due,
Whom not alone the poet's bays
Distinguished, but the warrior's too?
What tributary voice in one
Collect thy various praises? None.

In thy melodious verse, where yet
Thy spirit breathes, thy glory glows,
Immortal shalt thou live, till set
The stars in darkness whence they rose.
Shower, virgins, shower with sad concern,
Wild thyme and rose-leaves round his urn!

Whilst I his glories, dumb with grief,
Point to the frequent passer-by,
Worthy the blazoning bas-relief,
The sculptured bust, the speaking die:
'Lo! 'midst green ivies, flowers, and palms,
Lasso's hushed lyre and rusting arms!'