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!
3.
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!'
HERRERA, ON THE DEATH OF GARCILASSO.
Musa, esparze purpureas frescas flores.
1.
With purple flowers, oh Muse, each morn,
The freshest flowers in bloom,
Scattered with pious hands, adorn
Thy Lasso's holy tomb;
In grief for the lamented dead,
Thy golden tresses, Venus, spread
Dishevelled;—mourn his doom,
His timeless doom, ye little Loves,
In concord with your Mother's doves!
2.