IV
Me, deep-tressèd meadows, take to your loyal keeping,
Hard by the swish of sickles ever in Aulon sleeping,
Philophron, old and tired, and glad to be done with reaping!
V
Upon thy level tomb, till windy winter morn,
The fallen leaves delay;
But plain and pure their trace is, when themselves are torn
From delicate frost away.
As here to transient frost the absent leaf is, such
Thou wert and art to me:
So on my passing life is thy long-passèd touch,
O dear Alcithoë!
VI
Hail, and be of comfort, thou pious Xeno,
Late the urn of many a kinsman wreathing;
On thine own shall even the stranger offer
Plentiful myrtle.
VII
Here lies one in the earth who scarce of the earth was moulded,
Wise Æthalides' son, himself no lover of study,
Cnopus, asleep, indoors: the young invincible runner.
They from the cliff footpath that see on the grave we made him,
Tameless, slant in the wind, the bare and beautiful iris,
Stop short, full of delight, and cry out: "See, it is Cnopus
Runs, with white throat forward, over the sands to Chalcis!"
VIII
Ere the Ferryman from the coast of spirits
Turn the diligent oar that brought thee thither,
Soul, remember: and leave a kiss upon it
For thy desolate father, for thy sister,
Whichsoever be first to cross hereafter.