III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.
Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years
Were interwoven by the Fates with tears,
But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d,
Gods did a trophy of their power erect.
Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,5
Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.
IV. On Alexis.
‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said,
When every one his eyes that way convey’d.
My soul, as when some dog a bone we show
Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?
V. On Archaeanassa.
To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow
Love sits in triumph, I my service vow.
If her declining graces shine so bright,
What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?