Now greater grief is thine than when of old
Young Adon in the Cyprian’s arms lay cold,
And Daphnis’ years were told.
Take thou the lyre from Time’s enfeebled hand;
Hushed is the music of Empedocles,
Of splendid Pindar, pure Simonides,
Bion and Moschus and Theocritus,
And those who unto us
Nameless, yet live as human memories.
Hushed is the last of all that laurelled band,