And he, who, living, was a humble slave,
Death renders even as the monarch great.
To a statue of Venus at Cnidos, by Praxiteles.
No! not the artist’s skillful hand,
Nor chisel wrought that form divine;
For thus didst thou on Ida stand,
And thus before the shepherd shine.
Around the pillar, that surmounts my tomb,
No garlands wreathe, and scatter no perfume,