By one short hour of transport there.
‘More blest than me, thus shall ye live
Your little day; and when ye die,
Sweet flowers! the grateful Muse shall give
A verse; the sorrowing maid, a sigh.
‘While I alas! no distant date,
Mix with the dust from whence I came,
Without a friend to weep my fate,
Without a stone to tell my name.’
We subjoin one more specimen of these ‘wild strains’[[55]] said to be ‘Written two years after the preceding.’ Ecce iterum Crispinus.