ANACREON'S GRAVE.
Where the rose is fresh and blooming—where the vine and myrtle spring—
Where the turtle-dove is cooing—where the gay cicalas sing—
Whose may be the grave surrounded with such store of comely grace,
Like a God-created garden? 'Tis Anacreon's resting-place.
Spring and summer and the autumn poured their gifts around the bard,
And, ere winter came to chill him, sound he slept beneath the sward.
THE HUSBANDMAN.
Lightly doth the furrow fold the golden grain within its breast,
Deeper shroud, old man, shall cover in thy limbs when laid at rest.
Blithely plough, and sow as blithely! Here are springs of mortal cheer,
And when e'en the grave is closing, Hope is ever standing near.
THE BROTHERS.
Slumber, Sleep—they were two brothers, servants to the Gods above:
Kind Prometheus lured them downwards, ever filled with earthly love;
But what Gods could bear so lightly, pressed too hard on men beneath.
Slumber did his brother's duty—Sleep was deepened into Death.
