In previous chapters of this work I have occasionally ventured on versions of Greek epitaphs from the _Anthology_. Yet, in view of the purpose and character of this book, we can make but careful and scant use of that collection. Roses may be a suitable adornment for a tomb, but when one is anxious carefully to study the form of the monument and to examine its sculptural decoration and its epitaph, roses may be in the way. As it comes down to us, the _Anthology_ is put together on literary rather than historic principles. Dates and schools are mixed up with the most perplexing indifference. Epigrams of Simonides and Sappho are placed next to the verses of Callimachus and Archias, of Rufinus and Paulus Silentiarius, authors who between them cover a space of more than a millennium. And, moreover, in no department of Greek letters is the rhetorical and epideictic spirit, that pest of Greece, more rampant than in the epigram. The great majority of sepulchral epigrams were written, not to duly honour the dead, but to display the literary taste and ingenuity of the poet. So that while we admire greatly the finished and exquisite beauty of these poems, we can seldom suppose that they embody much feeling or contain much thought. One class of epitaphs in the _Anthology_, the anonymous, has more actuality, being commonly transcribed from actual tombstones: but from the literary point of view these are the poorest. I propose, however, to give in this place renderings of a few of these literary epitaphs, selecting such as belong to an earlier period, and such as have some interest in their matter, and not merely in their style. In some cases I give a version of my own; in other cases I use the elegant translations which Dr. James Williams, of Lincoln College, has kindly placed at my disposal. We find not rarely on Greek tombs of all periods colloquies between the dead and wayfarers. The following is a literary version by Leonidas[280] of such a dialogue, carried on in a style of stately courtesy:-- ‘Lady, what name, what father dost thou own, That lieth ’neath this shaft of Parian stone?’ ‘Prexo, the daughter of Calliteles.’ ‘Where wast thou born?’ ‘Beside the Samian seas.’ ‘Who paid thee fitting funeral honours thus?’ ‘The husband of my youth, Theocritus.’ ‘How came thy death?’ ‘In childbed did I die.’ ‘Thine age?’ ‘But two and twenty years lived I.’ ‘And childless?’ ‘Nay, of mother’s care bereft, Calliteles, just three years old, was left.’ ‘Long life and ripe old age thy boy await.’ ‘Friend, all good things be showered on thee by fate.’ The following bears the name of Sappho[281]:-- The dust of Timas: ere her bridal she Saw the dark chamber of Persephone. Their lovely hair her playmates offered here, Cut off to honour her who was so dear.