Little avails it Orpheus that his sire Was more than man; for though his songs restrain The wolves of Ismara, his love-lorn lyre Wails in the wildwood gloom with anguish vain. Maeonides, from whose exhaustless well All bards since then some tribute stream derive,-- Him, even him, th' Avernian shades camped; Only his songs his scattered dust survive Yet songs endure. Endures the Trojan fame, And how Penelope's wise nights were passed. So Nemesis and Delia have a name,-- A poet's earliest passion and his last. Live piously! Build shrines! Revere the skies! Death, from the temple, thrusts thee to the tomb Or sing divinely! Lo, Tibullus dies! One scanty urn gives all his ashes room. Could not that laurelled head the flames restrain? How dared they that inspired breast explore? Rather they should have burned some golden fane Of gods,--of gods who this last insult bore! Yet 'tis my faith the Queen of Love the while, Whose altars crown the bright, voluptuous steep Of Eryx, at that sight did lose her smile; Oh! I believe sweet Venus deigned to weep! But he had feared worse deaths: for now he lies Not on Phaeacia's strand in grave unknown; His own dear mother closed his fading eyes, And brought her prayers to bless his votive stone. Thither drew near in mournful disarray His sister pale, her mother's grief to share: Thither no less, their rival tears to pay, His Nemesis and Delia, fond and fair. There Delia murmured, "In such love as thine I was too happy; thou, supremely blest," Rut Nemesis: "Nay, nay! The loss is mine; By mine alone his dying hand was pressed." If after death, we haply may retain More of true being than a name and shade, Tibullus now the bright Elysian plain Doth enter, and hears stir of welcome made. With ivy garlands on his fadeless brow, Catullus hails his peer in perfect rhyme; Comes Calvus, too; and slandered Gallus! thou,-- Not guilty, save if wasted love be crime! Such comrades now attend thy happy shade,-- If shade in truth to our frail flesh belong: Th' Elysian company is larger made By thee, Tibullus, skilled in noble song! May thy bones rest in peace! is my fond prayer: Safe and inviolate thine urn shall be. Be changeless peace on thy loved relies there! And light the hallowed earth that shelters thee!