Ασβεστον κλεος ὁιδε φιλη περι πατριδι θεντες Κυανεον θανατου αμφεβαλοντο νεφος. Ουδε τεθνασι θανοντες, επει σφ' αρετη καθυπερθεν Κυδαινους' αναγει δωματος εξ Αιδεω. Or thus: Undying fame for their loved native land They won, then sank beneath Death's iron hand; But yet, though fallen, they ne'er can die, for lo! Glory recalls them from the shades below. And, as it was with these monuments of national glory, so was it with the bounties of nature, the lesser tokens of love and affection, and the humble demonstrations of piety. No fountain leaped forth from the way-side to greet and refresh the weary traveller; no lone tomb was raised among its grove of gloomy cypresses, that some Meleager, some Anyte was not at hand to adorn it with a few lines, simple indeed, but beautiful and appropriate, and which still live, long after the names of those who called them forth have been forgotten. Then every rustic image, erected by the peasants in honor of some sylvan deity, was sure to have some little inscription, graceful, and conceived in the happiest mood. Thus, in the Greek Anthology, there are preserved nearly eight hundred epitaphs, most of them touching from their natural and exquisite simplicity. They generally indicate deep and quiet feeling, rarely indulging in the little epigrammatic points that so mar the effect of almost all modern epitaphs. What can be more beautiful than Meleager's Lament over the grave of Heliodora? Δακρυα σοι και νερθε δια χθονος, Ἡλιοδωρα, Δωρουμαι, στοργας λειψανον εις Αιδαν, Δακρυα δυσδακρυτα· πολυκλαυτω δ' επι τυμβω Σπενδω ναμα ποθων, μναμα φιλοφροσυνας. Οικτρα γαρ, οικτρα φιλαν σε και εν φθιμενοις Μελεαγρος Αιαζω, κενεαν εις Αχεροντα χαριν. Αι, Αι, που το ποθεινον εμοι θαλος; ἁρπασεν Αιδας, Ἁρπασεν· ακμαιον δ' ανθος εφυρε κονις. Αλλα σε γουνουμαι, γα παντροφε, ταν πανοδυρτον Ηρεμα σοις κολποις, ματερ, εναγκαλισαι. This has little of the charming simplicity which usually marks these beautiful poems, but it is an exquisite and touching lament. We have endeavored to render it into English, although we fear 'That every touch which wooed its stay, Hath brushed a thousand charms away.' I give, O Heliodora! tears to thee, Ah, bitter tears! the relics of a love Unchanged by Death. And, o'er thy sepulchre, I pour this passionate flood, which shows my love Still unabated. But, 'tis vain! 'tis vain! Since thou, adored one! art among the dead, A boon by them unprized. Ah! lovely flower, Now seized by Death, I view thy silken leaves All trampled in the dust. Ah! then to thee, O friendly Earth! I pray, that to thy bosom Thou should'st receive her with maternal care! And the following shows the hand of genius, guided by love. The name of its author is unfortunately unknown. Ουκ εθανες, Πρωτη. κ. τ. λ.