Proté! thou art not dead. Thou hast but gone To dwell in some far happier land than ours: Perchance thou hast the blessed islands won, Where Spring eternal reigns, adorned with flowers. Or, in the Elysian Fields, thy joyous path Is strown with opening blossoms; far above All earthly ills, thou feelest not winter's wrath, Nor summer's heat, nor care, nor hopeless love. In blest tranquillity, thy moments fly, Illumed by beams from Heaven's own cloudless sky. Both of these are almost perfect, each in its own way. One contemplates the survivor, and paints his grief at the loss of an adored object; the other, in a more resigned mood, observes the felicity which that object should experience in the land of spirits. Both are somewhat wanting in the tender simplicity which is the usual charm and characteristic of the Greek epitaph. But properly speaking, they are not epitaphs; they are addresses to the dead. We will give a few specimens of the inscription over the dead in its true form. Here is a beautiful one, by Lucian, on a child: Παιδα με πενταετηρον, ακηδεα θυμον εχοντα, Νηλειης Αιδης ἡρπασε, καλλιμαχον. Αλλα με μη κλαιοις· και γαρ βιοτοιο μετεσχον Παυρον, και παυρων των βιοτοιο κακων. While yet a tender child, the hand of Death Deprived me, young Callimachus, of breath. Oh! mourn me not! my years were few, and I Saw little of Life's care and misery. This one, by Erinna the Lesbian, was inscribed on the tomb of a bride who died on the marriage night. Σταλαι και σειρηνες εμαι. κ. τ. λ. Ye pillars! satued syrens! and thou urn! Sad relics, that hold these my cold remains, Say to each traveller who may hither turn His footsteps, whether native of these plains, Or stranger, that within this tomb there lie The ashes of a bride; and also say My name was Lyde, of a lineage high, And sad Erinna graved this o'er my clay. Callimachus, too, has given us a noble one in a single distich: Τηδε Σαων ὁ Δικωνος Ακανθιος ἱερον ὑπνον Κοιμαται. θνασκειν μη λεγε τους αγαθους. Here Saon the Acanthian _slumbering_ lies; Oh! say not that a virtuous man e'er _dies_! And here is an exquisite little one by Tymneus, on an Egyptian who died in Crete: Μησοι τουτο, Φιλαινι. κ. τ. λ. Grieve not, dear lost one! that thou find'st a grave In Crete, far from thy native Nile's dark wave. Alas! hell's gloomy portals open wide To all who seek them, upon every side. This touching one, by Callimachus, is for the cenotaph of a friend who was shipwrecked: Ωφελε μηδ' εγενοντο. κ. τ. λ. I would that swift-winged ships had ne'er been made to cleave the billow. O Sopolis! we should not then deplore thy watery pillow: Thou liest 'neath the heaving waves, and of thee naught we claim Save this poor, empty sepulchre, and thy beloved name.