Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=576123" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Epitaph Of Bion.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dolefully sound, ye groves and Dorian waters,<br>Lament, ye rivers, our beloved Bion;<br>Mourn, all ye plants, and whisper low, ye forests;<br>Ye flowers, breathe sadly from your drooping petals;<br>Put on deep red, anemones and roses;<br>Wail thine own letters, hyacinth, and ai ai<br>Write double on thy leaves for our sweet poet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.<br>Ye nightingales, in the thick leafage sobbing,<br>Tell the Sicilian streams of Arethusa<br>Bion is dead, the shepherd--boy, and with him<br>Song too is dead, and all the Dorian music.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.<br>Strymonian swans, sing sadly by your waters;<br>Warble a funeral elegy, in ditties<br>Such as he sung, the rival of your voices.<br>Tell the Œagrian Nymphs, and tell the damsels<br>That play in Thrace, Dead is the Dorian Orpheus.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.<br>Our friend shall pipe beside his flocks no longer,<br>Nor sit and sing alone beneath the ilex;<br>But tunes oblivious strains to sullen Pluto.<br>Mute are the mountains, and the herd is straying<br>And will not feed, but wanders sadly lowing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.<br>Thine early death lamented great Apollo,<br>Pan wept to miss thy singing, all the Naiads<br>Wept in their woods, and turned to tears their fountains;<br>Echo is weeping that she must be silent<br>Thy lips no longer mocking. At thy parting<br>Trees shed their fruit, and all the flowers were blighted;<br>Milk failed the flocks, and in our hives the honey<br>Sunk mouldering in the wax; for no more sweetness<br>Shall there be, now thy honey--song hath perished.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.<br>Not so beside the sea--beach wailed the dolphin,<br>Nor nightingale in shrubby rocks embowered,<br>Nor on the long green hills the piping swallow;<br>Not so for his Alcyone wept Ceÿx;<br>Nor Cerylus along the dark--blue waters;<br>Not so in Eastern dells the birds of Memnon<br>Wailed, flying round his tomb, the son of Ao,<br>As all lamented for the death of Bion.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.<br>Shepherd, with thee the Muses' gifts have perished--<br>All beauty, and the joy of youthful lovers--<br>Sadly the Loves around thy tomb are weeping:<br>Cypris hath loved thee better than the memory<br>Of the last kiss she prest on pale Adonis.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.<br>Thou tunefullest of streams, a second sorrow,<br>A second sorrow, Meles, hath befallen;<br>Thy Homer died, sweet prophet of the Muses;<br>And then, they say, thy glorious son thou wailest<br>Along thy shallows, and far into ocean<br>Carriedst the sound of grief: and now another<br>Must thou lament, and dry away for anguish.<br>Both were beloved by fountains: one was favoured<br>Of Hippocrene, and one of Arethusa;<br>One sung the lay of Tyndarus' fair daughter,<br>The son of Thetis, and the twin Atreidae;<br>But ours no wars, nor tears--the god of shepherds<br>And herdsmen sung he, as his flock he tended,<br>And bound the syrinx, and milked the sweet--breathed heifers,<br>And spake of Love, and was dear to Aphrodita.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.<br>All countries mourn for thee, all ancient cities:<br>Not so mourned Ascra for her Shepherd--prophet;<br>Not so the castled Lesbos for Alcaeus;<br>Nor Ceos her old songster; not so Paros<br>Archilochus desires; and leaving Sappho<br>Thy legend sings the widowed Mitylene.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.<br>Alas! when mallows perish in the gardens,<br>The crisp--green parsley, and the hardy anise,<br>They live again, and grow another summer;<br>But we, the great and strong, the sons of wisdom,<br>When first we die, unknown in earthy hollow<br>Sleep a long boundless sleep, that hath no waking.<br>Thou shalt be gathered to the dust in silence,<br>But sorry songsters live and sing for ever:<br>Well have the Muses ordered it, for better<br>Sing sweet and die, than be like them immortal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.<br>Poison hath touched thy mouth, a draught of poison;--<br>How came it to thy lips and was not sweetened?<br>What man so cruel that for thee could mingle,<br>Or offering it escaped uncharmed thy singing?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Begin the grief, begin Sicilian Muses.<br>Who now shall sound thy reed, beloved poet?<br>Who is so bold that to his lips will bear it?<br>To Pan I offer it; but Pan refuses<br>To wake its melody, lest he in playing<br>Should miss thy skill, and be adjudged thy second.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Alford">Henry Alford</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=576123" data-title="The Epitaph Of Bion. de Henry Alford" data-description="Dolefully sound, ye groves and Dorian waters,
Lament, ye rivers, our beloved Bion;
Mourn, all ye plants, and whisper low, ye forests;
Ye flowers, breathe sadly from your drooping petals;
Put on deep red, anemones and roses;
Wail thine own letters,..."></div>
</div>
</div>