Quam suavis mea Chloris, et venusta,
Vitae quam fuerit brevis, monebunt
Hic circum violae rosaeque fusae:
Quarum purpura, vix aperta, clausa est.
Sed nec dura nimis vocare fata,
Nec fas est nimium queri caducae
De formae brevitate, quam rependit
Aeterni diuturnitas odoris.
* * *
My pretty Chloris--ah, how sweet
The roses o'er your head shall show;
The violets, strewn above your feet
How brief the life that sleeps below.
We must not chide the grudging fates.
Nor say how short a lot was thine,
For, ah, how amply compensates
The eternal fragrance of thy shrine.
I subjoin to these a couple of epigrams which give a good idea of the
natural and solemn way in which he approaches death, as an event not
necessarily of a gloomy and forbidding character, but as tending to draw
out and develop an intimate and regretful hope in the survivors. There
is nothing austere about his philosophy; it puts aside pompous and
formal consolations, and goes right to the heart of the matter, with a
child-like simplicity. The first deals with the Pyramids, the second
with an incident, real or fancied, connected with the burial of Queen
Mary at Westminster.