O flower of all that springs from gentle blood...

O flower of all that springs from gentle blood,

And all that generous nurture breeds to make

Youth amiable; O friend so true of soul

To fair Aglaia; by what envy moved,

Lelius! has death cut short thy brilliant day

In its sweet opening? and what dire mishap

Has from Savona torn her best delight?

For thee she mourns, nor e'er will cease to mourn;

And, should the out-pourings of her eyes suffice not

For her heart's grief, she will entreat Sebeto

Not to withhold his bounteous aid, Sebeto

Who saw thee, on his margin, yield to death,

In the chaste arms of thy beloved Love!

What profit riches? what does youth avail?

Dust are our hopes;— I, weeping bitterly,

Penned these sad lines, nor can forbear to pray

That every gentle Spirit hither led

May read them not without some bitter tears.