Note 175 — Chapter XXI · THE ANTHOLOGY.
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Merciless heaven! why didst thou show me light For so few years and speedy in their flight? Was it to vex by my untimely death With tears and wailings her who gave me breath? Who bore me, and who reared me, and who wrought More for my youth with many a careful thought Than my dead sire: he left me in his hall An orphan babe: 'twas she alone did all. My joy it was beneath grave men of laws, Just pleas to urge and win approved applause; But from my cheek she never plucked the flower Of charming youth, nor dressed my bridal bower, Nor sang my marriage hymn, nor saw, ah me! My offspring shoot upon our ancient tree, That now is withered. Even in the tomb I wail Politta's woe, the gloom on gloom That swells her grief for Phronton; since a boy In vain she bore, his country's empty joy.