Note 188 — Chapter XXI · THE ANTHOLOGY.

Around the tomb, O bard divine! Where soft thy hallowed brow reposes, Long may the deathless ivy twine, And summer pour his waste of roses! And many a fount shall there distil, And many a rill refresh the flowers; But wine shall gush in every rill, And every fount yield milky showers. Thus, shade of him whom nature taught To tune his lyre and soul to pleasure, Who gave to love his warmest thought, Who gave to love his fondest measure; Thus, after death, if spirits feel, Thou mayest, from odors round thee streaming, A pulse of past enjoyment steal, And live again in blissful dreaming.