Book VII, 467

This is the lament thy mother, Artemidorus, uttered over thy tomb, bewailing thy death at twelve years of age. “All the fruit of my travail hath perished in fire and ashes, it hath perished all thy miserable father’s toil for thee, and it hath perished all the winsome delight of thee; for thou art gone to the land of the departed, from which there is no turning back or home-coming. Nor didst thou reach thy prime, my child, and in thy stead naught is left us but thy grave-stone and dumb dust.”