Epigram 22: Whoe’er with hallow’d feet approaches near

Whoe’er with hallow’d feet approaches near,
Behold, Callimachus lies buried here.
I drew my breath from fam’d Cyrene’s shore,
And the same name my son and father bore.
My warlike sire in arms much glory won,
But brighter trophies grac’d his favour’d son ;
Lov’d by the tuneful nine he sweetly sung
And stopt the venom of th’ invidious tongue:
For whom the muse beholds with favouring eyes
In early youth, she'll ne’er again despise.