Epigram 41: Whoever shall to this tomb draw nigh

Whoever shall to this tomb draw nigh,
Behold, in death, a priestess lie:
I sacred Ceres first implor’d,
The great Cabiri next ador’d,
Grew old on Dindymene’s plains,
And now my dust alone remains.
Alive, I seldom fail’d to lead
The sprightly dance along the mead ;
I bore two sons, I ran my race,
And died with joy, in their embrace.
Go, friend ; prepare for life’s decline ;
And may thy death be blest as mine.