Book III, Elegy 2: Lygdamus Deprived of Neaera (Postgate)

He who first robbed a swain of his dear and a girl of the youth she loved was a man of iron. And he was hard too who could bear a grief so great and live when his mate was taken. I am not stout in this in my strain is no such endurance. Pain makes the brave heart break. I think it no shame to speak the truth or to own that within me there is risen loathing of a life that has suffered so much sorrow.

So then when I am changed to a phantom shade and above my white bones lies the black ashes' covering, let Neaera come to my pyre with her long hair disordered and sadly weep beside it. Let her come with her dear mother to share her grief, to mourn, one for a husband, the other for a son.

First of all let them address my shade and fresh departed spirit and in lustral water bathe their hands. Then with black robes ungirdled shall they gather the white bones, sole part remaining of my body, and when they are gathered together sprinkle them with old wine first and next proceed to drench them with snowy milk likewise, and after this to remove the moisture with linen cloths and place them dry in a chamber of marble. There let the merchandise which rich Panchaia, Eastern Araby, and rich Assyria send, and tears to my memory withal, be shed on the-same spot. Thus, when naught is left of me but bones, would I be laid to rest.

But the sad cause of my death let a legend show, and on the stone's face which all may see let it set out these lines :

HERE LYGDAMUS IS LAID, BY GRIEVOUS PAIN AND LONGING FOR HIS LOST NEAERA SLAIN.