Homer ("Smyrns of Chios")

Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro,
In all the raging impotence of woe.

Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro,
In all the raging impotence of woe.

By Jove the stranger and the poor are sent,
And what to those we give, to Jove is lent.

By Jove the stranger and the poor are sent,
And what to those we give, to Jove is lent.

'Tis true; 'tis certain; man though dead retains
Part of himself; the immortal mind remains.

'Tis true; 'tis certain; man though dead retains
Part of himself; the immortal mind remains.

And Heaven, that every virtue bears in mind,
E'en to the ashes of the just is kind.

And Heaven, that every virtue bears in mind,
E'en to the ashes of the just is kind.

And taste
The melancholy joys of evils pass'd,
For he who much has suffer'd, much will know.

And taste
The melancholy joys of evils pass'd,
For he who much has suffer'd, much will know.