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Poem	Even the beauteous must die! This vanquishes men and immortals; But of the Stygian god moves not the bosom of steel. Once and once only could love prevail on the ruler of shadows, And on the threshold, e'en then, sternly his gift he recalled. Venus could never heal the wounds of the beauteous stripling, That the terrible boar made in his delicate skin; Nor could his mother immortal preserve the hero so godlike, When at the west gate of Troy, falling, his fate he fulfilled. But she arose from the ocean with all the daughters of Nereus, And o'er her glorified son raised the loud accents of woe. See! where all the gods and goddesses yonder are weeping, That the beauteous must fade, and that the perfect must die. Even a woe-song to be in the mouth of the loved ones is glorious, For what is vulgar descends mutely to Orcus' dark shades.
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