Classic Poem

The book is done, but dead the dear desire
That you should read it, friend; you are afar.
An evil land seen 'neath a baneful star
Sends but thy dust and ashes to thy sire.

Weep, sad Bononia, orphaned of thy son,
Let all Aemilius' way resound with grief.
How bright that piety, that life how brief,
But five Olympiads passed and all was done!

Rufus, you loved to con my verses gay,
To hold them in your heart in memory,
Take now my sorrowing song and let it be
The incense of a friend from far away.