“Hail and Farewell, my brother.”

“Forever and ever, brother, hail. Forever and ever, farewell.”

“Atque in pepetuum, frater, ave atque vale,” he whispered. The words of the poem had never seemed so fitting: Forever and ever, my brother, hail and farewell.”

“Farewell happy fields,Where joy forever dwells: Hail, horrors, hail.”

“Driven across many nations, across many oceans I am here, my brother, for this final parting,to offer at last those gifts which the dead are givenand to speak in vain to your unspeaking ashes,since bitter fortune forbids you to hear me or answer,O my wretched brother, so abruptly taken!But now I must celebrate grief with funeral tributesoffered the dead in the ancient way of the fathers;accept these presents, wet with my brotherly tears, andnow and forever, my brother, hail and farewell.”

“Through many countries and over many seasI have come, Brother, to these melancholy rites,to show this final honour to the dead,and speak (to what purpose?) to your silent ashes,since now fate takes you, even you, from me.Oh, Brother, ripped away from me so cruelly,now at least take these last offerings, blessedby the tradition of our parents, gifts to the dead.Accept, by custom, what a brother's tears drown,and, for eternity, Brother, 'Hail and Farewell'.”