This morning we beheld with streaming eyes
The flames from Melanippus' body rise;
At eve, fair Basile resign'd her breath,
Disdaining to survive a brother's death;
With frantic hands she gave the deadly blow
That sent her soul to gloomy shades below.
Two mighty ills the wretched fire must mourn,
And weep around a son and daughter's urn;
Old Aristippus sunk in grief appears,
And all Cyrene melts in briny tears.
