EPIGRAM
ON THE GRAVE OF ROBESPIERRE.
ORIGINAL.
Passant, ne pleure point son sort;
Car, s’il vivait, tu serais mort.
TRANSLATION.
Nay, passenger, don’t mourn his lot;
If he had liv’d, why you had not.
About This Book
A varied collection of lyrical and occasional poems encompassing light social verse, pastoral descriptions, travel pieces gathered from earlier fugitive publication, and personal elegies. Pieces range from tranquil nature scenes and grotto meditations to expressions of romantic longing and formal dedications; a prominent elegy mourns a beloved brother and traces grief and memory. The preface frames the poems as modest divertissements written across youth and maturity, and some material derives from the author's tours. The tone alternates between playful, reflective, and mournful, favoring accessible meters and conventional poetic imagery rather than experimental forms.