Someone told me, Heraclitus, what happened to you. A tear
fell from my eyes, remembering how many times we two
sank the sun with our speaking: but you, Halicarnassan
friend, have been ashes four times as long.
Yet your nightingales live. Hades, who steals
everything, will not set his hand upon them.
εἶπέ τις Ἡράκλειτε τεὸν μόρον, ἐς δέ με δάκρυ
ἤγαγεν, ἐμνήσθην δ᾽ ὁσσάκις ἀμφότεροι
ἥλιον ἐν λέσχηι κατεδύσαμεν: ἀλ̀λὰ σὺ μέν που
ξεῖν᾽ ‘Αλικαρνησεῦ τετράπαλαι σποδιή:
5αἱ δὲ τεαὶ ζώουσιν ἀηδόνες, ἧισιν ὁ πάντων
ἁρπακτὴς Ἀίδης οὐκ ἐπὶ χεῖρα βαλεῖ.
—Callimachus, epigram II