When bees come hither in the fair springtide
Tell them, ye nymphs and cattle-pastures chill,
How on a wintry night Leucippus died
While snaring scampering hares upon the hill;
The hives no more shall fell his fostering shill,
But the sad hollows where the flocks are fed,
For very grief are sighing for him still;
The neighbour of the mountain peak is dead.

"The Oxford Book of Greek Verse in Translation"
no. 678 'a bee-keeper' circa 500 CE
(trans. J. A. Pott)
#lore #epitaph