LXV.

Though, outworn with sorrow, with hours of torturous anguish, Ortalus, I no more tarry the Muses among; Though from a fancy deprest fair blooms of poesy budding Rise not at all; such grief rocks me, uneasily stirr'd:

Coldly but even now mine own dear brother in ebbing 5 Lethe his ice-wan feet laveth, a shadowy ghost. He whom Troy's deep bosom, a shore Rhoetean above him, Rudely denies these eyes, heavily crushes in earth.

Ah! no more to address thee, or hear thy kindly replying, Brother! O e'en than life round me delightfuller yet, 10 Ne'er to behold thee again! Still love shall fail not alone in Fancy to muse death's dark elegy, closely to weep. Closely as under boughs of dimmest shadow the pensive Daulian ever moans Itys in agony slain.

Yet mid such desolation a verse I tender of ancient 15 Battiades, new-drest, Ortalus, wholly for you. Lest to the roving winds these words all idly deliver'd, Seem too soon from a frail memory fallen away.

E'en as a furtive gift, sent, some love-apple, a-wooing, Leaps from breast of a coy maiden, a canopy pure; 20 There forgotten alas, mid vestments silky reposing,— Soon as a mother's step starts her, it hurleth adown: Straight to the ground, dash'd forth ungently, the gift shoots headlong; She in tell-tale cheeks glows a disorderly shame.

LXVI.

He whose glance scann'd clearly the lights uncounted of ether, Found when arises a star, sinks in his haven again, How yon eclipsed sun glares luminous obscuration, How in seasons due vanishes orb upon orb; How 'neath Latmian heights fair Trivia stealthily banish'd 5 Falls, from her upward path lured by a lover awhile; That same sage, that Conon, a lock of great Berenice Saw me, in heavenly-bright deification afar Lustrous, a gleaming glory; to gods full many devoted, Whiles she her arms in prayer lifted, as ivory smooth; 10 In that glorious hour when, flush'd with a new hymeneal, Hotly the King to deface outer Assyria sped, Bearing ensigns sweet of that soft struggle a night brings, When from a virgin's arms spoils he had happily won.

Stands it an edict true that brides hate Venus? or ever 15 Falsely the parents' joy dashes a showery tear, When to the nuptial door they come in rainy beteeming? Now to the Gods I swear, tears be hypocrisy then. So mine own queen taught me in all her weary lamentings, Whiles her bridegroom bold set to the battle a face. 20 What? for an husband lost thou weptst not gloomily lying? Rather a brother dear, forced for a while to depart? This, when love's sharp grief was gnawing inly to waste thee! Ah poor wife! whose soul steep'd in unhappiness all, Fell from reason away, nor abode thy senses! A nobler 25 Spirit had I erewhile known thee, a fiery child.

Pass'd that deed forgotten, a royal wooer had earn'd thee? Deed that braver none ventureth ever again? Yet what sorrow to lose thy lord, what murmur of anguish! Jove, how rain'd those tears brush'd from a passionate eye! 30 Who is this could wean thee, a God so mighty, to falter? May not a lover live from the beloved afar? Then for a spouse so goodly, before each spirit of heaven, Me thou vowd'st, with slain oxen, a vast hecatomb, Home if again he alighted. Awhile and Asia crouching 35 Humbly to Egypt's realm added a boundary new; I, in starry return to the ranks dedicated of heaven, Debt of an ancient vow sum in a bounty to-day.

Full of sorrow was I, fair queen, thy brows to abandon, Full of sorrow; in oath answer, adorable head. 40 Evil on him that oath who sweareth falsely soever! Yet in a strife with steel who can a victory claim? Steel could a mountain abase, no loftier any thro' heaven's Cupola Thia's child lifteth his axle above, Then, when a new-born sea rose Mede-uplifted; in Athos' 45 Centre his ocean-fleet floated a barbarous host. What shall a weak tress do, when powers so mighty resist not? Jove! may Chalybes all perish, a people accurst, Perish who earth's hid veins first labour'd dimly to quarry, Clench'd in a molten mass iron, a ruffian heart! 50

Scarcely the sister-locks were parted dolefully weeping, Straight that brother of young Memnon, in Africa born, Came, and shook thro' heaven his pennons oary, before me, Winged, a queen's proud steed, Locrian Arsinoe. So flew with me aloft thro' darkening shadow of heaven, 55 There to a god's pure breast laid me, to Venus's arms. Him Zephyritis' self had sent to the task, her servant, She from realms of Greece borne to Canopus of yore. There, that at heav'n's high porch, not one sole crown, Ariadne's, Golden above those brows Ismaros' youth did adore, 60 Starry should hang, set alone; but luminous I might glisten, Vow'd to the Gods, bright spoil won from an aureat head; While to the skies I clomb still ocean-dewy, the Goddess Placed me amid star-spheres primal, a glory to be.

Close to the Virgin bright, to the Lion sulkily gleaming, 65 Nigh Callisto, a cold child Lycaonian, I Wheel obliquely to set, and guide yon tardy Bootes Where scarce late his car dewy descends to the sea. Yet tho' nightly the Gods' immortal steps be above me, Tho' to the white waves dawn gives me, to Tethys, again; 70 (Maid of Ramnus, a grace I here implore thee, if any Word should offend; so much cannot a terror alarm, I should veil aught true; not tho' with clamorous uproar Rend me the stars; I speak verities hidden at heart): Lightly for all I reck, so more I sorrow to part me 75 Sadly from her I serve, part me forever away. With her, a virgin as yet, I quaff'd no sumptuous essence; With her, a bride, I drain'd many a prodigal oil.

Now, O you whom gladly the marriage cresset uniteth, See to the bridegroom fond yield ye not amorous arms, 80 Throw not back your robes, nor bare your bosom assenting, Save from an onyx stream sweetness, a bounty to me. Yours, in a loyal bed which seek love's privilege, only; Yieldeth her any to bear loathed adultery's yoke, Vile her gifts, and lightly the dust shall drink them unheeding. 85 Not of vile I seek gifts, nor of infamous, I. Rather, O unstain'd brides, may concord tarry for ever With ye at home, may love with ye for ever abide. Thou, fair queen, to the stars if looking haply, to Venus Lights thou kindle on eves festal of high sacrifice, 90 Leave me the lock, thine own, nor blood nor bounty requiring. Rather a largesse fair pay to me, envy me not. Stars dash blindly in one! so might I glitter a royal Tress, let Orion glow next to Aquarius' urn.

LXVII.

CATULLUS.

O to the goodman fair, O welcome alike to the father, Hail, and Jove's kind grace shower his help upon you! Door, that of old, men say, wrought Balbus ready obeisance, Once, when his home, time was, lodged him, a master in years; Door, that again, men say, grudg'd aught but a spiteful obeisance, 5 Soon as a corpse outstretch'd starkly declar'd you a bride. Come, speak truly to me; what shameful rumour avouches Duty of years forsworn, honour in injury lost?

DOOR.

So be the tenant new, Caecilius, happy to own me, I'm not guilty, for all jealousy says it is I. 10 Never a fault was mine, nor man shall whisper it ever; Only, my friend, your mob's noisy "The door is a rogue." Comes to the light some mischief, a deed uncivil arising, Loudly to me shout all, "Door, you are wholly to blame."

CATULLUS.

'Tis not enough so merely to say, so think to decide it. 15 Better, who wills should feel, see it, who wills, to be true.

DOOR.

How then? if here none asks, nor labours any to know it.

CATULLUS.

Nay, I ask it; away scruple; your hearer is I.

DOOR.

First, what rumour avers, they gave her to us a virgin— They lie on her. A light lady! be sure, not alone 20 Clipp'd her an husband first; weak stalk from a garden, a pointless Falchion, a heart did ne'er fully to courage awake. No; to the son's own bed, 'tis said, that father ascended, Vilely; with act impure stain'd the facinorous house. Whether a blind fierce lust in his heart burnt sinfully flaming, 25 Or that inert that son's vigour, amort to delight, Needed a sturdier arm, that franker quality somewhere, Looser of youth's fast-bound girdle, a virgin as yet.

CATULLUS.

Truly a noble father, a glorious act of affection! Thus in a son's kind sheets lewdly to puddle, his own. 30

DOOR.

Yet not alone of this, her crag Chinaean abiding Under, a watch-tower set warily, Brixia tells, Brixia, trails whereby his waters Mella the golden, Mother of her, mine own city, Verona the fair. Add Postumius yet, Cornelius also, a twice-told 35 Folly, with whom our light mistress adultery knew. Asks some questioner here "What? a door, yet privy to lewdness? You, from your owner's gate never a minute away? Strange to the talk o' the town? since here, stout timber above you, Hung to the beam, you shut mutely or open again." 40 Many a shameful time I heard her stealthy profession, While to the maids her guilt softly she hinted alone. Spoke unabash'd her amours and named them singly, opining Haply an ear to record fail'd me, a voice to reveal. There was another; enough; his name I gladly dissemble; 45 Lest his lifted brows blush a disorderly rage. Sir, 'twas a long lean suitor; a process huge had assail'd him; 'Twas for a pregnant womb falsely declar'd to be true.

LXVIII.

If, when fortune's wrong with bitter misery whelms thee, Thou thy sad tear-scrawl'd letter, a mark to the storm, Send'st, and bid'st me to succour a stranded seaman of Ocean, Toss'd in foam, from death's door to return thee again; Whom nor softly to rest love's tender sanctity suffers, 5 Lost on a couch of lone slumber, unhappily lain; Nor with melody sweet of poets hoary the Muses Cheer, while worn with grief nightly the soul is awake: Well-contented am I, that thou thy friendship avowest, Ask'st the delights of love from me, the pleasure of hymns; 10 Yet lest all unnoted a kindred story bely thee, Deeming, Mallius, I calls of humanity shun; Hear what a grief is mine, what storm of destiny whelms me. Cease to demand of a soul's misery joy's sacrifice.

Once, what time white robes of manhood first did array me, 15 Whiles in jollity life sported a spring holiday, Youth ran riot enow; right well she knows me, the Goddess, She whose honey delights blend with a bitter annoy. Henceforth dies sweet pleasure, in anguish lost of a brother's Funeral. O poor soul, brother, O heavily ta'en, 20 You all happier hours, you, dying brother, effaced; All our house lies low mournfully buried in you; Quench'd untimely with you joy waits not ever a morrow, Joy which alive your love's bounty fed hour upon hour; Now, since thou liest dead, heart-banish'd wholly desert me 25 Vanities all, each gay freak of a riotous heart.

How then obey? You write 'Let not Verona, Catullus, Stay thee, if here each proud quality, Rome's eminence, Freely the light limbs warms thou leavest coldly to languish,' Infamy lies not there, Mallius, only regret. 30 So forgive me, if I, whom grief so rudely bereaveth, Deal not a joy myself know not, a beggar in all. Books—if they're but scanty, a store full meagre, around me, Rome is alone my life's centre, a mansion of home, Rome my abode, house, hearth; there wanes and waxes a life's span; 35 Hither of all those choice cases attends me but one. Therefore deem not thou aught spiteful bids me deny thee; Say not 'his heart is false, haply, to jealousy leans,' If nor books I send nor flatter sorrow to silence. Trust me, were either mine, either unask'd should appear. 40

Goddesses, hide I may not in how great trial upheld me Allius, how no faint charities held me to life. Nor shall time borne fleetly nor years' oblivion ever Make such zeal to the night fade, to the darkness, away. As from me you learn it, of you shall many a thousand 45 Learn it again. Grow old, scroll, to declare it anew. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . So to the dead increase honour in year upon year. 50 Nor to the spider, aloft her silk-slight flimsiness hanging, Allius aye unswept moulder, a memory dim. (50)

Well you wot, how sore the deceit Amathusia wrought me, Well what a thing in love's treachery made me to fall; Ready to burst in flame, as burn Trinacrian embers, 55 Burn near Thermopylae's Oeta the fiery springs. Sad, these piteous eyes did waste all wearily weeping, (55) Sad, these cheeks did rain ceaseless a showery woe. Wakeful, as hill-born brook, which, afar off silvery gleaming, O'er his moss-grown crags leaps with a tumble adown; 60 Brook which awhile headlong o'er steep and valley descending, Crosses anon wide ways populous, hastes to the street; (60) Cheerer in heats o' the sun to the wanderer heavily fuming, Under a drought, when fields swelter agape to the sky.

Then as tossing shipmen amid black surges of Ocean, 65 See some prosperous air gently to calm them arise, Safe thro' Pollux' aid or Castor, alike entreated; (65) Mallius e'en such help brought me, a warder of harm. He in a closed field gave scope of liberal entry; Gave me an house of love, gave me the lady within, 70 Busily there to renew love's even duty together; Thither afoot mine own mistress, a deity bright, (70) Came, and planted firm her sole most sunny; beneath her Lightly the polish'd floor creak'd to the sandal again.

So with passion aflame came wistful Laodamia 75 Into her husband's home, Protesilaus, of yore; Home o'er-lightly begun, ere slaughter'd victim atoning (75) Waited of heaven's high-thron'd company grace to agree. Nought be to me so dear, O Maid Ramnusian, ever, I should against that law match me with opposite, I. 80 Bloodless of high sacrifice, how thirsts each desolate altar! This, when her husband fell, Laodamia did heed, (80) Rapt from a bridegroom new, from his arms forced early to part her. Early; for hardly the first winter, another again, Yet in many a night's long dream had sated her yearning, 85 So that love might wear cheerly, the master away; Which not long should abide, so presag'd surely the Parcae, (85) If to the wars her lord hurry, for Ilion arm.

Now to revenge fair Helen, had Argos' chiefs, her puissance, Set them afield; for Troy rous'd them, a cry not of home, 90 Troy, dark death universal, of Asia grave and Europe, Altar of heroes Troy, Troy of heroical acts, (90)

Now to my own dear brother abhorred worker of ancient Death. Ah woeful soul, brother, unhappily lost, Ah fair light unblest, in darkness sadly receding, 95 All our house lies low, brother, inearthed in you, Quench'd untimely with you, joy waits not ever a morrow, (95) Joy which alive your love's bounty fed hour upon hour. Now on a distant shore, no kind mortality near him, Far all household love, every familiar urn, 100 Tomb'd in Troy the malign, in Troy the unholy reposing, Strangely the land's last verge holds him, a dungeon of earth. (100)

Thither in haste all Greece, one armed people assembling, Flock'd on an ancient day, left the recesses of home, Lest in a safe content, unreach'd, his stolen adultress. 105 Paris inarm, in soft luxury quietly lain.

E'en such chance, fair queen, such misery, Laodamia, (105) Brought thee a loss as life precious, as heavenly breath. Loss of a bridegroom dear; such whirling passion in eddies Suck'd thee adown, so drew sheer to a sudden abyss, 110 Deep as Graian abyss near Pheneos o'er Cyllene, Strainer of ooze impure milk'd from a watery fen; (110) Hewn, so stories avouch, in a mountain's kernel; an hero Hew'd it, falsely declar'd Amphytrionian, he, When those monster birds near grim Stymphalus his arrow 115 Smote to the death; such task bade him a dastardly lord. So that another God might tread that portal of heaven (115) Freely, nor Hebe fair wither a chaste eremite. Yet than abyss more deep thy love, thy depth of emotion; Love which school'd thy lord, made of a master a thrall. 120

Not to a grandsire old so priz'd, so lovely the grandson One dear daughter alone rears i' the soft of his years; (120) He, long-wish'd for, an heir of wealth ancestral arriving,— Scarcely the tablets' marge holds him, a name to the will, Straight all hopes laugh'd down, each baffled kinsman usurping 125 Leaves to repose white hairs, stretches, a vulture, away; Not in her own fond mate so turtle snowy delighteth, (125) Tho' unabash'd, 'tis said, she the voluptuous hours Snatches a thousand kisses, in amorous extasy biting. Yet, more lightly than all ranges a womanly will. 130 Great their love, their frenzy; but all their frenzy before thee Fail'd, once clasp'd thy lord splendid in aureat hair. (130)

Worthy in all or part thee, Laodamia, to rival, Sought me my own sweet love, journey'd awhile to my arms. Round her playing oft ran Cupid thither or hither, 135 Lustrous, array'd in bright broidery, saffron of hue. What, to Catullus alone if a wayward fancy resort not? (135) Must I pale for a stray frailty, the shame of an hour? Nay; lest all too much such jealous folly provoke her. Juno's self, a supreme glory celestial, oft 140 Crushes her eager rage, in wedlock-injury flaring, Knowing yet right well Jove, what a losel is he. (140)

Yet, for a man with Gods shall never lawfully match him . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160 . . . . . . . . . . . Lift thy father, a weak burden, unholpen, abhorr'd. Not that a father's hand my love led to me, nor odours Wafted her home on rich airs, of Assyria born; Stealthy the gifts she gave me, a night unspeakable o'er us, 165 (145) Gifts from her husband's dreams verily stolen, his own. Then 'tis enough for me, if mine, mine only remaineth That one day, whose stone shines with an happier hue.

So, it is all I can, take, Allius, answer, a little Verse to requite thy much friendship, a contrary boon. 170 (150) So your household names no rust nor seamy defacing Soil this day, that new morrow, the next to the last. Gifts full many to these heaven send as largely requiting, Gifts Themis ever wont deal to the pious of yore. Joys come plenty to thee, to thy own fair lady together, 175 (155) Come to that house of mirth, come to the lady within; Joy to the forward friend, our love's first fashioner, Anser, Author of all this fair history, founder of all. Lastly beyond them, above them, on her more lovely than even Life, my lady, for whose life it is happy to be. 180 (160)

LXIX.

Rufus, it is no wonder if yet no woman assenting Softly to thine embrace tender a delicate arm. Not tho' a gift should seek, some robe most filmy, to move her; Not for a cherish'd gem's clarity, lucid of hue.

Deep in a valley, thy arms, such evil story maligns thee, 5 Rufus, a villain goat houses, a grim denizen. All are afraid of it, all; what wonder? a rascally creature, Verily! not with such company dally the fair.

Slay, nor pity the brute, our nostril's rueful aversion. Else admire not if each ravisher angrily fly. 10

LXX.

Saith my lady to me, no man shall wed me, but only Thou; no other if e'en Jove should approach me to woo; Yea; but a woman's words, when a lover fondly desireth, Limn them on ebbing floods, write on a wintery gale.

LXXII.

Lesbia, thou didst swear thou knewest only Catullus, Cared'st not, if him thine arms chained, a Jove to retain. Then not alone I loved thee, as each light lover a mistress, Lov'd as a father his own sons, or an heir to the name.

Now I know thee aright; so, if more hotly desiring, 5 Yet must count thee a soul cheaper, a frailty to scorn. 'Friend,' thou say'st, 'you cannot.' Alas! such injury leaveth Blindly to doat poor love's folly, malignly to will.

LXXIII.

Never again think any to work aught kindly soever, Dream that in any abides honour, of injury free. Love is a debt in arrear; time's parted service avails not; Rather is only the more sorrow, a heavier ill: Chiefly to me, whom none so fierce, so deadly deceiving 5 Troubleth, as he whose friend only but inly was I.

LXXIV.

Gellius heard that his uncle in ire exploded, if any Dared, some wanton, a fault practise, a levity speak. Not to be slain himself, see Gellius handle his uncle's Lady; no Harpocrates muter, his uncle is hush'd. So what he aim'd at, arriv'd at, anon let Gellius e'en this 5 Uncle abuse; not a word yet will his uncle assay.

LXXVIII.

Brothers twain has Gallus, of whom one owns a delightful Son; his brother a fair lady, delightfuller yet. Gallant sure is Gallus, a pair so dainty uniting; Lovely the lady, the lad lovely, a company sweet. Foolish sure is Gallus, an o'er-incurious husband; 5 Uncle, a wife once taught luxury, stops not at one.

LXXIX.

Lesbius, handsome is he. Why not? if Lesbia loves him Far above all your tribe, angry Catullus, or you. Only let all your tribe sell off, and follow, Catullus, Kiss but his handsome lips children, a plenary three.

LXXXI.

What? not in all this city, Juventius, ever a gallant Poorly to win love's fresh favour of amorous you, Only the lack-love signor, a wretch from sickly Pisaurum, Guest of your hearth, no gilt statue as ashy as he? Now your very delight, whose faithless fancy Catullus 5 Banisheth, Ah light-reck'd lightness, apostasy vile!

LXXXII.

Wouldst thou, Quintius, have me a debtor ready to owe thee Eyes, or if earth have joy goodlier any than eyes? One thing take not from me, to me more goodly than even Eyes, or if earth have joy goodlier any than eyes.

LXXXIII.

Lesbia while her lord stands near, rails ever upon me. This to the fond weak fool seemeth a mighty delight. Dolt, you see not at all. Could she forget me, to rail not, Nought were amiss; if now scold she, or if she revile, 'Tis not alone to remember; a shrewder stimulus arms her, 5 Anger; her heart doth burn verily, thus to revile.

LXXXIV.

Stipends Arrius ever on opportunity shtipends, Ambush as hambush still Arrius used to declaim. Then, hoped fondly the words were a marvel of articulation, While with an h immense 'hambush' arose from his heart. So his mother of old, so e'en spoke Liber his uncle, 5 Credibly; so grandsire, grandam alike did agree.

Syria took him away; all ears had rest for a moment; Lightly the lips those words, slightly could utter again. None was afraid any more of a sound so clumsy returning; Sudden a solemn fright seized us, a message arrives. 10 'News from Ionia country; the sea, since Arrius enter'd, Changed; 'twas Ionian once, now 'twas Hionian all.'

LXXXV.

Half I hate, half love. How so? one haply requireth. Nay, I know not; alas feel it, in agony groan.

LXXXVI.

Lovely to many a man is Quintia; shapely, majestic, Stately, to me; each point singly 'tis easy to grant. 'Lovely' the whole, I grant not; in all that bodily largeness, Lives not a grain of salt, breathes not a charm anywhere. Lesbia—she is lovely, an even temper of utmost 5 Beauty, that every charm stealeth of every fair.

LXXXVII & LXXV.

Ne'er shall woman avouch herself so rightly beloved, Friend, as rightly thou art, Lesbia, lovely to me. Ne'er was a bond so firm, no troth so faithfully plighted, Such as against our love's venture in honour am I.

Now so sadly my heart, dear Lesbia, draws me asunder, 5 So in her own misspent worship uneasily lost, Wert thou blameless in all, I may not longer approve thee, Do anything thou wilt, cannot an enemy be.

LXXVI.

If to a man bring joy past service dearly remember'd, When to the soul her thought speaks, to be blameless of ill; Faith not rudely profan'd, nor in oath or charter abused Heaven, a God's mis-sworn sanctity, deadly to men. Then doth a life-long pleasure await thee surely, Catullus, 5 Pleasure of all this love's traitorous injury born.

Whatso a man may speak, whom charity leads to another, Whatso enact, by me spoken or acted is all. Waste on a traitorous heart, nor finding kindly requital. Therefore cease, nor still bleed agoniz'd any more. 10

Make thee as iron a soul, thyself draw back from affliction. Yea, tho' a God say nay, be not unhappy for aye. What? it is hard long love so lightly to leave in a moment? Hard; yet abides this one duty, to do it: obey. Here lies safety alone, one victory must not fail thee. 15 One last stake to be lost haply, perhaps to be won.

O great Gods immortal, if you can pity or ever Lighted above dark death's shadow, a help to the lost; Ah! look, a wretch, on me; if white and blameless in all I Liv'd, then take this long canker of anguish away. 20 If to my inmost veins, like dull death drowsily creeping, Every delight, all heart's pleasure it wholly benumbs.

Not anymore I pray for a love so faulty returning, Not that a wanton abide chastely, she may not again. Only for health I ask, a disease so deadly to banish. 25 Gods vouchsafe it, as I ask, that am harmless of ill.

LXXVII.

Rufus, a friend so vainly believ'd, so wrongly relied in, (Vainly? alas the reward fail'd not, a heavier ill;) Could'st thou thus steal on me, a lurking viper, an aching Fire to the bones, nor leave aught to delight any more? Nought to delight any more! ah cruel poison of equal 5 Lives! ah breasts that grew each to the other awhile! Yet far most this grieves me, to think thy slaver abhorred Foully my own love's lips soileth, a purity rare. Thou shalt surely atone thine injury: centuries harken, Know thee afar; grow old, fame, to declare him anew. 10

LXXXVIII.

Gellius, how if a man in lust with a mother, a sister Rioteth, one uncheck'd night, to iniquity bare? How if a man's dark passion an aunt's own chastity spare not? Canst thou tell what vast infamy lieth on him?

Infamy lieth on him, no farthest Tethys, or ancient 5 Ocean, of hundred streams father, abolisheth yet. Infamy none o'ersteps, nor ventures any beyond it. Not tho' a scorpion heat melt him, his own paramour.

LXXXIX.

Gellius—he's full meagre. It is no wonder, a friendly Mother, a sister is his loveable, healthy withal. Then so friendly an uncle, a world of pretty relations. Must not a man so blest meagre abide to the last? Yea, let his hand touch only what hands touch only to trespass; 5 Reason enough to become meagre, enough to remain.

XC.

Rise from a mother's shame with Gellius hatefully wedded, One to be taught gross rites Persic, a Magian he. Weds with a mother a son, so needs should a Magian issue, Save in her evil creed Persia determineth ill. Then shall a son, so born, chant down high favour of heaven, 5 Melting lapt in flame fatly the slippery caul.

XCI.

Think not a hope so false rose, Gellius, in me to find thee Faithful in all this love's anguish ineffable yet, For that in heart I knew thee, had in thee honour imagin'd, Held thee a soul to abhor vileness or any reproach.

Only in her, I knew, thou found'st not a mother, a sister, 5 Her that awhile for love wearily made me to pine. Yea tho' mutual use did bind us straitly together, Scarcely methought could lie cause to desert me therein.

Thou found'st reason enow; so joys thy spirit in every Shame, wherever is aught heinous, of infamy born. 10

XCII.

Lesbia doth but rail, rail ever upon me, nor endeth Ever. A life I stake, Lesbia loves me at heart. Ask me a sign? Our score runs parallel. I that abuse her Ever, a life to the stake, Lesbia, love thee at heart.

XCIII.

Lightly methinks I reck if Caesar smile not upon me: Care not, whether a white, whether a swarth-skin, is he.

XCIV.

Mentula—wanton is he; his calling sure is a wanton's. Herbs to the pot, 'tis said wisely, the name to the man.

XCV.

Nine times winter had end, nine times flush'd summer in harvest, Ere to the world gave forth Cinna, the labour of years, Zmyrna; but in one month Hortensius hundred on hundred Verses, an unripe birth feeble, of hurry begot.

Zmyrna to far Satrachus, to the stream of Cyprus, ascendeth; 5 Zmyrna with eyes unborn study the centuries hoar. Padus her own ill child shall bury, Volusius' annals; In them a mackerel oft house him, a wrapper of ease.

Dear to my heart be a friend's unbulky memorial ever; Cherish an Antimachus, weighty as empty, the mob. 10

XCVI.

If to the silent dead aught sweet or tender ariseth, Calvus, of our dim grief's common humanity born; When to a love long cold some pensive pity recals us, When for a friend long lost wakes some unhappy regret; Not so deeply, be sure, Quintilia's early departing 5 Grieves her, as in thy love dureth a plenary joy.

XCVIII.

Asks some booby rebuke, some prolix prattler a judgment? Vettius, all were said verily truer of you. Tongue so noisome as yours, come chance, might surely on order Bend to the mire, or lick dirt from a beggarly shoe. Would you on all of us, all, bring, Vettius, utterly ruin? 5 Speak; not a doubt, 'twill come utterly, ruin on all.

XCIX.

Dear one, a kiss I stole, while you did wanton a-playing, Sweet ambrosia, love, never as honily sweet.

Dearly the deed I paid for; an hour's long misery waning Ended, as I agoniz'd hung to the point of a cross, Hoping vain purgation; alas! no potion of any 5 Tears could abate that fair angriness, youthful as you.

Hardly the sin was in act, your lips did many a falling Drop dilute, which anon every finger away Cleansed apace, lest still my mouth's infection abiding Stain, like slaver abhorr'd breath'd from a foul fricatrice. 10

Add, that a booty to love in misery me to deliver You did spare not, a fell worker of all agonies, So that, again transmuted, a kiss ambrosia seeming Sugary, turn'd to the strange harshness of harsh hellebore.

Then such dolorous end since your poor lover awaiteth, 15 Never a kiss will I venture, a theft any more.

C.

Quintius, Aufilena; to Caelius, Aufilenus; Lovers each, fair flower either of youths Veronese. One to the brother bends, and one to the sister. A noble Friendship, if e'er was true friendship, a rare brotherhood.

Ask me to which I lean? You, Caelius: yours a devotion 5 Single, a faith of tried quality, steady to me; Into my inmost veins when love sank fiercely to burn them. Mighty be your bright love, Caelius, happy be you!

CI.

Borne o'er many a land, o'er many a level of ocean, Here to the grave I come, brother, of holy repose, Sadly the last poor gifts, death's simple duty, to bring thee; Unto the silent dust vainly to murmur a cry.

Since thy form deep-shrouded an evil destiny taketh 5 From me, O hapless ghost, brother, O heavily ta'en, Yet this bounty the while, these gifts ancestral of usance Homely, the sad slight store piety grants to the tomb; Drench'd in a brother's tears, and weeping freshly, receive them; Yea, take, brother, a long Ave, a timeless adieu. 10

CII.

If to a friend sincere, Cornelius, e'er was a secret Trusted, a friend whose soul steady to honour abides; Me to the same brotherhood doubt not to be inly devoted, Sworn upon oath, to the last secret, an Harpocrates.

CIII.

Briefly, the sesterces all, give back, full quantity, Silo, Then be a bully beyond exorability, you: Else, if money be all, O cease so lewdly to practise Bawd, yet bully beyond exorability, you.

CIV.

What? should a lover adore, yet cruelly slander adoring? I my lady, than eyes goodlier easily she? Nay, I rail not at all. How rail, so blindly desiring? Tappo alone dare brave all that is heinous, or you.

CV.

Mentula toils, Pimplea, the Muses' mountain, ascending: They with pitchforks hurl Mentula dizzily down.

CVI.

Walks with a salesman a beauty, your eyes that beauty discerning? Doubt not your eyes speak true; Sir, 'tis a beauty to sell.

CVII.

If to delight man's wish, joy e'er unlook'd for, unhop'd for, Falleth, a joy were such proper, a bliss to the soul. Then 'tis a joy to the soul, like gold of Lydia precious, Lesbia mine, that thou com'st to delight me again.

Com'st yet again long-hop'd, long-look'd for vainly, returnest 5 Freely to me. O day white with a luckier hue! Lives there happier any than I, I only? a fairer Destiny? Life so sweet know ye, or aught parallel?

CVIII.

Loathly Cominius, if e'er this people's voice should arraign thee, Hoary with all unclean infamy, worthy to die; First should a tongue, I doubt not, of old so deadly to goodness, Fall extruded, of each vulture a hungry regale; Gouged be the carrion eyes some crow's black maw to replenish, 5 Stomach a dog's fierce teeth harry, a wolf the remains.

CIX.

Think you truly, belov'd, this bond of duty between us, Lasteth, an ever-new jollity, ne'er to decease? Grant it, Gods immortal, assure her promise in earnest; Yea, be the lips sincere; yea, be the words from her heart. So still rightly remain our lovers' charter, a life-long 5 Friendship in us, whose faith fades not away to the last.

CX.

Aufilena, the fair, if kind, is a favourite ever; Asks she a price, then yields frankly? the price is her own. You, that agreed to be kind, now vilely the treaty dishonour, Give not at all, nor again take;—'tis a wrong to a wrong.

Not to deceive were noble, a chastity ne'er had assented, 5 Aufilena; but you—blindly to grasp at a gain, Yet to withhold the effects,—'tis a greed more loathly than harlot's Vileness, a wretch whose limbs ply to the lusts of a town.

CXI.

One lord only to love, one, Aufilena, to live for, Praise can a bride nowhere goodlier any betide; Yet, when a niece with an uncle is even mother or even Cousin—of all paramours this were as heinous as all.

CXII.

Naso, if you show much, your company shows but a very Little; a man you show, Naso, a woman in one.

CXIII.

Pompey the first time consul, as yet Maecilia counted Two paramours; reappears Pompey a consul again, Two still, Cinna, remain; but grown, each unit an even Thousand. Truly the stock's fruitful: adultery breeds.

CXIV.

Rightly a lordly demesne makes Firman Mentula count for Wealthy! the rich fine things, then the variety there! Game in plenty to choose, fish, field, and meadow with hunting; Only the waste exceeds strangely the quantity still. Wealthy? perhaps I grant it; if all, wealth asks for, is absent. 5 Praise the demesne? no doubt; only be needy the man.

CXV.

Acres thirty in all, good grass, own Mentula master; Forty to plough; bare seas, arid or empty, the rest. Poorly methinks might Croesus a man so sumptuous equal, Counted in one rich park owner of all he can ask. Grass or plough, big woods, much mountain, mighty morasses; 5 On to the farthest North, on to the boundary main.

Vastness is all that is here; yet Mentula reaches a vaster— Man? not so; 'tis a vast mountainous ominous He.

CXVI.

Oft with a studious heart, which hunted closely, requiring Skill great Battiades' poesies haply to send, Laying thus thy rage in rest, lest everlasting Darts should reach me, to wound still an assailable head:

Barren now I see that labour of any requital, 5 Gellius; here all prayers fall to the ground, nor avail. No; but a robe I carry, the barbs, thy folly, to muffle; Mine strike sure; thy deep injury they shall atone.



FRAGMENTS.

II.

Here I give to be thine a fair grove, an holy, Priapus, Where thy Lampsacus holds thee in chamber seemly, Priapus; God, in every city, thou, most ador'd on a sea-shore Hellespontian, eminent most of oystery sea-shores.

IV.

Rapidly the spirit in an agony fled away.

V.

Where yon lucent mast-top, a cup of silver, arises.



NOTES.

VIII. 2.

Lost is the lost, thou know'st it, and the past is past.

I am indebted for this expression to a translation of this poem by Dr. J.A. Symonds, the whole of which I should have quoted here, had it not been unfortunately mislaid.

XIV. 20.

Plague-prodigy.

Proves a plague-prodigy to God and man.

BROWNING, Ring and Book, v. 664.

XVII. 26.

Rondel.

The round plate of iron which, according to Rich, Companion to the Latin Dictionary, p. 609, formed the lower part of the sock worn by horses, mules, &c., when on a journey, and, unlike our horse-shoes, was removable at the end of it.

XXII. 11.

Looby

a clown.

Let me now the vices trace, From his father's scoundrel race. What could give the looby such airs? Were they masons? were they butchers?

TICKELL, Theristes or the Lordling, 23-26.

XXIII.

For a spirited, though coarse, version of this poem, see Cotton's Poems, p. 608, ed. 1689.

6 Lathy.

On a lathy horse, all legs and length.

BROWNING, Flight of the Duchess, v. 21.

XXIX. 8.

The connexion between Adonis and the dove is specially referred to by Diogenianus (Praef. p. 180 in Leutsch and Schneidewin's Paroemiographi Graeci). It formed part of the legends of Cyprus, and was alluded to by the lyric poet Timocreon (Bergk. Poetae Lyrici Graeci, p. 1203). Compare Browning:—

Pompilia was no pigeon, Venus' Pet.

Ring and Book, v. 701.

XXXV. 7.

So he'll quickly devour the way,

move quickly over the road. So Shakespeare:

Starting so He seem'd in running to devour the way, Staying no longer question.

2nd Part of Henry IV., Act i. sc. 1.

XXXVII. 10.

With scorpion I, with emblem all your haunt will scrawl.

A member of the Saraceni family at Vicenza, finding that a beautiful widow did not favour him, scribbled filthy pictures over the door. The affair was brought before the Council of Ten at Venice.

TROLLOPE'S Paul the Pope, p. 158.

XLIII. 3.

Mouth scarce tenible,

easily running over.

XLV. 7.

A sulky lion.

Properly "green-eyed." The epithet would seem to be not merely picturesque; the glaring of the eyes would be more marked in proportion as the beast was in a fiercer and more excitable state.

LI. 5-12.

I watch thy grace; and in its place My heart a charmed slumber keeps, While I muse upon thy face; And a languid fire creeps Thro' my veins to all my frame, Dissolvingly and slowly: soon From thy rose-red lips my name Floweth; and then, as in a swoon, With dinning sound my ears are rife, My tremulous tongue faltereth, I lose my colour, I lose my breath, I drink the cup of a costly death, Brimmed with delicious draughts of warmest life.

TENNYSON, Eleaenore.

LIV. 6.

Yet thou flee'st not above my keen iambics.

This line is quoted as Catullus's by Porphyrion on Hor. c. 1. 16, 24. His words, Catullus cum maledicta minaretur, compared with the last lines of this poem, Irascere iterum meis iambis Inmerentibus, unice imperator, seem to justify my view that they belong here. See my large edition, p. 217, fragm. I. The following line, So may destiny, &c., is a supplement of my own: it forms a natural introduction to the Si non uellem of v. 10.

LV.

This is the only instance where Catullus has introduced a spondee into the second foot of the phalaecian, which then becomes decasyllabic. The alternation of this decasyllabic rhythm with the ordinary hendecasyllable is studiously artistic; I have retained it throughout. In the series of dactylic lines 17-22, Catullus no doubt intended to convey the idea of rapidity, as, in the spondaic line immediately following, of labour.

4 You on Circus, in all the bills but you, Sir.

There seems to be no authority for the meaning ordinarily assigned to libellis, "book-shops." I prefer to explain the word placards, either announcing the sale of Camerius's effects, which would imply that he was in debt, or describing him as a lost article.

LXI.

In the rhythm of this poem, I have been obliged to deviate in two points from Catullus. (1) In him the first foot of each line is nearly always a trochee, only rarely a spondee: the monotonous effect of a positional trochee in English, to say nothing of the difficulty, induced me to substitute a spondee more frequently. (2) I have been rather less scrupulous in allowing the last foot of the glyconic lines to be a dactyl (-uu), in place of the more correct cretic (-u-).

108. The words in italics are a supplement of my own.

LXII. 39-61.

Look in a garden croft, when a flower privily growing, &c.

Opinion. Look how a flower that close in closes grows, Hid from rude cattle, bruised with no ploughs, Which th' air doth stroke, sun strengthen, showers shoot higher, It many youths and many maids desire; The same, when cropt by cruel hand 'tis wither'd, No youths at all, no maidens have desired; So a virgin while untouch'd she doth remain Is dear to hers; but when with body's stain Her chaster flower is lost, she leaves to appear Or sweet to young men or to maidens dear.

Truth. Virgins, O Virgins, to sweet Hymen yield, For as a lone vine in a naked field Never extols her branches, never bears Ripe grapes, but with a headlong heaviness wears Her tender body, and her highest sprout Is quickly levell'd with her fading root; By whom no husbandmen, no youths will dwell; But if by fortune she be married well, To the elm her husband, many husbandmen And many youths inhabit by her then; So whilst a virgin doth untouch'd abide, All unmanur'd she grows old with her pride; But when to equal wedlock, in fit time, Her fortune and endeavour lets her climb, Dear to her love and parents she is held. Virgins, O Virgins, to sweet Hymen yield.

BEN JONSON, The Barriers.

LXIII.

In the metre of this poem Catullus observes the following general type—

' ' uu- u- -u uu- uuu u- (so Heyse.) uu uu

Except in 18, Hilarate aere citatis erroribus animum, 53, Et earum omnia adirem furibunda latibula, where the Ionic a minore, which seems to have been the original basis of the rhythm, is preserved intact in the former half of the line. I have followed Catullus generally with exactness, but with an occasional resolution of one long into two short syllables, where it has not been introduced by the poet, e.g. in 31, 34, 49, 64, 65, 68, 79. In v. 10 I have ventured on a license which Catullus does not admit, but which is, I think, justified by other and earlier specimens of the metre, an anaclasis of the original Ionic a minore at the end of the line. In reading this poem it should never be forgotten that there is a pause in the middle of each line, which practically divides it into two halves. Tennyson, in his Boadicea, written on the model of the Attis, divides each verse similarly in the middle; but in the first half he has changed the rhythm of Catullus to a trochaic rhythm, in the second, while producing much of the effect of the Attis by the accumulation of short syllables at the end of the line, he has not bound himself to the same strictly defined feet as Catullus, and generally has preferred to take from the somewhat emasculate character of the verse by adding an unaccented syllable at the close.

LXIII.

8 Taborine

Beat loud the tabourines, let the trumpets blow.

Troilus and Cressida, Act iv. sc. 5.

16 Aby

abide; as, I think, in Spenser's Faerie Queene, vi. 2, 19.

But he was fierce and whot, Ne time would give, nor any termes aby.

Below, lxiv. 297, I have used it in its more common meaning of atoning for, Faerie Queene, iv. 1, 53.

Yet thou, false Squire, his fault shalt deare aby, And with thy punishment his penance shalt supply.

Midsummer Night's Dream, iii. 2.

Lest to thy peril thou aby it dear.

24 Ululation.

There sighs, complaints, and ululations loud Resounded through the air without a star.

LONGFELLOW'S Dante Inf. iii. 22.

41 When he smote the shadowy twilight with his healthy team sublime.

Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise, And shake the darkness from their loosen'd manes, And beat the twilight into flakes of fire.

TENNYSON, Tithonus.

83 On a nervy neck.

Four maned lions hale The sluggish wheels; solemn their toothed maws, Their surly eyes brow-hidden, heavy paws Uplifted drowsily, and nervy tails Covering their tawny brushes.

KEATS, Endymion, II. ad fin.

LXIV. 160.

Yet to your household thou, your kindred palaces olden.

I have combined thou with your purposely, to suggest the idea conveyed in uestras as opposed to potuisti, the family abode as opposed to the individual Theseus.

183 Flexibly fleeting

bent as they move rapidly through the water.

186 No glimmer of hope

from Heyse,

Keinerlei Flucht, kein Schimmer der Hoffnung, stumm liegt Alles.

258 Gordian.

She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue, Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue.

KEATS, Lamia, Part I.

308 Wreaths sat on each hoar crown, whose snows flush' d rosy beneath them.

I have attempted here to give what I conceive Catullus may have meant to convey by the remarkable collocation At roseo niueae residebant uertice uittae. Properly, the wreaths are rosy, the locks snow-white; but the colour of the wreaths is so blent with the colour of the locks that each is lost in the other, and an inversion of epithets becomes possible.

So, in fury of heart, shall death's stern reaper, Achilles.

A verse seems to have been lost here, which I have thus supplied.

LXVIII. 149.

So, it is all I can, take, Allius, answer, a little Verse, to requite thy much friendship, a contrary boon.

These little rites, a stone, a verse, receive, 'Tis all a father, all a friend can give.

POPE, Epitaph on the children of Lord Digby.

LXIX. 4.

Clarity

clearness, transparency.

Here clarity of candour, history's soul, The critical mind in short.

BROWNING, Ring and Book, i. 925.

LXX.

Sir Philip Sidney thus translates this poem:—

Unto no body my woman saith shee had rather a wife be, Then to myself, not though Jove grew a suter of hers. These be her words, but a woman's words to a love that is eager, Midde [windes?] or waters stream do require to be writ.

XCIX. 10.

Fricatrice.

To a lewd harlot, a base fricatrice.

BEN JONSON, The Fox, iv. 2.

THE END.

BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.