Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

So do ye that most faithless maid
-And let it in few words be said-

With this harsh message greet;

May she with all her lovers live,
Hundreds there are at least, and give
Favours alike to all;

Not one she really loves, but they
Are wasted in her arms away,

And on her passion pall.

Let her not dream that as of old

My love for her will ever hold,

For it long since hath died,

By her own fault, as falls a flower

Beneath the plough-share's grinding power

Upon the meadow-side.

CARMEN XII. TO ASINIUS.

Marrucinus Asinius, now listen, my friend,

When the wine and the jest round the table are going,
To most scandalous tricks your left hand do you lend,
You steal napkins from men who don't see what you're
doing:

Do

you

think this is witty? you fool, don't you see
What a low vulgar joke we all think it to be?
You don't believe me? then ask Pollio your brother,
Who gladly with money this scandal would smother,
For he is a youth who has really a taste

For pleasantries which with refinement are graced.
So my napkin at once you will back to me send,
Or in three hundred lines I'll lampoon you, my friend.

For its value in money I do not complain

But a keepsake it is from a comrade in Spain,
My Verannius sent it from over the sea,

And Fabullus with him as a present to me,

From Setaba's town; and their gifts I must prize,
As the donors themselves are beloved in my eyes.

D

CARMEN XIII. -TO FABULLUS.

Right well, Fabullus, shalt thou sup with me
In no long time, if gods shall give thee aid,
Provided only that thou bring with thee

A fair rich banquet, and a blooming maid,
And wine and wit to make our laughter ring,
These things, I say, thou e'en must with thee bring
My witty friend, if thou the night would'st pass
In feasting; for Catullus' purse, alas !

Is but with cobwebs meanly furnished now.
But something in return I'll give which thou
A perfect love wilt call, or if there be
A word more sweetly framed, more daintily.
By that wilt name; it is an unguent rare
Which Jove and Venus gave my maiden fair.
When smelling it at ease thou shalt repose,
Thou'lt pray the gods to make thee wholly nose.

CARMEN XIV.-TO CALVUS LICINUS.

Did I not love you, Calvus, more

Than mine own eyes, I should abhor

Your villany with hate more dire

Than e'en Vatinius can inspire.

What did I ever do or say

That you should plague me in this way

With works of wretched poets? May

The gods send him misfortune due
Who sent this lot of trash to you;
But if as possibly may be

This choice new present is a fee

From Sulla, that pedantic ass,

Then I'll say nought, but let it pass,

And feel quite pleased that you have won

Such a reward for all you've done.

But heavens! what could make you send
To me, your most unhappy friend,
Such an accursed book as this;
Unless it were to mar my bliss,
That I might forthwith waste away
This merry Saturnalian day?

No, no, you wag, this joke won't do,

I'll have a fit revenge on you;

As soon as dawn lights up the sky
To all the book-stalls will I hie,

The Casii, Aquinii,

And all Suffenus will I buy,

Poisonous trash to send to you,

Thus will I work you mischief too.

Meanwhile, you pack of bards accurst

Pests of the age, of all the worst,

Begone, return unto that place

From which first swarmed your wretched race.

CARMEN XVII.-TO A COLONIA.

O Town that on a long bridge long'st to sport
And ready art to dance in merry show,

But fear'st with reason thé patched-up support

That bears thy bridge, lest it should break and throw

The crazy pile of such a tottering sort

Far down into the slimy marsh below.

May a good bridge be built to pleasure thee
On which the Salian rites performed may be !

Then grant us this our sides with mirth to shake ;
There is a townsman who's a perfect fool;

I want that man a somersault to make

Head over heels into the boggy pool.

Just where the slime is deepest in the lake

And smells most fetid, there his brain to cool : In mind he's like a child of two years old,

Such as a father in his arms would hold.

He has a wife in girlhood's earliest flush,

More tender than the weanling kid is she,
Who, than ripe grapes which glow with purple flush,

Guarded and watched with greater care should be,
He lets her play, and never cares a rush,
He never stirs himself an inch, not he,

« AnteriorContinuar »