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Now runs through all my longing mind a thrill,

A thrill of hope and eagerness to start, My joyful feet with thirst of travel still

Grow strong beneath me ready to depart.

Now farewell ye, my comrades true and tried,

With whom from our far-distant home abodes, I erst set out for Asia side by side,

Now we return by many diverse roads.


Porcius, Socration, you two
Belonging to the scurvy crew

That follow Piso's train,
You, too, who are of Memmius' band,
Starvation under his command

Is all the pelf you gain.
Does that Priapus you prefer
To my Verannius, and to dear

Fabullus, friend of mine?
Do you fare richly every day,
While in the street my friends must pray

To be asked out to dine?


Were I permitted at my will,

Juventius, thy sweet eyes to kiss, I could with thousands take my fill,

Nor should I sated be with bliss : Nor would my heart e'er surfeit know

E’en if our crop of kissing yield More than the stalks in densest row

Which stand along the harvest field.


Most eloquent of Roman race,

Great Marcus Tullius, to thee

Catullus sends most heartily These words of thanks for all thy grace.

As thou of orators the first,

Of all that are or e'er shall be,

Or yet have been, art held, so he Is of all rhyming bards the worst.


Licinius, yesterday we twain

For idle pastime met
As was agreed, and many a strain

And jest on tablet set,
In any measure that might be

Full many a witty line
We penned ’mid mirth and repartee

And brimming draughts of wine ;
Fired with the wit and fancy gay,

Which all thy talk had graced,
When I departed on my way

Food had no longer taste;
Sleep from my wearied eyelids fled,

And through the livelong night
I tossed upon a restless bed

Longing for morning light, That I might see thee once again

Once more those joys might find; So when o'er wearied with the strain

My limbs half-dead reclined, 'Twas then that I composed, my friend,

Dearest of all to me,
This poem which to thee I send

That thou my grief may'st see,

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Blest as the gods that man I deem
Or e'en more blest he well might seem,
Who sitting face to face with thee
Thy beauty through the day may see
And hear thy laughter rippling gay,
Which all my senses wiled away.

For when my Lesbia's charms I view
A subtle flame my body through
Flows, and the voice forsakes my tongue
While in my tingling ears are rung
A murmuring sound, and my dazed sight
Is veiled in shades of darkest night.


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I laughed when Calvus his great speech pronounced,
And fervently Vatinius' crimes denounced,
For some one standing in amongst the crowd
Raised both his hands, and wondering cried aloud,
“ Ye mighty gods, what learning here I see,
A clever little puppet sure is he !"

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