Though outspent with care and unceasing grief, I am withdrawn, Ortalus, from the learned Virgins, nor is my soul's mind able to bring forth the sweet fruit of the Muses (so much does it waver amidst ills: for but lately the wave of the Lethean stream washes with its flow the poor, pale foot of my brother, whom the land of Troy crushes beneath the Rhoetean shore, stolen from our eyes. [Never again will I hear you speak,] never again, O brother, more lovable than life, will I see you. But surely I will always love you, always will I sing elegies made gloomy by your death, such as the Daulian bird pipes beneath densest shades of foliage, lamenting the lot of slain Itys.—Yet amidst sorrows so deep, O Ortalus, I send you these verses recast from Battiades, lest by chance you should think that your words have slipped from my mind, entrusted to the wandering winds, as it was with that apple, sent as furtive love-token by the wooer, which leapt out from the virgin's chaste bosom; for the hapless girl forgot she had placed it beneath her soft robe—when she starts at her mother's approach, out it is shaken: and down it rolls headlong to the ground, while a tell-tale flush bears witness to the girl's distress.

He who scanned all the lights of the great firmament, who ascertained the rising and the setting of the stars, how the flaming splendour of the swift sun was darkened, how the planets disappear at certain seasons, how sweet love with stealth detaining Trivia beneath the Latmian crags draws her away from her airy circuit: he that same Conon saw me, a lock of hair from Berenice's head, in the celestial light, gleaming brightly, which she outstretching graceful arms promised to all of the gods, when the king, magnified by his recent marriage, had gone to lay waste the Assyrian borders, bearing the sweet traces of nightly contests, in which he had borne away her virginal spoils. Is Venus abhorred by new brides? And are the parents' joys turned aside by feigned tears, which they shed copiously within the threshold of the bedchamber? Their groans are untrue, by the gods I swear! This my queen taught me by her many lamentings, when her bridegroom set out for stern warfare. Yet, when deserted, you did not grieve the widowed couch, did you, but the tearful separation from a dear brother? How care consumed your marrow, sad deep within! Such that, your whole bosom being agitated, and your senses being snatched from you, your mind wandered! But in truth I have known you great of heart ever since you were a little maiden. Have you forgotten that noble deed, by which you gained a royal marriage, than which none dared other deeds bolder? Yet what grieving words you spoke when bidding your bridegroom farewell! Jupiter! how often with sad hand [you wiped] your eyes! What mighty god changed you? Was it that lovers are unwilling to be long absent from their dear one's body? Then did you promise me to the whole of the gods on your sweet consort's behalf, not without blood of oxen, if he should be granted safe return. In no long time he added captive Asia to the Egyptian territory. For these reasons I, bestowed amidst the celestial host, by a new gift fulfil your ancient vow. Unwillingly, O queen, did I quit your brow, unwillingly: I swear to you and to your head; if anyone swears lightly, may he bear a suitable penalty: but who may claim himself equal to steel? Even that mountain was swept away, the greatest on earth, over which Thia's illustrious progeny passed, when the Medes created a new sea, and the barbarian youth sailed its fleet through the middle of Athos. What can locks of hair do, when such things yield to iron? Jupiter! may the whole race of the Chalybes perish, and whoever first began to seek the veins beneath the earth and invent the hardness of iron! Just before severance my sister locks were mourning my fate, when Ethiop Memnon's brother, the winged steed, beating the air with fluttering wings, appeared before Locrian Arsinoe, and he bearing me up, flies through aethereal shadows and lays me in the chaste bosom of Venus. Zephyritis herself had dispatched him as her servant, a Greek settler on the Canopian shores. For it was the wish of many gods that the golden crown from Ariadne's temples stay fixed, not alone in heaven's light, but that we also should gleam, the spoils dedicated from your golden-yellow head; when moist with weeping I entered the temples of the gods, the goddess placed me, a new star, among the ancient ones. For touching the Virgin's and the cruel Lion's gleams, hard by Lycaonian Callisto, I turn westwards, a guide before the slow-moving Bootes who barely sinks into the vast ocean. But although the footsteps of the gods press upon me in the night, and the daytime restores me to the white-haired Tethys, (grant me your grace to speak thus, O Rhamnusian virgin, for I will not hide the truth through any fear, even if the stars revile me with ill words, yet I will unfold the pent-up feelings from truthful breast) I am not so much rejoiced at these things as I am tortured by being forever parted, parted from my lady's head, with whom I, in all ointments having not a share, drank many thousands when she was still a virgin.

Now do you, whom the gladsome light of the wedding torches has joined, yield not your bodies to your desiring husbands nor throw aside your robes and bare your nipples, before your onyx cup brings me delightful gifts, your onyx, you who seek the dues of chaste marriage-bed. But she who gives herself to foul adultery, ah! may the light-lying dust responselessly drink her vile gifts, for I seek no offerings from folk that do ill. But rather, O brides, may concord always be yours, and constant love ever dwell in your homes. But when you, O queen, while gazing at the stars, will propitiate the goddess Venus with festal torch lights, let not me, your own, be left lacking of unguent, but rather gladden me with large gifts. Why do the stars hold me back? would that I become a royal tress, that Orion might gleam next to Aquarius.

Catullus

O dear in thought to the sweet husband, dear in thought to his sire, hail! and may Jove augment his good grace to you, Door! which of old, they say, did serve Balbus benignly, while the old man held his home here; and which on the contrary, so it is said, did serve grudgingly after the old man was stretched stark, you doing service to the bride. Come, tell us why you are reported to be changed and to have renounced your ancient faithfulness to your lord?

Because you, oppressed by fortune and bitter calamity, sent me this letter written with tears, that I might bear up shipwrecked you tossed by the foaming waves of the sea, and restore you from the threshold of death; you whom neither sacred Venus suffers to repose in soft slumber, desolate on a lonely couch, nor do the Muses divert with the sweet song of ancient poets, while your anxious mind keeps watch:—I am grateful that you call me your friend, and seek here the gifts of the Muses and of Venus. But so that my troubles may not be unknown to you, Manlius, and so that you not think that I hate the duty of host, hear how I myself am engulfed in the waves of fortune, and do not further seek joyful gifts from a wretched one. In that time when the white toga was first handed to me, and my flowering age was passing its delightful spring, much and enough did I sport: nor was the goddess unknown to us who mixes bitter-sweet with our cares. But my brother's death plunged all this pursuit into mourning. O brother, taken from my unhappy self; you by your dying have broken my ease, O brother; all our house is buried with you; with you have perished the whole of our joys, which your sweet love nourished in your lifetime. With your loss, I have dismissed wholly from mind these studies and every delight of mind. So then, because you write, “it is shameful for Catullus to be at Verona, because here someone of the better sort warms up his frigid limbs on a desolate couch;“ that, Manlius, is not shameful; rather it is a sorrow. Therefore, forgive me if I do not bestow on you these gifts which grief has snatched from me, because I am unable. For the fact that there is no great store of writings with me arises from this, that we live at Rome: there is my home, there is my hall, there my time is passed; here but one of my book-cases follows me. As it is thus, I would not want you to think that we do this from ill-will or with a mind not open enough, because ample store is not forthcoming to either of your desires: of my own accord would I grant both, had I the wherewithal.