by Catullus
XLII
HITHER from all sides, hendecasyllables, as many as there are of you, all of you as many as there are. An ugly drab thinks she may make fun of me, and says she will not give me back your tablets, if you can submit to that. Let us follow her, and demand them back again. You ask who she is? That one whom you see strutting with an ugly gait, grinning like a vulgar mountebank with the gape of a Cisalpine hound. Stand round her and call for them back again. “Dirty drab, give back the tablets, give back the tablets, dirty drab!” Don’t you care a penny for that? O filth, O beastliness! or anything else that I can call you worse still! But we must not think this enough. Well, if nothing else can do it, let us force a blush from the brazen face of the beast: call out again with louder voice, “Dirty drab, give back the tablets, give back the tablets, dirty drab!” We get nothing by that: she does not mind. You must change your plan and method, if you can do better so—” Maiden modest and chaste, give back the tablets.”
XLIII
I GREET you, lady, you who neither have a tiny nose, nor a pretty foot, nor black eyes, nor long fingers, nor dry mouth, nor indeed a very refined tongue, you mistress of the bankrupt of Formiae. Is it you who are pretty, as the Province tells us? is it with you that our Lesbia is compared? Oh, this age! how tasteless and ill-bred it is!
XLIV
MY farm, whether Sabine or Tiburtine (for those, affirm that you are Tiburtine, who do not love to annoy Catullus, but those who do will wager anything that you are Sabine) — but at all events, whether you are Sabine or more rightly Tiburtine, I was glad to be in your retreat, ‘twixt country and town, and to clear my chest of the troublesome cough, which my greediness gave me (not undeservedly) whilst I was funning after costly feasts. I wanted to go to dinner with Sestius, and so I read a speech of his against the candidate Antius, full of poison and plague. Thereupon a shivering chill and a constant cough shook me to pieces, till at last I fled to your bosom, and set myself right again by a diet of laziness and nettle broth. So now, having recovered, I return you my best thanks because you did not punish my error. And henceforth, if I ever again take in hand the abominable writings of Sestius, I freely consent that the chill shall bring catarrh and cough, not upon me, but upon Sestius himself, for inviting me just when I have read a stupid book.
XLV
SEPTIMIUS, holding in his arms his darling Acme, says, “My Acme, if I do not love thee to desperation, and if I am not ready to go on loving thee continually through all my years as much and as distractedly as the most distracted of lovers, may I in Libya or sunburnt India meet a green-eyed lion alone.” As he said this, Love on the left, as before on the right, sneezed goodwill. Then Acme, slightly bending back her head, kissed with that rosy mouth her sweet love’s swimming eyes, and said, “So, my life, my darling Septimius, so may we ever serve this one master as (I swear) more strongly and fiercely burns in me the flame deep in my melting marrow.” As she said this. Love, as before on the left, now on the right sneezed goodwill. And now, setting out from this good omen, heart in heart they live, loving and loved. Poor Septimius prefers Acme alone to whole Syrias and Britains. In Septimius, him alone, his faithful Acme takes her fill of loves and pleasures. Who ever saw human beings more blest? Who ever saw a more fortunate love?
XLVI
Now spring brings back balmy warmth, now the sweet gales of Zephyr are hushing the rage of the equinoctial sky. Deserted be the Phrygian plains, Catullus, and the rich land of burning Nicaea: away let us fly to the renowned cities of Asia. Now my soul flutters in anticipation and yearns to stray; now my eager feet rejoice and grow strong. Farewell, dear bands of fellow travellers, who started together from your far-away home, and whom divided ways through changing scenes are bringing back again.
XLVII
PORCIUS and Socration, Piso’s two left hands, you plague and mere famine, has that obscene Priapus preferred you to my dear Veranius and Fabullus? Are you spending money and holding splendid rich banquets at vast expense in broad daylight, whilst my old friends must walk about the streets to hunt for an invitation?
XLVIII
YOUR honeyed eyes, Juventius, if one should let me go on kissing still, I would kiss them three hundred thousand times, nor would I think I should ever have enough, no, not if the harvest of our kissing were thicker than the ripe ears of corn.
XLIX
MOST skilled in speech of the descendants of Romulus, all who are, and all who have been, and all who shall be hereafter in other years, Marcus Tullius, — to thee his warmest thanks Catullus gives, the worst of all poets; as much the worst poet of all as you are the best advocate of all.
L
YESTERDAY, Licinius, we made holiday and played many a game with my tablets, as we had agreed to take our pleasure. Each of us pleased his fancy in writing verses, now in one metre, now in another, answering each other, while we laughed and drank our wine. I came away from this so fired by your wit and fun, Licinius, that food did not ease my pain, nor sleep spread rest over my eyes, but restless and fevered I tossed about all over my bed, longing to see the dawn, that I might talk to you and be with you. But when my limbs were worn out with fatigue and lay half dead on my couch, I made this poem for you, my sweet friend, that from it you might learn my suffering. Now be not too proud, and do not, I pray you, apple of my eye, do not reject my prayers, lest Nemesis demand penalties from you in turn. She is an imperious goddess — beware of offending her.
LIA
HE seems to me to be equal to a god, he, if it may be, seems to surpass the very gods, who sitting opposite you again and again gazes at you and hears you sweetly laughing. Such a thing takes away all my senses, alas! for whenever I see you, Lesbia, at once no sound of voice remains within my mouth, but my tongue falters, a subtle flame steals down through my limbs, my ears tingle with inward humming, my eyes are shrouded in twofold night.
LIB (a fragment)
IDLENESS, Catullus, does you harm, you riot in your idleness and wanton too much. Idleness ere now has ruined both kings and wealthy cities.
LII
WHAT is it, Catullus? why do you not make haste to die? Nonius Struma sits in a curule chair; Vatinius forswears himself by his consulship. What is it, Catullus? why do you not make haste to die?
LIII
A FELLOW in the crowd made me laugh just now: when my dear Calvus had drawn out in splendid style his accusations against Vatinius, he lifted up his hands in wonder, and “Great gods,” says he, “what an eloquent manikin!”
LIV
OTHO’S head (very small it is) and your half-washed legs, rustic Erins... these points at least, if not all about them, I should wish to be disliked by you and Fuficius, that old fellow renewed to youth again.
LIVB (a fragment)
You will again be angered by my iambics, my innocent iambics, you one and only general.
LV
I BEG you, if I may without offence, show me where is your dark corner. I have looked for you in the lesser Campus, in the Circus, in all the booksellers’ shops, in the hallowed temple of great Jove. And when I was in Pompey’s portico, I stopped all the women there, my friend, who, however, faced me with untroubled look. You it was that I kept asking them for: “Give me my Camerius, you wicked girls!” One of them, baring her naked bosom, says, “Look here, he is hiding between my rosy breasts.” Well, to bear with you is now a labour of Hercules. Not though I should be moulded in brass like the fabled warder of Crete, not though I were to soar aloft like flying Pegasus, not if I were Ladas or wing-footed Perseus, not if I were the swift snow-white pair of Rhesus could I overtake you: add to these the feather-footed gods and the winged, and with them call for the swiftness of the winds: — though you should harness all these, Camerius, and press them into my service, yet I should be tired out to my very marrow, and worn away with frequent faintness, my friend, while searching for you. Do you deny yourself so haughtily, my friend? Tell us where you are likely to be, out with it boldly, trust me with it, give it to the light. Do
the milk-white maids detain you? If you keep your tongue shut up within your mouth, you will waste all the gains of love; Venus loves an utterance full of words. However, if you will, you may lock up your lips, so long as you let me be a sharer in your love.
LVI
O, CATO, what an absurdly funny thing, worthy for you to hear and laugh at! Laugh, as much as you love Catullus, Cato. The thing is too absurd and funny....
LVII
WELL agreed are the abominable profligates, Mamurra the effeminate, and Caesar; no wonder either. Like stains, one from the city and one from Formiae, are deeply impressed on each, and will never be washed out. Diseased alike, very twins, both on one sofa, dilettante writers both, one as greedy in adultery as the other, rivals and partners in love. Well agreed are the abominable profligates.
LVIII
O, CAELIUS, my Lesbia, that Lesbia, Lesbia whom alone Catullus loved more than himself and all his own, now in the cross-roads and alleys serves the filthy lusts of the descendants of lordly-minded Remus.
LIX
RUFA of Bononia... the wife of Menenius, she whom you have often seen in the graveyards grabbing the baked meats from the very pyre, when as she ran after the loaf rolling down out of the fire she was thumped by the half-shaved slave of the undertaker.
LX
WAS it a lioness from Libyan mountains or a Scylla barking from her womb below that bare you, you that are so hard-hearted and monstrous as to hold in contempt your suppliant’s voice in his last need, ah, too cruel-hearted one?
LXI
O HAUNTER of the Heliconian mount, Urania’s son, thou who bearest away the tender maid to her bridegroom, O Hymenaeus Hymen, O Hymen Hymenaeus!
Bind thy brows with the flowers of fragrant marjoram, put on the marriage veil, hither, hither merrily come, wearing on thy snow-white foot the yellow shoe, — .
and wakening on this joyful day, singing with resonant voice the nuptial songs, beat the ground with thy feet, shake with thy hand the pine torch.
For now shall Vinia wed with Manlius, Vinia as fair as Venus who dwells in Idalium, when she came to the Phrygian judge; a good maiden with a good omen,
like the Asian myrtle shining with flowering sprays, which the Hamadryad goddesses with dewy moisture nourish as a plaything for themselves.
Hither then, come hither, haste to leave the Aonian caves of the Thespian rock, which the nymph Aganippe besprinkles with cooling shower from above; call to her home the lady of the house, full of desire for her bridegroom; bind her heart with love, as here and there the clinging ivy straying clasps the tree-
Ye too with me, unwedded virgins, for whom a like day is coming, come, in measure say, “O Hymenaeus Hymen, O Hymen Hymenaeus!”
that hearing himself summoned to his own office, the god may come more readily hither, the herald of genial Venus, the coupler of honest love.
What god is more worthy to be invoked by lovers who are loved? whom of the heavenly ones shall men worship more than thee? O Hymenaeus Hymen, O Hymen Hymenaeus!
Thee for his children the aged father invokes, for thee the maidens loose their garments from the girdle: for thee the bridegroom listens fearfully with eager car,
Thou thyself givest into the hands of the fiery youth the blooming maiden from her mother’s bosom, O Hymenaeus Hymen, O Hymen Hymenaeus!
No pleasure can Venus take without thee, such as honest fame may approve; but can, if thou art willing. What god dare match himself with this god?
No house without thee can give children, no parent rest on his offspring; but all is well if thou art willing. What god dare match himself with this god?
A land that should want thy sanctities would not be able to produce guardians for its borders — but could, if thou wert willing. What god dare match himself with this god?
Throw open the fastenings of the door; the bride is coming. See you how the torches shake their shining tresses?... noble shame delays.... Yet listening rather to this, she weeps that she must go.
Weep no more. Not to you, Aurunculeia, is there danger that any fairer woman shall see the bright day coming from ocean.
So in the gay garden of a rich owner stands a hyacinth flower — but you delay, the day is passing; come forth, O bride.—’
Come forth, O bride, if now you will, and hear our words. See how the torches shake their golden tresses! — come forth, O bride.
Your husband will not, lightly given to some wicked paramour, and following shameful ways of dishonour, wish to lie away from your soft bosom; but as the pliant vine entwines the trees planted near it, so will he be entwined in your embrace. But the day is passing; come forth, O bride.
O bridal bed, to all.......
............ white foot... bed.
What joys are coming for your lord, O what joys for him to know in the fleeting night, joys in the full day! — but the day is passing; come forth, O bride.
Raise aloft the torches, boys: I see the wedding veil coming. Go on, sing in measure, Io Hymen Hymenaeus io, io Hymen Hymenaeus!
Let not the merry Fescennine jesting be silent long, let the favourite boy give away nuts to the slaves, when he hears how his lord has left his love.
Give nuts to the slaves, favourite: your time is past: you have played with nuts long enough: you must now be the servant of Talassius. Give nuts, beloved slave.
To-day and yesterday you disdained the country wives: now the barber shaves your cheeks. Wretched, all! wretched lover, throw the nuts.
They will say that you, perfumed bridegroom, are unwilling to give up your old pleasures; but abstain, lo Hymen Hymenaeus io, io Hymen Hymenaeus!
We know that you are acquainted with no unlawful joys; but a husband has not the same liberty. Io Hymen Hymenaeus io, io Hymen Hymenaeus!
You too, O bride, be sure you refuse not what your husband claims, lest he go elsewhere to find it. Io Hymen Hymenaeus io, io Hymen Hymenaeus!
See how mighty and rich for you is the house of your husband; be content to be mistress here, (Io Hymen Hymenaeus io, io Hymen Hymenaeus!)
even till hoary old age, shaking a trembling head, nods assent to all for all. Io Hymen Hymenaeus io, io Hymen Hymenaeus!
Lift across the threshold with a good omen your golden feet, and enter within the polished door, lo Hymen Hymenaeus io, io Hymen Hymenaeus!
See how your husband within, reclining on a purple couch, is all eagerness for you. Io Hymen Hymenaeus io, io Hymen Hymenaeus!
In his inmost heart no less than in yours glows the flame, but deeper within. Io Hymen Hymenaeus io, io Hymen Hymenaeus!
Let go, young boy, the smooth arm of the damsel, let her now come to her husband’s bed. Io Hymen Hymenaeus io, io Hymen Hymenaeus!
Ye, honest matrons, well wedded to ancient husbands, set the damsel in her place. Io Hymen Hymenaeus io, io Hymen Hymenaeus.
Now you may come, bridegroom; your wife is in the bride-chamber, shining with flowery face, like a white daisy or yellow poppy.
But, husband, so the gods help me, you are no less fair, nor does Venus neglect you. But the day is passing. Go on then, delay not.
Not long have you delayed. Already you come. May kindly Venus help you, since openly you take your desire and do not hide your honest love.
Let him first count up the number of the dust of Africa and of the glittering stars, who would number the many thousands of your joys.
Sport as ye will, and soon bring children forth. It is not fit that so old a name should be without children, but that they should be ever born from the same stock.
I would see a little Torquatus, stretching his baby hands from his mother’s lap, smile a sweet smile at his father with lips half parted.
May he be like his father Manlius, and easily be recognised by all, even those who do not know, and declare by his face the fair fame of his mother.
May such praise, due to his chaste mother, approve his descent, as for Telemachus son of Penelope remains unparagoned the honour derived from his noble mother.
&
nbsp; Maidens, shut the doors. We have sported enough. But ye, happy pair, live happily, and in your wedded joys employ your vigorous youth.
LXII
Youths. The evening is come, rise up, ye youths. Vesper from Olympus now at last is just raising his long-looked-for light. Now is it time to rise, now to leave the rich tables; now will come the bride, now will the Hymen-song be sung. Hymen, O Hymenaeus, Hymen, hither, O Hymenaeus!
Maidens. See ye, maidens, the youths? Rise up to meet them. For sure the night-star shows his Oetaean fires. So it is indeed; see you how nimbly they have sprung up? it is not for nothing that they have sprung up: they will sing something which it is worth while to look at. Hymen, O Hymenaeus, Hymen, hither, O Hymenaeus!
Youths. No easy palm is set out for us, comrades; look how the maidens are conning what they have learnt. Not in vain do they learn, they have there something worthy of memory; no wonder, since they labour deeply with their whole mind. We have diverted elsewhere our thoughts, elsewhere our ears; fairly then shall we be beaten; victory loveth care Wherefore now at least match your minds with theirs. Anon they will begin to speak, anon it will be fitting for us to answer. Hymen, O Hymenaeus, Hymen, hither, O Hymenaeus!
