Classic Poem

Yes! that thou hold'st me to thy mem'ry dear,
When dark misfortune hangs upon thy brow;
And, tho' each word be written with a tear,
Still that to me thou bid'st those sorrows flow;

From the rough billows of the vexed sea
Bid'st me thy danger'd bark consoling lead,
Spy out each gleam of hope's enliv'ning ray,
And snatch thee from the mansions of the dead;

Thee, on thy widow'd couch whom Venus sees,
Yet, trouble's surest balm, sweet rest denies;
Whom not a Muse with ancient lore can please,
Doom'd to the anxious care that never dies;

Yes, this—I own it—fills my heart with joy!
With joy I hear thy partial, fond desire;
That sportive with the Muses I would toy,
And thy dejected soul with mirth inspire:

But, that my loss thou mightst for certain know,
That I no thankless guest may seem to be;
Learn, Manlius, how I'm plung'd in floods of woe;
Nor hope for pleasure from a wretch like me!

When manhood's vest that boasts no blushing hue
I first put on, in life's fresh-blooming spring:
Then the delicious pangs of love I knew;
Of rapture much, and various did I sing.

But, o, my much-lov'd brother, since thou'rt dead,
No more my leisure these gay trifles grace!
With thee the train of rosy pleasures fled,
With thee too fled the glories of our race!

Perish'd with thee are all those dear delights,
Nurs'd by thy tender friendship's holy flame;
Each fav'rite study now no more invites,
No more of rapture's softest bliss I dream:

Then cease to chide my unavailing stay;
'Tis true Verona boasts no frolic fair,
To waste in blandishments the nights away——
'Tis grief detains thy lov'd Catullus here!

And, o, forgive me, if, in sorrow's gloom,
I still delay the tribute of my strains!
Delay a gift I cannot grant, since Rome
My little hoard of learned wealth contains:

But one small book of all my letter'd store
From Rome I brought, from Rome, my chiefest pride!
My fav'rite dwelling, that I most adore,
Where in soft lapse my silver moments glide!

O, deem not then, that this ingenuous breast
Can harbour ought that merits thy dispraise!
Fain would I grant thee ev'ry fond request;
But want the pow'r, and not the will to please.

Yes; I'll to you, ye sacred Nine, reveal
All that to Manlius, and his zeal I owe;
Nor ever let oblivion's shade conceal
Those deeds, that shine with friendship's brightest glow.

Hear this, and tell it to some future age:
Long may his praise in these poor annals live;
And where the name of Manlius decks my page,
There its base web let no vile spider weave.

How burnt this bosom you, chaste Muses, know;
How oft with love's sweet agonies it sigh'd;
Burnt like fierce Ætna, or the baths that flow
From Malia's fount near Oeta's scorching side.

Nor ceas'd these eyes to pour the frequent tear;
Till with dim feeble light they weaker grew;
Nor ceas'd my cheeks a moment to appear
Without the copious flow of sorrow's dew.

As the clear stream; sparkling in airy height,
To vales below leaps from its mossy stone,
Bathes public ways, chears the toil'd traveller's sight,
Who thirsts, when earth is cleft by the hot sun:

As to the mariner, long toss'd by storms,
Is the soft gale that all propitious blows;
When no black cloud the face of heav'n deforms,
And the Twin-brothers hear the wretch's vows:

Such were to me those gifts, with lib'ral hand,
Which Manlius shower'd—he gave my sweet abode,
Enlarg'd the scanty limits of my land,
On me the nymph, who shar'd our love, bestow'd.

Ah, happy spot! by soft delights endear'd,
Where late with snowy feet my goddess rov'd;
How oft with joy her vocal step I heard,
As o'er the threshold's well-known bound she mov'd.

Just so the fond Laodamia flew,
Soft-sighing, to her husband's wish'd abodes;
Rash haste! for none the bleeding victim slew,
None had with rites appeas'd th' offended gods.

For me, dread Nemesis, thou awful maid!
Unless each pow'r invok'd propitious smiles;
O never, by impetuous passion led,
May I too freely tempt love's fatal wiles!

That thirsty altars hallow'd blood demand,
Laodamia's loss proclaims too true;
What time, as he prepar'd for foreign land,
From her lov'd husband's neck her arms she drew;

Ere two long winters of unsated love
Had bade wild rapture flow with cooler tide;
Had taught her, with less agony to prove
The sad condition of a widow'd bride:

And, that such moment was not distant far,
If unto Ilion's walls her hero went,
The Fates well knew; who each bold Greek to war,
In Helen's cause, 'gainst Troy, proud Troy, had sent:

Accursed Troy, of Europe's sons the grave,
Of Asia's noblest chiefs the common tomb!
Where sleep the ashes of the wise, and brave;
Where a lov'd brother met an early doom!

Ah, long-lost brother, whom I yet bewail!
With thee the glories of our race are o'er;
And each fond hope, that in life's tearful vale
Thy tender friendship cherish'd, is no more!

No kindred urn thy honour'd ashes boast;
Beside no lov'd relation art thou laid;
On Troy's ill-fated, Troy's detested coast,
Far from thy country, sleeps thy hapless shade!

'Twas there, forsaking ev'ry houshold god,
The Grecian youths with vengeful ardour fled;
That Paris, of his gay adult'ress proud,
Might not in quiet press the genial bed.

Then too, Laodamia, beauteous fair!
Fell thy soul's lord, most honour'd, and most dear!
Hence, in the deepest abyss of despair
For ever plung'd, thou shedst th' eternal tear.

Less deep that gulfy marsh, well known to fame,
Where once Cyllencan Pheneus pour'd its wave;
Till Hercules to change its current came,
And dar'd the mountain to its inmost cleave.

'Twas then, so malice bade, his arrows slew
The monsters hov'ring fell Stymphalus round;
For which Olympus was his glorious due,
And Hebe's virgin charms the labour crown'd:

And yet that dreary waste, that black profound,
Which bade the servant god new toils subdue,
Not half so deep, as thy deep love was found;
Thy love, Laodamia, vast as true!

For e'en the grandson of declining age,
Whom without hope an only daughter bore,
Could not his grandsire's thoughts more fond engage,
Could not, than him thou weep'st, be valued more!

That long-expected child, the witness'd heir
Of his rich ancestors' superb domain;
Who drives the kindred crew, like vultures, far
From the white head, they scornful watch'd in vain:

No, not the dove, who, with her snowy mate
Delighted, oft provokes the billing kiss,
Could reach Laodamia's rapt'rous state——
But women, well 'tis known, excel in bliss:

And thou; when to thy yellow-tressed boy
Thou cam'st, in bridal haste, with op'ning arms;
Didst rival all, who ever lov'd, in joy,
As much as thou didst rival all in charms:

Yet quite, or near as beauteous was my maid,
When to this happy breast she fondly fled;
While love's fair God, in saffron vest array'd,
His sportive wing, oft hov'ring o'er her, spread.

And, tho' sometimes she chance to steal away,
Cheating, with subtle thefts, Catullus' love;
Heed not, if duly cautious she but stray:
Fools only rail at ills they can't remove:

E'en Juno, potent empress of the sky,
Is forc'd, indignant, a false spouse to bear;
For oft enamour'd Jove descends from high,
To hold gay dalliance with an earth-born fair:

Since gods are thus to perfidy inclin'd,
(But such compare is haply deem'd profane)
I'll not repine, if, when the wanton's kind,
No prying parent shall our joys restrain.

Besides, why wonder at thy charmer's feats?
No father chastely brought her to thy home;
For her thou hadst prepar'd no costly treats,
No Syrian unguents shed their rich perfume:

But all in haste, while night stood silent by,
E'en from her husband's breast, in happy hour,
Did the kind nymph to her Catullus fly;
And give him joys, he never knew before!

Enough for me, in that triumphant day,
O, day most worthy of the whitest stone!
When on my couch she deigns her charms to lay,
If then she lays them on my couch alone.

Such is the strain, o Manlius! which to thee
My feeble muse has strove in grief to raise;
O, worthy of thy goodness may it be!
Thy goodness, which exceeds the bounds of praise!

That goodness, which no space, no length of time
Shall from my grateful mem'ry ever wear;
Resolv'd, tho' age with cank'ring rust combine,
Still that thy name shall live for ever there!

Yet more—may heav'n to thee such blessings give,
As Themis on the good, and wise bestow'd!
Long may my friend, and all he values, live;
Long live his mistress, and our gay abode!

Blest be the man, by whose indulgent care
I first the friendship of my Manlius gain'd!
And doubly blest be that enchanting fair,
By whose lov'd life alone my life's sustain'd!