The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
 | I, II. |
| III, IV. |
| V. |
 | VI, VII. |
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| TRANSLATIONS FROM CATULLUS. |
| VIII, IX. |
| X. |
 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
372
TRANSLATIONS FROM CATULLUS.
Carm. 70.
TO LESBIA.
Dicebas quondam, &c.
Thou told'st me, in our days of love,
That I had all that heart of thine;
That, ev'n to share the couch of Jove,
Thou would'st not, Lesbia, part from mine.
That I had all that heart of thine;
That, ev'n to share the couch of Jove,
Thou would'st not, Lesbia, part from mine.
How purely wert thou worshipp'd then!
Not with the vague and vulgar fires
Which Beauty wakes in soulless men,—
But lov'd, as children by their sires.
Not with the vague and vulgar fires
Which Beauty wakes in soulless men,—
But lov'd, as children by their sires.
That flattering dream, alas, is o'er;—
I know thee now—and though these eyes
Doat on thee wildly as before,
Yet, even in doating, I despise.
I know thee now—and though these eyes
Doat on thee wildly as before,
Yet, even in doating, I despise.
373
Yes, sorceress—mad as it may seem—
With all thy craft, such spells adorn thee,
That passion even outlives esteem,
And I, at once, adore—and scorn thee.
With all thy craft, such spells adorn thee,
That passion even outlives esteem,
And I, at once, adore—and scorn thee.
Carm. 11.
Pauca nunciate meæ puellæ.
[OMITTED]
Comrades and friends! with whom, where'er
The fates have will'd through life I've rov'd,
Now speed ye home, and with you bear
These bitter words to her I've lov'd.
The fates have will'd through life I've rov'd,
Now speed ye home, and with you bear
These bitter words to her I've lov'd.
Tell her from fool to fool to run,
Where'er her vain caprice may call;
Of all her dupes not loving one,
But ruining and maddening all.
Where'er her vain caprice may call;
Of all her dupes not loving one,
But ruining and maddening all.
Bid her forget—what now is past—
Our once dear love, whose ruin lies
Like a fair flower, the meadow's last,
Which feels the ploughshare's edge, and dies!
Our once dear love, whose ruin lies
Like a fair flower, the meadow's last,
Which feels the ploughshare's edge, and dies!
374
Carm. 29.
Peninsularum Sirmio, insularumque
Ocelle.
Ocelle.
Sweet Sirmio! thou, the very eye
Of all peninsulas and isles,
That in our lakes of silver lie,
Or sleep, enwreath'd by Neptune's smiles—
Of all peninsulas and isles,
That in our lakes of silver lie,
Or sleep, enwreath'd by Neptune's smiles—
How gladly back to thee I fly!
Still doubting, asking—can it be
That I have left Bithynia's sky,
And gaze in safety upon thee?
Still doubting, asking—can it be
That I have left Bithynia's sky,
And gaze in safety upon thee?
Oh! what is happier than to find
Our hearts at ease, our perils past;
When, anxious long, the lighten'd mind
Lays down its load of care at last:
Our hearts at ease, our perils past;
When, anxious long, the lighten'd mind
Lays down its load of care at last:
When, tired with toil o'er land and deep,
Again we tread the welcome floor
Of our own home, and sink to sleep
On the long-wish'd-for bed once more.
Again we tread the welcome floor
375
On the long-wish'd-for bed once more.
This, this it is, that pays alone
The ills of all life's former track.—
Shine out, my beautiful, my own
Sweet Sirmio, greet thy master back.
The ills of all life's former track.—
Shine out, my beautiful, my own
Sweet Sirmio, greet thy master back.
And thou, fair Lake, whose water quaffs
The light of heav'n like Lydia's sea,
Rejoice, rejoice—let all that laughs
Abroad, at home, laugh out for me!
The light of heav'n like Lydia's sea,
Rejoice, rejoice—let all that laughs
Abroad, at home, laugh out for me!
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |