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TO CALVUS.

ALVUS, if those now silent in the tomb
Can feel the touch of pleasure in our tears,
For those we loved, who perished in their bloom,
And the departed friends of former years;

Oh, then, full surely thy Quinctilia's woe,
For the untimely fate that bade ye part,
Will fade before the bliss she feels to know,
How very dear she is unto thy heart!

THE STOLEN KISS.

HE kiss I stole, when thou and I,

Dear girl, were romping in the glade,

Did nectar in its sweets outvie,

But oh! how dear for it I paid!

The caitiff on the cross can know
Not half the agonies I felt,
When thou wert deaf to all my woe,
As at thy feet in tears I knelt.

I saw thee wipe-oh, death to bear!—
The lip in scorn which mine had press'd,
As though the dew which linger'd there
Were venom of the deadliest.

My peace is gone! For oh, that kiss
Torments me day and night; and all
Its sweetness and ambrosial bliss
Are turned to bitterness and gall.

I can't forget, nor thou forgive,
And so, the wretchedest of men,
I vow I'll never, while I live,
No, never steal a kiss again!

CATULLUS AT HIS BROTHER'S GRAVE.

'ER many a sea, o'er many a stranger land, I bring this tribute to thy lonely tomb, My brother! and beside the narrow room, That holds thy silent ashes weeping stand. Vainly I call to thee. Who can command An answer forth from Orcus' dreary gloom ? Oh, brother, brother, life lost all its bloom, When thou wert snatch'd from me with pitiless hand ! A day will come, when we shall meet once more! Meanwhile, these gifts, which to the honour'd grave Of those they loved in life our sires of yore With pious hand and reverential gave, Accept! Gifts moisten'd with a brother's tears!

And now, farewell, and rest thee from all fears!

TO CORNELIUS.

F secret e'er be lodged by friend with friend,
Each bound to each by proved fidelity,

Thy trust I'll keep as sacred to the end,
So think you have Harpocrates in me.

TO SILO.

OU, Silo, rude and surly? Zounds!
Deliver back my fifty pounds,
And then you may, for aught I care,
Be rude and surly—if you dare!
But, pray, while pimping is your trade,
Remember, sir, for what you're paid,
And keep, whate'er may lurk beneath,
A civil tongue within your teeth!

ON MAMURRA.

AMURRA, he toils till at each pore

The heights of Pimplea to scale;

he oozes,

But over the cliffs he is chuck'd by the Muses
With pitchforks back into the vale.

TO COMINIUS.

F on your hoary age, Cominius, foul

With every filthy vice that tongue can name, The public voice might speak its doom, a howl of universal horror would proclaim—

"Give to the vultures his malignant tongue, Tear out his eyes, and toss them to the crows, His entrails next to carrion dogs be flung,

And let the wolves of what is left dispose!"

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