TO DIANA.

34

OUTHS and maidens, we are graced
By Diana's cherishing ;

Then, fair youths, and maidens chaste,
Let us to Diana sing!

Thee, Latonia, we adore,

Progeny of sovereign Jove,

Whom thy beauteous mother bore

In the Delian olive grove ;

That of hills and forests green,
Woodland wild, and mossy brake,

Mistress thou mightst be and queen,
Queen of streams that murmurs make.

Juno thou, Lucina, hight

By our dames in childbed throes,

Trivia weird, and Luna bright,

When thy borrow'd radiance glows!

Goddess, who in monthly wake

Measurest thy yearly round,

Thou with goodly fruits dost make
Simple peasants' cots abound.

Hail to thee, whatever name

Glads thee, and, as heretofore, Bounteously on all who claim

Ancus' line thy blessings pour!

INVITATION TO CECILIUS.

35

O, paper, bid my poet friend
Cæcilius to Verona wend,

Forsaking for a while

New Comum's walls, the Larian lake, Whose fair, pellucid waters break

In many a dimpling smile.

Some thoughts I long that he should hear

Of one that to us both is dear;

Then, if he's wise, the way

He will devour, e'en though a girl,
In beauty famed a perfect pearl,
His coming strive to stay.

Ay, though that girl, who has, in sooth,
If rumour speaks but half the truth,
For him so fondly pined,

Should his departure try to check
With both her arms about his neck
Most lovingly entwined.

For ever since the day, when he
His half-told tale of Cybele

To her in secret read:

Poor girl, a slow consuming fire

Of sweet unsatisfied desire

Has on her marrow fed.

Thy passion I can well excuse,
Fair maid, in whom the Sapphic muse
Speaks with a richer tongue;
For no unworthy strains are his,
And nobly by Cæcilius is

The Mighty Mother sung.

TO RAVIDUS.

40.

HAT dire delusion of the brain
Impels you madly thus

To rouse my fierce satiric vein,
You wretched Ravidus ?

What god invoked in evil hour
Hath made you so athirst

To risk your life in such a strife,
Where you must have the worst?

Art bent to be the common talk
Of all the town? Go to !

A wish so modest who would balk?
Besides, it is your due.

For you my favour would supplant
With her whom I adore ;

I'll brand you then with scorn shall haunt
Your name for evermore.

TO CORNIFICIUS.

38

H, Cornificius, ill at ease

Is thy Catullus' breast;

Each day, each hour that passes sees
Him more and more depressed:

And yet no word of comfort, no

Kind thought, however slight, Comes from thy hand. Ah, is it so, That you my love requite?

One little lay to lull my fears,

To give my spirit ease,

Ay, though 'twere sadder than the tears

Of sad Simonides!