FAREWELL TO BITHYNIA.

BALMY warmth comes wafted o'er the seas
The savage howl of wintry tempests drear
In the sweet whispers of the western breeze
Has died away; the spring, the spring is here!

Now quit, Catullus, quit the Phrygian plain,

Where days of sweltering sunshine soon shall crown Nicæa's fields with wealth of golden grain, And fly to Asia's cities of renown!

Already through each nerve a flutter runs
Of eager hope, that longs to be away,
Already 'neath the light of other suns

My feet, new-wing'd for travel, yearn to stray.

And you, ye band of comrades tried and true,

Who side by side went forth from home, farewell!

How far apart the paths shall carry you

Back to your native shore, ah, who can tell?

TO A BEAUTY.

H, if I thine eyes might kiss,
And my kisses were not crimes,
I would snatch that honey'd bliss
Full three hundred thousand times!

Nor should these a surfeit bring,

Not though that sweet crop should yield

Kisses far outnumbering

Corn-ears in the harvest-field.

TO CICERO.

OST eloquent of all the line

From Romulus who claim,

'That e'er have shone, or e'er will shine, Marc Tully, honour'd name!

Catullus, of all bards the worst,
Sends hearty thanks to thee,
To thee, of orators the first,
As worst of poets he.

TO LICINIUS.

OW pleasantly, Licinius, went
The hours which yesterday we spent,
Engaged, as men like us befits,
In keen encounter of our wits!
My tablets still the records bear
Of all the good things jotted there,
The wit, the repartee that flew
From you to me, from me to you;
The gay bright verse, that seemed to shine
More sparkling than the sparkling wine.
And I came home, my friend, at night
In such a fever of delight,

With your rare wit and sayings deep,
That I could neither eat nor sleep;
But turn'd, and toss'd, and turn'd again
With throbbing pulse and busy brain,
Longing for dawn to set me free,
Once more to seek your company.

'Tis come, but here I lie half dead With aching limbs upon my bed; Whence I to you these lines have penn'd, Oh brilliant and amusing friend, That so you may divine my mood Of feverish disquietude!

And now I warn you not to slight The love I proffer, lest, in spite, Dread Nemesis inflict on you Such punishment as then were due; A goddess she, not over tender,

So have a care how you offend her!