CATULLUS, CARMEN LXIV. LL. 270–294.
Hic qualis flatu placidum mare matutino
Horrificans Zephyrus proclivas incitat undas,
Aurorâ exoriente, vagi sub lumina solis;
Quæ tarde primum clementi flamine pulsæ
Procedunt, leni resonant plangore cachinni;
Post, vento crescente, magis magis increbrescunt,
Purpureâque procul nantes a luce refulgent;
Sic tum vestibuli linquentes regia tecta,
Ad se quisque vago passim pede discedebant.
Quorum post abitum, princeps e vertice Pelii
Advenit Chiron portans silvestria dona ;
Nam quotcunque ferunt campi, quos Thessala magnis
Montibus ora creat, quos propter fluminis undas
Aura parit flores tepidi fecunda Favonî,
Hos indistinctis plexos tulit ipse corollis,
Quis permulsa domus jucundo risit odore.
Confestim Peneos adest, viridantia Tempe,
Tempe, quæ silvæ cingunt superimpendentes,
Mnemonidum, linquens, doctis celebranda choreis,
Non vacuus; namque ille tulit radicitus altas
Fagos, ac recto proceras stipite laurus,
Non sine nutanti platano, lentaque sorore
Flammati Phaethontis, et aëria cupressu;
Hæc circum sedes latè contexta locavit,
Vestibulum ut molli velatum fronde vireret.
As in the morning twilight, ere the sun
Starts from the east to wander through the skies,
By Zephyr's breath aroused, the sea, erst calm,
Is stirred with ripples, which now, gently moved
By the light breeze, with mingled laughs and sobs
Disport themselves; but now, the rising wind
Impels them onward, crowding, hurrying,
Empurpled by the orient beams of day;
So leave the guests the palace-hall, and wend
Their various ways, dispersing to their homes.
Scarce had they gone, when, first of all the train,
Old Chiron from the heights of Pelion came,
Generous in rustic wealth; for every flower,
That fruitful plains, or the high mountain-slopes
Of fair Thessalia cherish; all the buds
Warmed by the zephyrs on the river's brink;
These all in many-coloured wreaths he brought,
Woven in many a garland, whose sweet scent
With balmy air filled all the royal dome.
Peneus came, quitting the leafy gorge
Of Tempe, overhung by mantling woods-
Well worthy of the Muses' tuneful praise ;—
Nor empty-handed came he, for his arms
Were filled with royal beeches, nodding planes,
Straight-stemmed laurels, and the weeping tree,
That ever mourns her brother Phaethon,
And airy cypress. These with foliage soft
T' adorn the vestibule, by skilful art
All interwoven, in the hall he laid.
Fare thee well, great heart!
Ill-weaved ambition, how much thou art shrunk !
When that this body did contain a spirit,
A kingdom for it was too small a bound.
But now two paces of the vilest earth
Is room enough:-This earth that bears thee dead
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.
If thou wert sensible of courtesy,
I should not make so dear a show of zeal :
But let my favours hide thy mangled face ;
And even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself,
For doing these fair rites of tenderness.
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven!
Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave,
But not remembered in thy epitaph!
̓Αλλ ̓ ὦ κράτιστον χαῖρε Περκείου κάρα·
Σὺ δ ̓ ὦ κακῶς ὕφαντε τῆς ἀρχῆς ἔρως
ὡς δῆτα σαυτὸν νῦν γε συστείλας ἔχεις;
ψυχὴν γὰρ ἡνικ ̓ ἔστεγεν δέμας τόδε
τότ ̓ οὐκ ἀπαρκεῖν ἠξίου πᾶσαν χθόνα
δύω δὲ νῦν σὲ βήματ ̓ εὐτελοῦς χθονὸς
κανα στέγουσιν· ἡ δὲ νῦν θανόντα σε
φέρουσα γαῖα τίνα ποθ ̓ ὧδ ̓ ἐυκάρδιον
φέρει βλέποντ ̓ ἐτ' ; εἰ δὲ κἄτι νῦν ἔχοις
αἴσθημα τῆσδε τῆς ἐπιστροφῆς λαβεῖν,
οὐκ ἂν προθείμην ὧδε τὴν προθυμίαν·
ἀλλ ̓ οὖν καλύψω τοῖς ἐμοῖς ἀγάλμασι
τὸ σὸν πρόσωπον ὧδε νῦν ᾐκισμένον.
καὶ μὴν ὑπὲρ σοῦ μ' εἰδέναι πολλὴν χάριν
χρέων ἐμαυτῷ τῶνδε πρευμενών τρόπων
οὓς σοὶ παρεσχον· νῦν δὲ σοὶ χαίρειν λέγω,
ἔχων δ' ἔπαινον τόνδ' ἐς οὐρανὸν μόλοις,
τὸ σὸν δ ̓ ὄνειδος σῷ κεκρυμμενον ταφῷ
ενδοι, κλέος γὰρ τοῦδε γ' οὐ μεμνήσεται.
ROMEO AND JULIET. ACT I. Sc. 1.
Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen
With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs ; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the furthest East begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed Away from light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up the windows, locks fair daylight out, And makes himself an artificial night : Black and portentous must this humour prove Unless good counsel may the cause remove. Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him. Ben. Have you importuned him by any means? Mon. Both by myself and many other friends.
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