8.

But thou, perhaps, may'st now reject
Such expiation of my guilt;

Come then-some other mode elect?

Let it be death-or what thou wilt.

9.

Choose, then, relentless! and I swear Nought shall thy dread decree prevent;

Yet hold-one little word forbear!

Let it be aught but banishment.

TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.

AD LESBIAM.

EQUAL to Jove that youth must be--
Greater than Jove he seems to me-
Who, free from Jealousy's alarms,
Securely views thy matchless charms;
That cheek, which ever dimpling glows,
That mouth, from whence such music flows,

To him, alike, are always known,

Reserv'd for him, and him alone.

Ah! Lesbia! though 'tis death to me,

I cannot choose but look on thee;

But, at the sight, my senses fly,

I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die;

Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
Parch'd to the throat my tongue adheres,

My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short,
My limbs deny their slight support;
Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread,
With deadly languor droops my head,
My ears with tingling echoes ring,
And Life itself is on the wing;
My eyes refuse the cheering light,
Their orbs are veil'd in starless night:
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath,
And feels a temporary death.

TRANSLATION OF THE EPITAPH ON VIRGIL AND TIBULLUS, BY DOMITIUS MARSUS.

HE who, sublime, in epic numbers roll'd,
And he who struck the softer lyre of Love,
By Death's unequal1 hand alike controul'd,

Fit comrades in Elysian regions move!

1. The hand of Death is said to be unjust or unequal, as Virgil was considerably older than Tibullus at his decease,

IMITATION OF TIBULLUS.

SULPICIA AD CERINTHUM (LIB. QUART.).

CRUEL Cerinthus! does the fell disease i.
Which racks my breast your fickle bosom please?

Alas! I wish'd but to o'ercome the pain,
That I might live for Love and you again;
But, now, I scarcely shall bewail my fate :
By Death alone I can avoid your hate.

i.

TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.

LUGETE VENERES CUPIDINESQUE (CARM. III.).

YE Cupids, droop each little head,
Nor let your wings with joy be spread,
My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead,

Whom dearer than her eyes she lov'd:

For he was gentle, and so true,
Obedient to her call he flew,

No fear, no wild alarm he knew,

But lightly o'er her bosom mov'd :

iii

does this fell disease.-[4to. P. on V. Occasions.] ii. Luctus De Morte Passeris.—[4to. P. on V. Occasions.] iii. Which dearer.-[4to]

i.

And softly fluttering here and there,
He never sought to cleave the air,
He chirrup'd oft, and, free from care,
Tun'd to her ear his grateful strain.
Now having pass'd the gloomy bourn,
From whence he never can return,
His death, and Lesbia's grief I mourn,
Who sighs, alas! but sighs in vain.

Oh! curst be thou, devouring grave!
Whose jaws eternal victims crave,
From whom no earthly power can save,
For thou hast ta'en the bird away :
From thee my Lesbia's eyes o'erflow,
Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow;
Thou art the cause of all her woe,
Receptacle of life's decay.

IMITATED FROM CATULLUS.1

TO ELLEN."

iii.

OH! might I kiss those eyes of fire,

A million scarce would quench desire;

i. But chirrup'd.-[4to]

ii. But now he's pass'd.-[to]

iii. To Anna.-[4to]

1. [From a note in Byron's copy of Catullus (now in the possession of Mr. Murray), it is evident that these lines are based on Carm. xlviii., Mellitos oculos tuos, Juventi.]

Still would I steep my lips in bliss,
And dwell an age on every kiss;
Nor then my soul should sated be,
Still would I kiss and cling to thee:
Nought should my kiss from thine dissever,
Still would we kiss and kiss for ever;
E'en though the numbers did exceed i
The yellow harvest's countless seed ;

To part would be a vain endeavour :
Could I desist ?-ah! never-never.

November 16, 1806.

TO M. S. G.

I.

WHENE'ER I view those lips of thine,

Their hue invites my fervent kiss ;

Yet, I forego that bliss divine,

Alas! it were-unhallow'd bliss.

2.

Whene'er I dream of that pure breast,
How could I dwell upon its snows!

Yet, is the daring wish represt,

For that, would banish its repose.

i. E'en though the number.-[4to. Three first Editions.]