Carmina

Catullus

Catullus, Gaius Valerius. The Carmina of Caius Valerius Catullus. Burton, Sir Richard Francis, translator. London, Printed for the Translators, 1894.

  1. And raving frenzy flies each brain departing softly, slowly.
  2. But when Dan Sol with radiant eyes that fire his face of gold
  3. Surveyed white aether and solid soil and waters uncontrol'd,
  4. And chased with steeds sonorous-hooved the shades of lingering night,
  5. Then sleep from waking Atys fled fleeting with sudden flight,
  6. By Nymph Pasithae welcomed to palpitating breast.
  7. Thus when his frenzy raging rash was soothed to gentlest rest,
  8. Atys revolved deeds lately done, as thought from breast unfolding,
  9. And what he'd lost and what he was with lucid sprite beholding,
  10. To shallows led by surging soul again the way 'gan take.
  11. There casting glance of weeping eyes where vasty billows brake,
  12. Sad-voiced in pitifullest lay his native land bespake.
  13. "Country of me, Creatress mine, born to thee and bred,
  14. By hapless me abandoned as by thrall from lordling fled,
  15. When me to Ida's groves and glades these vaguing footsteps bore
  16. To tarry 'mid the snows and where lurk beasts in antres frore
  17. And seek the deeply hidden lairs where furious ferals meet!
  18. Where, Country! whither placed must I now hold thy site and seat?
  19. Lief would these balls of eyes direct to thee their line of sight,
  20. Which for a while, a little while, would free me from despite.
  21. Must I for ever roam these groves from house and home afar?
  22. Of country, parents, kith and kin (life's boon) myself debar?
  23. Fly Forum, fly Palestra, fly the Stadium, the Gymnase?
  24. Wretch, ah poor wretch, I'm doomed (my soul!) to mourn throughout my days,
  25. For what of form or figure is, which I failed to enjoy?
  26. I full-grown man, I blooming youth, I stripling, I a boy,
  27. I of Gymnasium erst the bloom, I too of oil the pride:
  28. Warm was my threshold, ever stood my gateways opening wide,
  29. My house was ever garlanded and hung with flowery freight,
  30. And couch to quit with rising sun, has ever been my fate:
  31. Now must I Cybele's she-slave, priestess of gods, be hight?
  32. I Maenad I, mere bit of self, I neutral barren wight?
  33. I spend my life-tide couch't beneath high-towering Phrygian peaks?