Carmina

Alfenus, unmindful and unfaithful to your comrades true, is there now no pity in you, hard of heart, for your sweet loving friend? Do you betray me now, and not hesitate to play me false now, dishonourable one? Yet the irreverent deeds of traitorous men do not please the dwellers in heaven: this you take no heed of, leaving me wretched among my ills. Tell me, ah, what may men do, or in whom may they have their trust? Surely you used to bid me entrust my soul to you, unfair, drawing my affections to yourself, as though all were safely mine. Yet now you withdraw yourself, and all your purposeless words and deeds you suffer the winds and airy clouds to bear away. If you have forgotten, yet the gods remember, Faith remembers, and in time to come will make you regret your doing.

Sirmio! Eyelet of islands and peninsulas, which each Neptune holds whether in limpid lakes or on the wide sea, how gladly and how happily do I see you again, scarcely believing that I've left behind Thynia and the Bithynian plains, and that I gaze on you safe and sound. O what greater blessing than cares released, when the mind casts down its burden, and when wearied with the toil of travel we reach our hearth, and rest in the long-for bed. This and only this repays our numerous labors. Hail, lovely Sirmio, and rejoice in your master; and rejoice, you waves of the Lybian lake; laugh, you laughters echoing from my home.