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TRANSLATIONS

AND

IMITATIONS.

ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL, WHEN

DYING.

ANIMULA! vagula, blandula,

Hospes, comesque, corporis,

Quæ nunc abibis in loca?

Pallidula, rigida, nudula,

Nec, ut soles, dabis jocos.

TRANSLATION.

AH! gentle, fleeting, wavering Sprite,
Friend and associate of this clay! ¡
To what unknown region borne,
Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight?
No more, with wonted humour gay,
But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn,

TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.

66 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,

Reserved 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 unequal hand* alike control'd, Fit comrades in Elysian regions move.

TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.

66 LUCTUS DE MORTE PASSERIS."

YE Cupids, droop each little head,

Nor let your wings with joy be spread ;

My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead,

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

Whom dearer than her eyes

For he was gentle, and so true,
Obedient to her call he flew,
No fear, no wild alarm he knew,

she loved;

But lightly o'er her bosom moved :
And softly fluttering here and there,
He never sought to cleave the air;
But chirrup'd oft, and free from care,

Tuned 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.

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