The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/Translation from Catullus (Lugete Veneres Cupidinesque)

by George Gordon Byron

TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.

LUGETE VENERES CUPIDINESQUE (CARM. III.).^[1]

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:^[2]
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:

And softly fluttering here and there,
He never sought to cleave the air,
He chirrup'd oft, and, free from care,^[3]
⁠Tun'd to her ear his grateful strain.
Now having pass'd the gloomy bourn,^[4]
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.

1. Luctus De Morte Passeris.—[4to. P. on V. Occasions.]
2. Which dearer.—[4to]
3. But chirrup'd.—[4to]
4. But now he's pass'd.—[4to]