Chapter 7

O lux Pieridum et laurigeri deliciae dei, Vox leni Zephyro lenior, ut veris amans novi Tollit floridulis implicitum primitiis caput, Ten' ergo abripuit non rediturum, ut redeunt novo Flores vere novi, te quoque mors irrevocabilem? Cur vatem neque te Musa parens, te neque Gratiae, Nec servare sibi te potuit fidum animi Venus? Quae nunc ipsa magis vel puero te Cinyreio, Te desiderium et flebilibus lumen amoribus, Amissum queritur, sanguineis fusa comam genis. Tantis tu lacrymis digne, comes dulcis Apollini, Carum nomen eris dis superis atque sodalibus Nobis, quis eadem quae tibi vivo patuit via Non aequis patet, at te sequimur passibus haud tuis, At maesto cinerem carmine non illacrymabilem Tristesque exuvias floribus ac fletibus integris Una contegimus, nec cithara nec sine tibia, Votoque unanimae vocis Ave dicimus et Vale.

AD CATULLUM

Catulle frater, ut velim comes tibi Remota per vireta, per cavum nemus Sacrumque Ditis haud inhospiti specus, Pedem referre, trans aquam Stygis ducem Secutus unum et unicum, Catulle, te, Ut ora vatis optimi reviserem, Tui meique vatis ora, quem scio Venustiorem adisse vel tuo lacum, Benigniora semper arva vel tuis, Ubi serenus accipit suos deus, Tegitque myrtus implicata laurea, Manuque mulcet halituque consecrat Fovetque blanda mors amabili sinu, Et ore fama fervido colit viros Alitque qualis unus ille par tibi Britannus unicusque in orbe praestitit Amicus ille noster, ille ceteris Poeta major, omnibusque floribus Priore Landor inclytum rosa caput Revinxit extulitque, quam tua manu Recepit ac refovit integram sua.

DEDICATION

1878

Some nine years gone, as we dwelt together In the sweet hushed heat of the south French weather Ere autumn fell on the vine-tressed hills Or the season had shed one rose-red feather,

Friend, whose fame is a flame that fills All eyes it lightens and hearts it thrills With joy to be born of the blood which bred From a land that the grey sea girds and chills

The heart and spirit and hand and head Whose might is as light on a dark day shed, On a day now dark as a land's decline Where all the peers of your praise are dead,

In a land and season of corn and vine I pledged you a health from a beaker of mine But halfway filled to the lip's edge yet With hope for honey and song for wine.

Nine years have risen and eight years set Since there by the wellspring our hands on it met: And the pledge of my songs that were then to be, I could wonder not, friend, though a friend should forget.

For life's helm rocks to the windward and lee, And time is as wind, and as waves are we; And song is as foam that the sea-winds fret, Though the thought at its heart should be deep as the sea.