Catullus: XXXI

(After passing Sirmione, April 1887.)



Sirmio, thou dearest dear of strands
That Neptune strokes in lake and sea,
With what high joy from stranger lands
Doth thy old friend set foot on thee!
Yea, barely seems it true to me
That no Bithynia holds me now,
But calmly and assuringly
Around me stretchest homely Thou.

Is there a scene more sweet than when
Our clinging cares are undercast,
And, worn by alien moils and men,
The long untrodden sill repassed,
We press the pined for couch at last,
And find a full repayment there?
Then hail, sweet Sirmio; thou that wast,
And art, mine own unrivalled Fair!

Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hardy (1840-1928) was an English novelist and poet. Born in Dorset, his works often featured the semi-fictional region of Wessex. Hardy was initially trained as an architect, but he later pursued writing full-time. His novels, including 'Tess of the d'Urbervilles,' 'Far from the Madding Crowd,' and 'Jude the Obscure,' are known for their critical portrayal of Victorian society and its mores. As a poet, he is recognized for his explorations of human suffering and the indifferent forces of nature. Hardy's legacy is profound, influencing both literature and criticism.

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English

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Translations From Catullus. Carm. 29.

peninsularum Sirmio, insularumque ocelle.


Sweet Sirmio! thou, the very eye
    Of all peninsulas and isles,
That in our lakes of silver lie,
    Or sleep enwreathed by Neptune's smiles--

How gladly back to thee I fly!
    Still doubting, asking--can it be
That I have left Bithynia's sky,
    And gaze in safety upon thee?

Oh! what is happier than to find
    Our hearts at ease, our perils past;
When, anxious long, the lightened mind
    Lays down its load of care at last:

When tired with toil o'er land and deep,
    Again we tread the welcome floor
Of our own home, and sink to sleep
    On the long-wished-for bed once more.

This, this it is that pays alone
    The ills of all life's former track.--

Thomas Moore

Translations From Catullus. Carm. II.

pauca nunciate meae puellae.


Comrades and friends! with whom, where'er
    The fates have willed thro' life I've roved,
Now speed ye home, and with you bear
    These bitter words to her I've loved.

Tell her from fool to fool to run,
    Where'er her vain caprice may call;
Of all her dupes not loving one,
    But ruining and maddening all.

Bid her forget--what now is past--
    Our once dear love, whose rain lies
Like a fair flower, the meadow's last.
    Which feels the ploughshare's edge and dies!

Thomas Moore

Frater Ave Atque Vale

Frater Ave atque Vale

Row us out from Desenzano, to your Sirmione row!
So they rowd, and there we landedO venusta Sirmio!
There to me thro all the groves of olive in the summer glow,
There beneath the Roman ruin where the purple flowers grow,
Came that Ave atque Vale of the Poets hopeless woe,
Tenderest of Roman poets nineteen-hundred years ago,
Frater Ave atque Valeas we wanderd to and fro
Gazing at the Lydian laughter of the Garda Lake below
Sweet Catullus's all-but-island, olive-silvery Sirmio!

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Imitation Of Catullus. To Himself.

        Miser Catulle, desinas ineptire, etc.


Cease the sighing fool to play;
Cease to trifle life away;
Nor vainly think those joys thine own,
Which all, alas, have falsely flown.
What hours, Catullus, once were thine.
How fairly seemed thy day to shine,
When lightly thou didst fly to meet
The girl whose smile was then so sweet--
The girl thou lovedst with fonder pain
Than e'er thy heart can feel again.

    Ye met--your souls seemed all in one,
Like tapers that commingling shone;
Thy heart was warm enough for both,
And hers, in truth, was nothing loath.

    Such were the hours that once were thine;
But, ah! those hours no longer shine.
For now the nymph delights no more
In what she loved so much before;
And all Ca...

Thomas Moore

On Catullus

Tell me not what too well I know
About the bard of Sirmio.
Yes, in Thalias son
Such stains there are, as when a Grace
Sprinkles anothers laughing face
With nectar, and runs on.

Walter Savage Landor

Rhymes On The Road. Extract XII. Florence.

Music in Italy.--Disappointed by it.--Recollections or other Times and Friends.--Dalton.--Sir John Stevenson.--His Daughter.--Musical Evenings together.


If it be true that Music reigns,
    Supreme, in ITALY'S soft shades,
'Tis like that Harmony so famous,
Among the spheres, which He of SAMOS
Declared had such transcendent merit
That not a soul on earth could hear it;
For, far as I have come--from Lakes,
Whose sleep the Tramontana breaks,
Thro' MILAN and that land which gave
The Hero of the rainbow vest^[1]--
By MINCIO'S banks, and by that wave,
Which made VERONA'S bard so blest--
Places that (like the Attic shore,
Which rung back music when the sea
Struck on its marge) should be all o'er
Thrilling alive with melody--
I've hea...

Thomas Moore