The following morning, which for the season was freshly sunny, found us on a seat under a verandah near the breakfast room, and close to the aviary, from which we had a moment before come; and the Curate was then wringing his finger after the bites and pecks the bullfinch had given him, which Gratian told him, jocularly, was having a comment on the text at his finger's end, and immediately asked for Catullus. The book was opened--and the Curate put his finger upon the "Death of Lesbia's Sparrow,"--which he read as he had thus rendered it:-- DE PASSERE MORTUO LESBIAE. Ye Graces, and ye Cupids, mourn, And all that's graceful, woman born, My sweet one's sparrow dead! Smitten by death's fatal arrow Lies my darling's darling sparrow! As the eyes in her sweet head She did love him, and he knew her As my fair one knows her mother; He was sweet as honey to her, In her lap for ever sitting, Hither thither round her flitting, To his mistress and no other He address'd his twittering tale. Now adown death's darksome vale He is gone to seek a bourn Whence they tell us none return. Plague upon you, dark and narrow Shades of Orcus, without pity Swallowing every thing that's pretty-- As ye took the pretty sparrow. Wo's the day that you lie dead! Little wretch, 'tis all your doing That my fair one's eyes are red, Swoln and red with tearful rueing. AQUILIUS.--It would be childish to blame the poor bird for the crime of dying, as if he had died out of spite; when, if the truth could be told, perhaps the cat killed him. (At this moment, Gratian's favourite cat rubbed herself against his legs, first her face and head, and then her back, and looked up to him, as if begging him to plead for her race; and he did so, and spoke kindly to her, and said, pussey would not kill any bird though he should trust her in the aviary; and she, as if she knew what he said, walked off to it, and rubbed her face against the wires, and returned to us again.) Well, I continued, I don't see why the bird should be called wretch fer that; and _factum male_ means to express misfortune, not fault. So let the _malefactum_ be the Curate's, and treat him accordingly. GRATIAN.--Come, let us see your bird. Perhaps it may be necessary to kill two with one stone. But I forget--_the_ bird is dead already. AQUILIUS.-- DE PASSERE MORTUO LESBIAE. Ye Cupids, every Queen of Love, Whate'er hath heart or beauty, shed Your floods of tears, now hang the head-- My darling's sparrow, pet, and dove, Is dead: that bird she prized above Her own sweet eyes, is dead, is dead. That little bird, that honey bird, As fair child knows her mother, knew His own own mistress; and he, too, From her sweet bosom never stirred, As prompt at every look and word, He to that nest of softness flew.