[Footnote i: 'does this fell disease'. [4to. 'P. on V. Occasions.] TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. LUGETE VENERES CUPIDINESQUE (CARM. III.) [i] 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: [ii] 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, [iii] Tun'd to her ear his grateful strain. Now having pass'd the gloomy bourn, [iv] 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. [Footnote i: _Luctus De Morte Passeris_. [4to. _P. on V. Occasions_.] ] [Footnote ii: _Which dearer_. [4to] ] [Footnote iii: _But chirrup'd_. [4to] ] [Footnote iv: _But now he's pass'd_. [4to] ] IMITATED FROM CATULLUS. [1] TO ELLEN. [i] Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire, A million scarce would quench desire; Still would I steep my lips in bliss, And dwell an age on every kiss; Nor then my soul should sated be, Still would I kiss and cling to thee: Nought should my kiss from thine dissever, Still would we kiss and kiss for ever; E'en though the numbers did exceed [ii] The yellow harvest's countless seed; To part would be a vain endeavour: Could I desist?--ah! never--never. November 16, 1806. [Footnote 1: From a note in Byron's copy of Catullus (now in the possession of Mr. Murray), it is evident that these lines are based on Carm. xlviii., 'Mellitos oculos tuos, Juventi'.] [Footnote i: 'To Anna'. [4to] ] [Footnote ii: 'E'en though the number'. [4to. 'Three first Editions'.]] * * * * * * * * POEMS ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS TO M. S. G. 1. Whene'er I view those lips of thine, Their hue invites my fervent kiss; Yet, I forego that bliss divine, Alas! it were--unhallow'd bliss. 2. Whene'er I dream of that pure breast, How could I dwell upon its snows! Yet, is the daring wish represt, For that,--would banish its repose. 3. A glance from thy soul-searching eye Can raise with hope, depress with fear; Yet, I conceal my love,--and why? I would not force a painful tear. 4. I ne'er have told my love, yet thou Hast seen my ardent flame too well; And shall I plead my passion now, To make thy bosom's heaven a hell? 5.