“To whom shall I offer this book, young and sprightly,Neat, polished, wide-margined, and finished politely?To you, my Cornelius, whose learning pedantic,Has dared to set forth in three volumes giganticThe history of ages—ye gods, what a labor!—And still to enjoy the small wit of a neighbor.A man who can be light and learned at once, sir,By life's subtle logic is far from a dunce, sir.So take my small book—if it meet with your favor.The passing of years cannot dull its sweet savor.”

“Odi et amo. Quare I'd faciam, fortasse requiris. ”

“Ille mi par esse deo videturille, si fas est, superare divos,qui sedens adversus identitem tespectat et auditdulce ridentem, misero quod omniseripit sensus mihi: nam simul te,Lesbia, aspexi, nihil est super milingua sed torpet, tenuis sub artusflamma demanat, sonitu suoptetintinant aures gemina, tegunturlumina nocte.otium, Catulle, tibi molestum est;otio exsultas nimiumque gestis;otium et reges prius et beatasperdidit urbes.”

“Driven across many nations, across many oceans I am here, my brother, for this final parting,to offer at last those gifts which the dead are givenand to speak in vain to your unspeaking ashes,since bitter fortune forbids you to hear me or answer,O my wretched brother, so abruptly taken!But now I must celebrate grief with funeral tributesoffered the dead in the ancient way of the fathers;accept these presents, wet with my brotherly tears, andnow and forever, my brother, hail and farewell.”

“We should live, my Lesbia, and loveAnd value all the talk of stricterOld men at a single penny.Suns can set and rise again;For us, once our brief light has set,There's one unending night for sleeping.Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred,Then another thousand, then a second hundred,Then still another thousand, then a hundred;Then, when we've made many thousands,We'll muddle them so as not to knowOr lest some villain overlook usKnowing the total of our kisses.(Translated by Guy Lee)”

“But are they heroes or mere dreamers?”

“Through many countries and over many seasI have come, Brother, to these melancholy rites,to show this final honour to the dead,and speak (to what purpose?) to your silent ashes,since now fate takes you, even you, from me.Oh, Brother, ripped away from me so cruelly,now at least take these last offerings, blessedby the tradition of our parents, gifts to the dead.Accept, by custom, what a brother's tears drown,and, for eternity, Brother, 'Hail and Farewell'.”