I. To Cornelius
To whom bestow my delightful new book
Just now polished with dry pumice?
To you, Cornelius: For you were in the habit of
Believing my trifles to be something.
Already at that time, when you alone of the Italians
Dared to unfold all ages in three writings…
Experienced, Jupiter, and laborious!
Hence, have you whatever this is of a little book--
Of whatever kind, which, O virgin patroness,
May it remain everlasting, in more than one age!
II. Lamenting Lesbia's Sparrow
Sparrow, beloved of my girl,
With which she plays, who she holds to her bosom,
Which she gives her first finger, and is in the habit
Of inspiring sharp bites as he seeks after it,
When looking bright with desire of me
My dear jests, unaware of what is pleasing
And her small consolation from pain,
Then I believe the painful intensity is at rest:
Could I but play with you just as she does
And lift the sad cares of mind!
IIb.
This was as pleasing to me as that golden apple
Was to the swift girl they speak of,
Which loosened her long-time fastened girdle.
III. Lamenting Lesbia's Sparrow
Mourn, Oh Venus and Cupid,
And men who are so great among many others!
My girlfriend's sparrow is dead
Sparrow, delight of my girl
Whom she loved more than her own eyes,
For it was sweet as honey,
And it's mistress knew it as well as a girl knows her
Very own mother, nor would it move from her lap
But hopping around, first here, then there
And would only chirp continually for it's mistress.
He who now goes through a dark journey
There, whence they deny anybody to return.
But may it go badly for you, evil darkness of
Orcus, which devours all pleasant things:
You have taken from me so charming a sparrow.
Oh evil deed! Oh poor sparrow!
Now through your work the eyes of my girl,
Swollen with weeping, are red.
