Catullus 1, 2, 3

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.