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me, and my florid age was passing in jocund spring, much did I sport enow: nor was the goddess unknown to us who mixes bitter-sweet with our cares. But my brother's death plunged all this pursuit into mourning. O brother, taken from my unhappy self; thou by thy dying hast broken my ease, O brother; all our house is buried with thee; with thee have perished the whole of our joys, which thy sweet love nourished in thy lifetime. Thou lost, I have dismissed wholly from mind these studies and every delight of mind. Wherefore, as to what thou writest, "'Tis shameful for Catullus to be at Verona, for there anyone of utmost note must chafe his frigid limbs on a desolate couch;" that, Manius, is not shameful; rather 'tis a pity. Therefore, do thou forgive, if what grief has snatched from me, these gifts, I do not bestow on thee, because I am unable. For, that there is no great store of writings with me arises from this, that we live at Rome: there is my home, there is my hall, thither my time is passed; hither but one of my book-cases follows me. As 'tis thus, I would not that thou deem we act so from ill-will or from a mind not sufficiently ingenuous, that ample store is not forthcoming to either of thy desires: both would I grant, had I the wherewithal. Nor can I conceal, goddesses, in what way Allius has aided me, or with how many good offices he has assisted me; nor shall fleeting time with its forgetful centuries cover with night's blindness this care of his. But I tell it to you, and do ye declare it to many thousands, and make this paper, grown old, speak of it * * * * And let him be more and more noted when dead, nor let the spider aloft, weaving her thin-drawn web, carry on her work over the neglected name of Allius. For you know what anxiety of mind wily Amathusia gave me, and in what manner she overthrew me, when I was burning like the Trinacrian rocks, or the Malian fount in Oetaean Thermopylae; nor did my piteous eyes cease to dissolve with continual weeping, nor my cheeks with sad showers to be bedewed. As the pellucid stream gushes forth from the moss-grown rock on the aerial crest of the mountain, which when it has rolled headlong prone down the valley, softly wends its way through the midst of the populous parts, sweet solace to the wayfarer sweating with weariness, when the oppressive heat cracks the burnt-up fields agape: or, as to sailors tempest-tossed in black whirlpool, there cometh a favourable and a gentl
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