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