Take Caecilius, him the tender-hearted
Bard, my paper, a wish from his Catullus.
Come from Larius, haste to leave the new-built
Comum's watery city, seek Verona.
Some particular intimate reflexions
One would tell thee, a friend we love together.
So he'll quickly devour the way, if only
He's no b**by; for all a snowy maiden
Chide imperious, and her hands around him
Both in jealousy clasp'd, refuse departure.
She, if only report the truth bely not,
Doats, as hardly within her own possession.
For since lately she read his high-preluding
Queen of Dindymus, all her heart is ever
Melting inly with ardour and with anguish.
Maiden, laudable is that high emotion,
Muse more rapturous, you, than any Sappho.
The Great Mother he surely sings divinely.