Translations From Catullus. Carm. 29.

A poem by Thomas Moore

peninsularum Sirmio, insularumque ocelle.

Sweet Sirmio! thou, the very eye
Of all peninsulas and isles,
That in our lakes of silver lie,
Or sleep enwreathed by Neptune's smiles--

How gladly back to thee I fly!
Still doubting, asking--can it be
That I have left Bithynia's sky,
And gaze in safety upon thee?

Oh! what is happier than to find
Our hearts at ease, our perils past;
When, anxious long, the lightened mind
Lays down its load of care at last:

When tired with toil o'er land and deep,
Again we tread the welcome floor
Of our own home, and sink to sleep
On the long-wished-for bed once more.

This, this it is that pays alone
The ills of all life's former track.--
Shine out, my beautiful, my own
Sweet Sirmio, greet thy master back.

And thou, fair Lake, whose water quaffs
The light of heaven like Lydia's sea,
Rejoice, rejoice--let all that laughs
Abroad, at home, laugh out for me!

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