Chapter IX

Dear Veranius, you of all my comrades
Worth, you only, a many goodly thousands,

Speak they truly that you your hearth revisit,
Brothers duteous, homely mother aged?

Yes, believe them. O happy news, Catullus! 5

I shall see him alive, alive shall hear him,
Tribes Iberian, uses, haunts, declaring

As his wont is; on him my neck reclining
Kiss his flowery face, his eyes delightful.

Now, all men that have any mirth about you, 10
Know ye happier any, any blither?