XI: Furius and Aurelius, O my comrades

Furius and Aurelius, O my comrades,
Whether your Catullus attain to farthest
Ind, the long shore lash'd by reverberating
Surges Eoan;
Hyrcan or luxurious horde Arabian,
Sacan or grim Parthian arrow-bearer,
Fields the rich Nile discolorates, a seven-fold
River abounding;
Whether o'er high Alps he afoot ascending
Track the long records of a mighty Caesar,
Rhene, the Gauls' deep river, a lonely Britain
Dismal in ocean;
This, or aught else haply the gods determine,
Absolute, you, with me in all to part not;
Bid my love greet, bear her a little errand,
Scarcely of honour.
Say 'Live on yet, still given o'er to nameless
Lords, within one bosom, a many wooers,
Clasp'd, as unlov'd each, so in hourly change all
Lewdly disabled.
'Think not henceforth, thou, to recal Catullus'
Love; thy own sin slew it, as on the meadow's
Verge declines, ungently beneath the plough-share
Stricken, a flower.'