Anyway, I translated this poem of Catullus' here:
Mourn, O Venuses & Cupids, and as many gracious men that there are! My little girl's sparrow is dead; the sparrow, my little girl's delight, whom she used to love more than her own eyes. For he was sweet as honey, and he knew his own as well as my little girl knew her mother; nor did he used to move himself from her lap, but jumping around now to this side, now to that, he always used to chirp to his mistress alone. And this one now goes through the dark road to that place from where they deny anyone to return. But may it be bad for you, wicked darkness of the underworld, you who devour all beautiful things; you took away from me such a beautiful sparrow. O evil deed! O poor little sparrow! By your work now my little girl's swollen eyes are red from weeping.
