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ECQUID, ut infpecta eft studiosae littera


Protinus eft oculis cognita noftra tuis? An, nifi legiffes auctoris nomina Sapphûs, Hoc breve nescires unde movetur opus? Forfitan et quare mea fint alterna requiras


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Carmina, cum lyricis fim magis apta modis. Flendus amor meus eft; elegeïa flebile carmen ; Non facit ad lacrymas barbitos ulla meas. Uror, ut, indomitis ignem exercentibus Euris, Fertilis accenfis meffibus ardet ager, Arva Phaon celebrat diverfa Typhoïdos Aetnac, Me calor Aetnaço non minor igne coquit. Nec mihi, difpofitis quae jungam carmina nervis, Proveniunt; vacuae carmina mentis opus,

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Can Phaon's eyes forget his Sappho's hand?
Must then her name the wretched writer prove,
To thy remembrance loft, as to thy love?
Ask not the cause that I new numbers chuse, 5
The Lute neglected, and the Lyric muse;
Love taught my tears in fadder notes to flow,
And tun'd my heart to Elegies of woe.
I burn, I burn, as when through ripen'd corn
By driving winds the spreading flames are born!
Phaon to Ætna's fcorching fields retires,
While I consume with more than Ætna's fires!
No more my foul a charm in mufic finds;
Music has charms alone for peaceful minds.


Nec me Pyrrhiades Methymniadefve puellae, 15
Nec me Lesbiadum caetera turba juvant.
Vilis Anactorie, vilis mihi candida Cydno:
Non oculis grata eft Atthis, ut ante, meis;
Atque aliae centum, quas non fine crimine amavi:
Improbe, multarum quod fuit, unus habes. 20
Eft in te facies, funt apti lufibus anni.
O facies oculis infidiofa meis !

Sume fidem et pharetram; fies manifeftus Apollo:
Accedant capiti cornua; Bacchus eris.
Et Phœbus Daphnen, et Gnofida Bacchus amavit;
Nec norat lyricos illa, vel illa modos. 39
At mihi Pegafides blandiffima carmina dictant;
Jam çanitur toto nomen in orbe meum.
Nec plus Alcæus, confors patriaeque lyraeque,
Laudis habet, quamvis grandius ille fonet.
Si mihi difficilis formam natura negavit;

Ingenio formae damna rependo meae.



Soft scenes of folitude no more can please,
Love enters there, and I'm my own disease.
No more the Lesbian dames my paffion move,
Once the dear Objects of my guilty love;
All other loves are loft in only thine,
Ah youth ungrateful to a flame like mine! 20
Whom would not all those blooming charms fur-


Those heav'nly looks, and dear deluding eyes?
The harp and bow would you like Phœbus bear,
A brighter Phoebus Phaon might appear;
Would you with ivy wreath your flowing hair, 25
Not Bacchus' felf with Phaon could compare:
Yet Phoebus lov'd, and Bacchus felt the flame,
One Daphne warm'd, and one the Cretan dame;
Nymphs that in verfe no more could rival me, 29
Than ev❜n those Gods contend in charms with thee.
The muses teach me all their softest lays,
And the wide world refounds with Sappho's praife.
Tho' great Alcæus more fublimely fings,
And ftrikes with bolder rage
the founding strings,
No lefs renown attends the moving lyre,


Which Venus tunes, and all her loves inspire;
To me what nature has in charms deny'd,
Is well by wit's more lafting flames supply'd.

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