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A thousand tender words I hear and speak;
A thousand melting kiffes give, and take:
Then fiercer joys, I blush to mention these,
Yet, while I blush, confefs how much they please.
But when, with day, the sweet delufions fly,
And all things wake to life and joy, but I,

As if once more forfaken, I complain,
And close my eyes to dream of you again :
Then frantic rife, and like fome Fury rove

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Through lonely plains, and through the filent grove,
As if the filent grove, and lonely plains,
That knew my pleasures, could relieve my pains.
I view the Grotto, once the fcene of love,
The rocks around, the hanging roofs above,

Blandior interdum; verifque fimillima verba
Eloquor; et vigilant fenfibus ora meis.
Ofcula cognofco; quae tu committere linguae,
Aptaque confuêras accipere, apta dare.
Ulteriora pudet narrare; fed omnia fiunt,
Et juvat, et fine te non libet effe mihi.
At cum fe Titan oftendit, et omnia fecum;
Tam cito me fomnos deftituiffe queror.

That

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Antra nemufque peto, tanquam nemus antraque pro

fint.

Confcia deliciis illa fuere tuis.

Illuc mentis inops, ut quam furialis Erichtho

Impulit, in collo crine jacente feror.

Antra vident oculi scabro pendentia topho,

Quae mihi Mygdonii marmoris inftar erant.

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'That charm'd me more, with native mofs o'ergrown,
Than Phrygian marble, or the Parian stone.
I find the fhades that veil'd our joys before;
But, Phaon gone, those fhades delight no more.
Here the prefs'd herbs with bending tops betray
Where oft entwin'd in amorous folds we lay;
I kifs that earth which once was prefs'd by you,
And all with tears the withering herbs bedew.
For thee the fading trees appear to mourn,
And birds defer their fongs till thy return:
Night fhades the groves, and all in filence lie,
All but the mournful Philomel and I:
With mournful Philomel I join my strain,
Of Tereus fhe, of Phaon I complain.

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A fpring

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Invenio fylvam, quae faepe cubilia nobis
Praebuit, et multa texit opaca coma.
At non invenio dominum fylvaeque, meumque.
Vile folum locus eft: dos erat ille loci.
Agnovi preffas noti mihi cefpitis herbas:

De noftro curvum pondere gramen erat.
Incubui, tetigique locum qua parte fuisti;
Grata prius lacrymas combibit herba meas.
Quinetiam rami pofitis lugere videntur

Frondibus; et nullae dulce queruntur aves. Sola virum non ulta pie moeftiffima mater

Concinit Ifmarium Daulias ales Ityn. Ales Ityn, Sappho defertos cantat amores : Hactenus, ut media caetera nocte filent.

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A fpring there is, whose filver waters show,
Clear as a glass, the shining fands below;

A flowery Lotos fpreads its arms above,
Shades all the banks, and feems itself a grove;
Eternal greens the mossy margin grace,

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Watch'd by the fylvan genius of the place.

Here as I lay, and fwell'd with tears the flood,

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Before my fight a watery Virgin stood:

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She stood and cry'd, "O you that love in vain! "Fly hence, and feek the fair Leucadian main. "There ftands a rock, from whose impending steep Apollo's fane furveys the rolling deep; "There injur'd lovers leaping from above, “Their flames extinguish, and forget to love. "Deucalion once with hopeless fury burn'd, "In vain he lov'd, relentless Pyrrha fcorn'd: "But when from hence he plung'd into the main, 195 "Deucalion fcorn'd, and Pyrrha lov'd in vain.

«Hafte,

Eft nitidus, vitroque magis perlucidus omni,
Fons facer; hunc multi numen habere putant.
Quem fupra ramos expandit aquatica lotos,

Una nemus; tenero cefpite terra viret.

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Hic ego cum laffos pofuiffem fletibus artus,
Conftitit ante oculos Naïas una meos.

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Conftitit, et dixit, "Quoniam non ignibus aequis "Ureris, Ambracias terra petenda tibi.

"Phoebus ab excelfo, quantum patet, afpicit æquor: "Actiacum populi Leucadiumque vocant.

"Hinc fe Deucalion Pyrrhae fuccenfus amore "Mifit, et illaefo corpore preffit aquas.

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Hafte, Sappho, hafte, from high Leucadia throw
"Thy wretched weight, nor dread the deeps below!".
She spoke, and vanifh'd with the voice-I rife,
And filent tears fall trickling from my eyes.

I go, ye Nymphs! thofe rocks and feas to prove ;
How much I fear, but ah, how much I love!
I go, ye Nymphs, where furious love inspires;
Let female fears fubmit to female fires.
To rocks and feas I fly from Phaon's hate,
And hope from seas and rocks a milder fate.
Ye gentle gales, beneath my body blow,
And foftly lay me on the waves below!

And thou, kind Love, my sinking limbs sustain,
Spread thy foft wings, and waft me o'er the main,
Nor let a lover's death the guiltless flood prophane !

"Nec mora: verfus Amor tetigit lentiffima Pyrrhae
"Pectora; Deucalion igne levatus erat.
"Hanc legem locus ille tenet, pete protinus altam
"Leucada; nec faxo defiluiffe time."

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On

Ut monuit, cum voce abiit. Ego frigida furgo: 200
Nec gravidae lacrymas continuere genae.
Ibimus, O Nymphae, monstrataque faxa petemus.
Sit procul infano victus amore timor.

Quicquid erit, melius quam nunc erit: aura, fubito.
Et mea non magnum corpora pondus habent.
Tu quoque, mollis Amor, pennas fuppone cadenti :
Ne fim Lucadiae mortua crimen aquae.

Inde chelyn Phoebo communia munera ponam :
Et fub ea verfus unus et alter erunt.

VOL. I.

N

On Phoebus' shrine my harp I'll then bestow,
And this Infcription fhall be plac❜d below.
"Here the who fung, to him that did inspire,
"Sappho to Phoebus confecrates her Lyre;

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"What suits with Sappho, Phoebus, fuits with thee; "The gift, the giver, and the God agree.”

But why, alas, relentless youth, ah why To distant seas must tender Sappho fly?

Thy charms than those may far more powerful be, 220 And Phoebus' felf is lefs a God to me.

Ah! canft thou doom me to the rocks and fea,

O far more faithless and more hard than they?
Ah! canft thou rather fee this tender breast

Dash'd on these rocks than to thy bofom prefs'd? 225
This breaft which once, in vain! you lik'd so well;
Where the Loves play'd, and where the Muses dwell.
Alas!

"Grata lyram pofui tibi, Phoebe, poëtria Sappho
"Convenit illa mihi, convenit illa tibi.”
Cur tamen Actiacas miferam me mittis ad oras,
Cum profugum poffis ipfe referre pedem?
Tu mihi Leucadia potes effe falubrior unda :

Et forma et meritis tu mihi Phoebus eris.
An potes, ô scopulis undaque ferocior illa,
Si moriar, titulum mortis habere meae ?
At quanto melius jungi mea pectora tecum,

Quam poterant faxis praecipitanda dari !
Haec funt illa, Phaon, quae tu laudare folebas ;
Vifaque funt toties ingeniosa tibi.

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