« EelmineJätka »
At quanto melius jungi mea pectora tecum,
Quam poterant faxis praecipitanda dari !
Haec funt illa, Phaon, quae tu laudare folebas;
Vifaque funt toties ingeniofa tibi.
Nunc vellem facunda forent: dolor artibus obftat;
Ingeniumque meis fubftitit omne malis.
Non mihi refpondent veteres in carmina vires. 230
Plectra dolore tacent: muta dolore lyra est.
Lefbides aequoreac, nupturaque nuptaque proles;
Lesbides, Aeolia nomina dicta lyra;
Lefbides, infamem quae me feciftis amatae;
Definite ad citharas turba venire meas.
Abftulit omne Phaon, quod vobis ante placebat. 235
(Me 'miferam dixi quam modo pene, meus !)
Efficite ut redeat: vates quoque veftra redibit.
Ingenio vires ille dat, ille rapit.
Ecquid ago precibus? pectufne agrefte movetur?
An riget? et Zephyri verba caduca ferunt ?
Qui mea verba ferunt, vellem tua vela referrent.
Hoc te, fi faperes, lente, decebat opus.
Sive redis, puppique tuae votiva parantur
Munera; quid laceras pectora noftra mora?
Ah! canft thou rather fee this tender breaft
Dash'd on these rocks than to thy bofom preft?
This breast which once, in vain! you lik'd fo well;
Where the Loves play'd, and where the Mufes dwell.
Alas! the Mufes now no more inspire,
Untun'd my lute, and filent is my lyre,
My languid numbers have forgot to flow,
And fancy finks beneath a weight of woe.
Ye Lesbian virgins, and ye Lesbian dames,
Themes of my verfe, and objects of my flames,
No more your groves with my glad fongs shall ring,
No more these hands shall touch the trembling ftring:
My Phaon's fled, and I those arts resign
(Wretch that I am, to call that Phaon mine!)
Return, fair youth, return, and bring along
Joy to my foul, and vigour to my fong:
Abfent from thee, the Poet's flame expires;
But ah! how fiercely burn the Lover's fires?
Gods! can no pray'rs, no fighs, no numbers move
One favage heart, or teach it how to love?
The winds my pray'rs, my sighs, my numbers bear,
The flying winds have lost them all in air !
Oh when, alas! fhall more aufpicious gales
To these fond eyes restore thy welcome fails?
If you returnah why these long delays?
Poor Sappho dies while carelefs Phaon stays,
Solve ratem: Venus orta mari, mare praeftet eunti.
Aura dabit curfum; tu modo folve ratem.
Ipfe gubernabit refidens in puppe Cupido :
Ipfe dabit tenera vela legetque manu.
Sive juvat longe fugiffe Pelafgida Sappho ;
(Non tamen invenies, cur ego digna fuga.) [O faltem miferae, crudelis, epiftola dicat:
Ut mihi Leucadiae fata petantur aquae.]
O launch thy bark, nor fear the watʼry plain;
Venus for thee shall smooth her native main.
O launch thy bark, secure of prosp'rous gales ;
Cupid for thee shall spread the swelling fails.
If you will fly-(yet ah! what cause can be,
Too cruel youth, that you should fly from me?)
If not from Phaon I muft hope for ease,
Ah let me seek it from the raging seas :
To raging feas unpity'd I'll remove,
And either ceafe to live or cease to love!
BELARD and Eloifa flourished in the twelfth Cen
tury; they were two of the most distinguished perfons of their age in learning and beauty, but for nothing more famous than for their unfortunate paffion. After a long course of calamities, they retired each to a feveral Convent, and confecrated the remainder of their days to religion. It was many years after this feparation, that a letter of Abelard's to a Friend, which contained the hiftory of his misfortune, fell into the hands of Eloifa. This awakening all her tendernefs, occafioned thofe celebrated letters (out of which the following is partly extracted) which give fo lively a picture of the struggles of grace and nature, virtue and paffion. P.