At quanto melius jungi mea pectora tecum,
Quam poterant faxis praecipitanda dari! Haec funt illa, Phaon, quae tu laudare folebas; Visaque funt toties ingeniosa tibi.
Nunc vellem facunda forent: dolor artibus obstat;
Ingeniumque meis substitit omne malis.
Non mihi refpondent veteres in carmina vires.
Plectra dolore tacent: muta dolore lyra est.
Lesbides aequoreae, nupturaque nuptaque proles;
Lesbides, Aeolia nomina dicta lyra;
Lefbides, infamem quae me feciftis amatae;
Definite ad citharas turba venire meas.
Abstulit 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? pectusne agreste 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 nostra mora?
Ah! canft thou rather fee this tender breast
Dafh'd on these rocks than to thy bosom prest?
This breaft which once, in vain! you lik'd so well;
Where the Loves play'd, and where the Muses dwell.
Alas! the Muses 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 verse, and objects of my flames,
No more your groves with my glad fongs shall ring,
No more these hands shall touch the trembling string:
My Phaon's fled, and I those arts refign
(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:
Absent 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! shall more aufpicious gales
To these fond eyes restore thy welcome fails?
If you return - ah why these long delays ?
Poor Sappho dies while careless Phaon stays.
Solve ratem: Venus orta mari, mare praeftet eunti.
Aura dabit cursum; tu modo solve ratem.
Ipse gubernabit residens in puppe Cupido:
Ipse dabit tenera vela legetque manu.
Sive juvat longe fugisse Pelasgida 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 wat'ry plain;
Venus for thee shall smooth her native main.
O launch thy bark, secure of profp'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 must hope for ease,
Ah let me seek it from the raging seas :
To raging feas unpity'd I'll remove,
And either cease to live or cease to love!
ARGUMENT.
BELARD and Eloisa flourished in the twelfth Century; they were two of the most distinguished persons of their age in learning and beauty, but for nothing more famous than for their unfortunate passion. After a long course of calamities, they retired each to a several Convent, and confecrated the remainder of their days to religion. It was many years after this separation, that a letter of Abelard's to a Friend, which contained the history of his misfortune, fell into the hands of Eloisa. This awakening all her tenderness, occafioned those celebrated letters (out of which the following is partly extracted) which give so lively a picture of the struggles of grace and nature, virtue and passion. P.
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