Then frantic rife, and like fome Fury rove
Thro' lonely plains, and thro' the filent grove, 160
As if the filent grove, and lonely plains,
That knew my pleafures, could relieve my pains.
I view the Grotto, once the fcene of love,
The rocks around, the hanging roofs above,
That charm'd me more, with native mofs o'ergrown,
Than Phrygian marble, or the Parian stone. 166
I find the shades that veil'd our joys before;
But, Phaon gone, those shades delight no more.
Here the prefs'd herbs with bending tops betray
Where oft entwin'd in am'rous folds we lay; 170
I kifs that earth which once was prefs'd by you,
And all with tears the with'ring herbs bedew.
For thee the fading trees appear to mourn,
And birds defer their fongs till thy return:
Night shades the groves, and all in filence lie, 175
All but the mournful Philomel and I:
With mournful Philomel I join my strain,
Of Tereus fhe, of Phaon I complain.

A spring there is, whofe filver waters show, Clear as a glafs, the fhining fands below:

A flow'ry Lotos fpreads its arms above,

180

Shades all the banks, and feems itself a grove;

185

Hic ego cum laffos pofuiffem fletibus artus, Conftitit ante oculos Naïas una meos. Conftitit, et dixit, "Quoniam non ignibus aequis. "Ureris, Ambracias terra petenda tibi. "Phoebus ab excelfo,quantum patet,afpicit aequor: "Actiacum populi Leucadiumque vocant. "Hinc fe Deucalion Pyrrhae fuccenfus amore « Mifit, et illaefo corpore preffit aquas. 195 "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."

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.

Eternal

greens

the moffy margin grace,

Watch'd by the fylvan Genius of the place.

Here as I lay, and swell'd with tears the flood, 185 Before my fight a wat'ry Virgin stood:

She stood and cry'd,

O you that love in vain!

Fly hence, and seek the fair Leucadian main; "There stands a rock, from whofe impending steep

190

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, "Deucalion fcorn'd, and Pyrrha lov'd in vain.

Hafte, Sappho, hafte, from high Leucadia throw Thy wretched weight,nor dread the deeps below! She spoke, and vanish'd with the voice --- I rise, And filent tears fall trickling from my eyes. 200 I go, ye Nymphs! those rocks and feas to prove; How much I fear, but ah, how much I love! I go, ye Nymphs, where furious love infpires; Let female fears fubmit to female fires.

To rocks and feas I fly from Phaon's hate, 205 And hope from feas and rocks a milder fate.

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

Tu quoque

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

"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: 220
Et forma et meritis tu mihi Phoebus eris.
An potes, o fcopulis undaque ferocior illa,
Si moriar, titulum mortis habere meae?
At quanto melius jungi mea pectora tecum,

Quam poterant faxis praecipitanda dari! 225 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.

Ye gentle gales, beneath my body blow,
And foftly lay me on the waves below!

And thou, kind Love, my ûnking limbs fuftain,
Spread thy foft wings, and waft me o'er the main,
Nor let a lover's death the guiltless flood profane!
On Phœbus' fhrine my harp I'll then bestow, 221
And this Inscription shall be plac'd below.
"Here the who fung, to him that did inspire,
"Sappho to Phœbus confecrates her Lyre; 215
"What suits with Sappho,Phœbus,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 pow'rful be,
And Phœbus' self is lefs a God to me.

Ah! can'ft thou doom me to the rocks and fea,
O far more faithlefs and more hard than they?
Ah! canft thou rather fee this tender breaft
Dafh'd on these rocks than to thy bofom preft; 225
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 infpire,
Untun'd my lute, and filent is my lyre,