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Non mihi refpondent veteres in carmina vireș. 2 30
Plectra dolore tacent: muta dolore lyra eft.
Lesbides aequoreae, nupturaque nuptaque proles;
Lesbides, Aeolia nomina dicta lyra;
Lesbides, 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 nostra mora? Solve ratem : Venus orta mari, mare praeftet eunti. Aura dabit curfum; tu modo folve ratem,

My languid numbers have forgot to flow, 230
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 thefe hands fhall touch the trembling

My Phaon's fled, and I thofe 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 song:
Absent from thee, the Poet's flame expires; 240
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 fighs, my numbers bear,
The flying winds have lost them all in air! 245
Oh when, alas! fhall more aufpicious gales
To these fond eyes reftore thy welcome fails?
If you return ---ah why thefe long delays?
Poor Sappho dies while careless Phaon stays.
O launch thy bark, nor fear the watʼry plain; 250
Venus for thee shall smooth her native main.

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.) 255 [¤ faltem miserae, Crudelis, epiftola dicat: Ut mihi Lucadiae fata petantur aquae.]

O launch thy bark, fecure of profp'rous gales;
Cupid for thee shall spread the fwelling 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, 256
Ah let me feek it from the raging feas:
To raging feas unpity'd I'll remove,
And either cease to live or ceafe to love!


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