"Hafte, Sappho, hafte, from high Leucadia throw
"Thy wretched weight, nor dread the deeps below!".
She spoke, and vanish'd with the voice-I rife,
And filent tears fall trickling from my eyes.
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 inspires;
Let female fears fubmit to female fires.
To rocks and feas I fly from Phaon's hate,
And hope from feas 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 finking limbs fustain,
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."
Ut monuit, cum voce abiit. Ego frigida furgo:
Nec gravidae lacrymas continuere genae.
Ibimus, O Nymphae, monftrataque 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.
On Phoebus' fhrine my harp I'll then bestow,
And this Infcription shall be plac'd below.
"Here the who fung, to him that did inspire,
Sappho to Phoebus confecrates her Lyre; "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 fo 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 fcopulis 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.
Alas! the Mufes now no more infpire,
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 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 prayers, no fighs, no numbers, move
One favage heart, or teach it how to love?
Nunc vellem facunda forent: dolor artibus obftat;
Ingeniumque meis fubftitit omne malis.
Non mihi refpondent veteres in carmina vires.
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.
(Me miferam! dixi quam modo pene, meus!)
Efficite ut redeat: vates quoque vestra redibit.
Ingenio vires ille dat, ille rapit.
Ecquid ago precibus? pectusne agreste movetur?
An riget? et Zephyri verba caduca ferunt?
The winds my prayers, my fighs, my numbers bear,
The flying winds have loft them all in air!
Oh when, alas! fhall more auspicious gales
To these fond eyes restore thy welcome fails?
If you return-ah why these long delays?
Poor Sappho dies while careless Phaon stays.
O launch thy bark, nor fear the watery plain;
Venus for thee fhall smooth her native main.
O launch thy bark, fecure of profperous gales ;
Cupid for thee shall spread the swelling fails.
you will fly-(yet ah! what caufe can be,
Too cruel youth, that you should fly from me?)
If not from Phaon I must hope for ease,
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!
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 ?
Solve ratem: Venus orta mari, mare praestat 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.]
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