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A spring there is, whose filver waters show,
Clear as a glass, the shining sands below;

180
A flowery Lotos spreads its arms above,
Shades all the banks, and seems itself a grove ;
Eternal

greens the mosly 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 sight a watery 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 whose impending steep
“ Apollo's fane surveys the rolling deep;

190
“ 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 scorn'd:
« But when from hence he plung'd into the main, 195
“ Deucalion scorn'd, and Pyrrha lov'd in vain.

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" Haste,

Eft nitidus, vitroque magis perlucidus omni,

180
Fons facer ; hunc multi numen habere putant.
Quem supra ramos expandit aquatica lotos,

Una nemus ; tenero cespite terra viret.
Hic ego cum lassos pofuiffem fletibus artus, 185

Conftitit ante oculos Naïas una meos.
Conftitit, et dixit, “ Quoniam non ignibus aequis

“ Ureris, Ambracias terra petenda tibi.
« Phoebus ab excelso, quantum patet, afpicit æquor :

“ Actiacum populi Leucadiumque vocant.
“ Hinc fe Deucalion Pyrrhae fuccensus amore

66 Misit, et illaeso corpore pressit aquas. 195

200

“ Haste, Sappho, haste, 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 seas to prove;
How much I fear, but ah, how much I love!
I go, ye Nymphs, where furious love inspires ;
Let female fears submit to female fires.
To rocks and seas I fly from Phaon's hate,

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And hope from seas and rocks a milder fate.
Ye gentle gales, beneath my body blow,
And softly lay me on the waves below!
And thou, kind Love, mý finking limbs sustain,
Spread thy soft wings, and waft me o'er the main,
Nor let a lover's death the guiltless flood prophane !

On

}

“ Nec mora : versus Amor tetigit lentissima Pyrrhae

“ Pectora; Deucalion igne levatus erat. “ Hanc legem locus ille tenet, pete protinus altam

“ Leucada; nec faxo desiluisse time.” Ut monuit, cum voce abiit. Ego frigida surgo : 200

Nec gravidae lacrymas continuere genae.
Ibimus, o Nymphae, monftrataque faxa petemus.

Sit procul insano victus amore timor.
Quicquid erit, melius quam nunc erit: aura, subito.

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 versus unus et alter erunt.
VOL. I.

N

On Phoebus' shrine my harp I'll then bestow,
And this Inscription shall be plac'd below.
“ Here she who sung, to him that did inspire,
• Sappho to Phoebus consecrates her Lyre;

215 “ What suits with Sappho, Phoebus, suits with thee; “ The gift, the giver, and the God agree.”

But why, alas, relentless youth, ah why To distant feas muft tender Sappho fly? Thy charms than those may far more powerful be, 220 And Phoebus' self is less a God to me. Ah! canst thou doom me to the rocks and sea, O far more faithless and more hard than they? Ah! canft thou rather see this tender breast Dash'd on these rocks than to thy bosom press’d? 225 This breast which once, in vain ! you lik'd so well; Where the Loves play'd, and where the Muses dwell.

Alas!

220

“ Grata lyram posui tibi, Phoebe, poëtria Sappho :

“ Convenit illa mihi, convenit illa tibi.” Cur tamen Actiacas miseram me mittis ad oras,

Cum profugum poffis ipse 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 quanta melius jungi mea pectora tecum, Quam poterant faxis praecipitanda dari !

225 Haec sunt illa, Phaon, quae tu laudare folebas ;

Vifaque funt toties ingeniofa tibi.

Alas! the Muses now no more inspire,
Untun'd my lute, and silent is my lyre ;
My languid numbers have forgot to flow,

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And fancy links 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 songs laall sing,
No more these hands shall touch the trembling kring :
My Phaon 's fled, and I those arts resign,
(Wretch that I am, to call that Phaop mine!)
Return, fair youth, return, and bring along
Joy to my soul, and vigour to my song:
Absent from thee, the Poet's flame expires ; in

240 But ah! how fiercely burn the Lover's fires ? Gods! can no prayers, no fighs, no numbers, move One savage heart, or teach it how to loves

The

Nunc vellem facunda forent : dolor artibus obstat';

Ingeniumque meis substitit omne malis. Non mihi respondent veteres in carmina vires. 230

Plectra dolore tacent: muta dolore lyra est. Lesbides

aequoreae, nupturaque nuptaque proles ; Lesbides, Aeolia nomina dista lyra ; Lesbides, 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.

24. Écquid ago precibus ? pectusne agreste movetur?

An riget? et Zephyri verba caduca ferunt?

The winds my prayers, my sighs, my numbers bear, The flying winds have lost them all in air !

245 Oh when, alas ! shall 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; 250 Venus for thee shall smooth her native main. O launch thy bark, secure of prosperous gales; Cupid for thee fhall spread the swelling fails. If you will fly-(yet ah! what cause can be, Too cruel youth, that you should fly from me?) 255 If not from Phaon I must hope for ease, Ah let me seek it from the raging feas : To raging seas unpity'd I'll remove, And either cease to live, or cease to love!

Qui mea verba ferunt, vellem tua vela referrent.

Hoc te, si saperes, 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 cursum ; tu modo solve ratem. Ipfe gubernabit residens in puppe Cupido:

Ipse dabit tenera vela legetque manu. Sive juvat longe fugiffe Pelasgida Sappho;

(Non tamen invenies, cur ego digna fuga.) 255 [O faltem miferae, Crudelis, epiftola dicat: Ut mihi Leucadiae fata petantur aquae.]

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