A fpring there is, whofe filver waters show,
Clear as a glass, the shining fands below;
A flowery Lotos fpreads its arms above,
Shades all the banks, and feems itself a grove;
Eternal greens the moffy margin grace,

180

Watch'd by the fylvan genius of the place.

Here as I lay, and fwell'd with tears the flood,

185

Before my fight a watery Virgin stood:

190

She stood and cry'd, "O you that love in vain! "Fly hence, and feek the fair Leucadian main. "There stands a rock, from whofe impending steep "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, relentlefs Pyrrha fcorn'd: "But when from hence he plung'd into the main, 195 "Deucalion fcorn'd, and Pyrrha lov'd in vain.

"Hafte,

Eft nitidus, vitroque magis perlucidus omni,
Fons facer; hunc multi numen habere putant.
Quem fupra ramos expandit aquatica lotos,

Una nemus; tenero cefpite terra viret.

180

Hic ego cum laffos pofuiffem fletibus artus,
Conftitit ante oculos Naïas una meos.

185

Conftitit, et dixit, "Quoniam non ignibus aequis

"Ureris, Ambracias terra petenda tibi.

"Phoebus ab excelfo, quantum patet, afpicit æquor: "Actiacum populi Leucadiumque vocant.

"Hinc fe Deucalion Pyrrhae fuccenfus amore "Mifit, et illaefo corpore preffit aquas.

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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! thofe 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,

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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 fuftain,
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 lèvatus erat. "Hanc legem locus ille tenet, pete protinus altam "Leucada; nec faxo defiluiffe time."

On

Ut monuit, cum voce abiit. Ego frigida furgo: 200
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 Phocbo communia munera ponam :
Et fub ea verfus unus et alter erunt.

215

On Phoebus' fhrine my harp I'll then bestow, And this Infcription shall be plac❜d below. "Here the who sung, to him that did inspire, "Sappho to Phoebus confecrates her Lyre; "What fuits 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 faithlefs and more hard than they?
Ah! canft thou rather fee this tender breaft

Dash'd on these rocks than to thy bofom prefs'd? 225
This breast which once, in vain! you lik'd fo well;
Where the Loves play'd, and where the Mufes 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 esse 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 ingeniofa tibi.

220

225

230

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 verse, and objects of my flames,
No more your groves with my glad fongs fhall ring,
No more these hands shall touch the trembling string:
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 soul, and vigour to my song :
Abfent 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.
Lefbides aequoreae, nupturaque nuptaque proles;
Lesbides, Aeolia nomina dicta lyra;
Lesbides, infamem quae me feciftis amatae;
Definite ad citharas turba venire meas.

240

The

230

Abftulit omne Phaon, quod vobis ante placebat.

(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?

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240

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250

The winds my prayers, my fighs, my numbers bear,
The flying winds have loft them all in air!
Oh when, alas! fhall 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.
O launch thy bark, nor fear the watery plain;
Venus for thee fhall fmooth her native main.
O launch thy bark, fecure of profperous gales;
Cupid for thee shall spread the fwelling fails.
you will fly- (yet ah! what cause can be,
Too cruel youth, that you fhould 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 cease to love!

If

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 praeftat eunti.
Aurà dabit curfum; tu modo folve ratem.
Ipfe gubernabit refidens in puppe Cupido:
Ipfe 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.]

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255