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Like some sad statue, speechless, pale I stood, 125
Grief chilld my breast, and stopp'd my freezing blood ;
No sigh to rise, no tear had pow'r to flow,
Fix'd in a stupid lethargy of woe:
But when its way th' impetuous passion found,
I rend my tresses, and my breast I wound; 130
I rave, then weep; I curse, and then complain;

Now swell to rage, now melt in tears again.
Not fiercer pangs distract the mournful dame,
Whose first-born infant feeds the fun'ral flame.
My scornful brother with a smile appears,

135 Insults my woes, and triumphs in my tears ; His hated image ever haunts my eyes, And why this grief? thy daughter lives, he cries. Stung with my love, and furious with despair, All torn my garments, and my bosom bare, 140 My woes, thy crimes, I to the world proclaim; Such inconsistent things are love and shame! 'Tis thou art all my care and my delight, My daily longing, and my dream by night: Oh night more pleasing than the brightest day, 145 When fancy gives what absence takes away, And, dress’d in all its visionary charms, Restores my fair deserter to my arms! Then round your neck in wanton wreath I twine, Then you, methinks, as fondly circle mine: 150 A thousand tender words I hear and speak; A thousand melting kisses give, and take : Then fiercer joys, I blush to mention these, Yet, while I blush, confess how much they please. But when, with day, the sweet delusions fly, 155 And all things wake to life and joy, but I, As if once more forsaken, I complain, And close my eyes to dream of you again :


Ver. 125. Like some sad statue,] This image is not in the original, but it is very pleasingly introduced.-Bowles.

Antra nemusque peto, tanquam nemus antraque prosint.

160 Conscia deliciis illa fuere tuis. Illuc mentis inops, ut quam furialis Erichtho

Impulit, in collo crine jacente feror. Antra vident oculi scabro pendentia topho,

Quæ mihi Mygdonii marmoris instar erunt. Invenio sylvam, quæ sæpe cubilia nobis

166 Præbuit, et multa texit opaca coma. At non invenio dominum sylvæque, meumque.

Vile solum locus est: dos erat ille loci. Agnovi pressas noti mihi cespitis herbas :

170 De nostro curvum pondere gramen erat. Incubui, tetigique locum quæ parte fuisti;

Grata prius lacrymas combibit herba meas. Quinetiam rami positis lugere videntur

Frondibus; et nullæ dulce queruntur aves. Sola virum non ulta pie moestissima mater

175 Concinit Ismarium Daulias ales Ityn. Ales Ityn, Sappho desertos cantat amores :

Hactenus, ut media cætera nocte silent. Est nitidus, vitroque magis perlucidus omni,

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

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

Constitit ante oculos Naïas una meos. Constitit, et dixit, “ Quoniam non ignibus æquis

Ureris, Ambracias terra petenda tibi.

Then frantic rise, and like some Fury rove
Through lonely plains, and through the silent grove,
As if the silent grove, and lonely plains,

That knew my pleasures, could relieve my pains.
I view the grotto, once the scene of love,
The rocks around, the hanging roofs above,
That charm'd me more, with native moss o'ergrown,
Than Phrygian marble, or the Parian stone; 166
I find the shades that veild our joys before;
But, Phaon gone, those shades delight no more.
Here the press’d herbs with bending tops betray
Where oft entwin'd in am'rous folds we lay; 170
I kiss that earth which once was press'd by you,
And all with tears the withering herbs bedew.
For thee the fading trees appear to mourn,
And birds defer their songs till thy return:
Night shades the groves, and all in silence lie, 175
All but the mournful Philomel and I:
With mournful Philomel I join my strain,
Of Tereus she, of Phaon I complain.

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

180 A flow'ry Lotos spreads its arms above, Shades all the banks, and seems itself a grove; Eternal greens the mossy margin grace, Watch'd by the sylvan Genius of the place: Here as I lay, and swelld with tears the flood, 185 Before my sight a watry Virgin stood : She stood and cry'd, “ O you that love in vain !

Fly hence, and seek the fair Leucadian main ;



Ver. 160. Through lonely plains,] Antra nenusque are not well rendered by “through lonely plains, &c.” Ovid is concise and specific, Pope general.-Bowles.

Ver. 188. Leucadian main ;] Addison, with his usual exquisite humour, has given, in the 233rd Spectator, an account of the persons, male and female, who leaped from the promontory of Leucate into the Ionian Sea, in order to cure themselves of the passion of love. Their various cha

“ Phoebus ab excelso, quantum patet, aspicit æquor :

“ Actiacum populi Leucadiumque vocant. “ Hinc se Deucalion Pyrrhæ succensus amore “ Misit, et illæso corpore pressit aquas.

195 “ Nec mora: versus Amor tetigit lentissima Pyrrhæ

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

“ Leucadia; nec saxo desiluisse time.” Ut monuit, cum voce abiit. Ego frigida surgo:

200 Nec gravida lacrymas continuere genæ. Ibimus, o Nymphæ, monstrataque saxa 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 suppone cadenti :

Ne sim Leucadiæ mortua crimen aquæ.




“ 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. Haste, Sappho, haste, from high Leucadia throw

Thy wretched weight, nor dread the deeps below!” She spoke, and vanish'd with the voice-I rise, And silent tears fall trickling from my eyes.

200 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,

205 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, my sinking limbs sustain, Spread thy soft wings, and waft me o'er the main, 210 Nor let a Lover's death the guiltless flood profane!


racters, and effects of this leap, are described with infinite pleasantry. One hundred and twenty-four males, and one hundred and twenty-six females, took the leap in the 250th Olympiad ; out of them one hundred and twenty were perfectly cured. Sappho, arrayed like a Spartan virgin, and her harp in her hand, threw herself from the rock with such intrepidity, as was never before observed in any who had attempted that very dangerous leap ; from whence she never rose again, but was said to be changed into a swan as she fell, and was seen hovering in the air in that shape. Alcæus arrived at the promontory of Leucate that very evening, in order to take the leap on her account ; but hearing that her body could not be found, he very generously lamented her fall, and is said to have written his 215th ode on that occasion.-Warton.

Ver. 207. Ye gentle gales,] These two lines have been quoted as the most smooth and mellifluous in our language ; and hey are supposed to derive their sweetness and harmony from the mixture of so many lambics. Pope himself preferred the following line to all he had written, with respect to harmony :

Lo, where Mæotis sleeps, and hardly flows. Warton.

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