For whom should Sappho use such arts as these ?
He's gone, whom only the desir’d to please!
Cupid's light darts my tender bosom move,
Still is there cause for Sappho still to love: 90
So from my birth the Sisters fix'd my doom,
And gave to Venus all my life to come ;
Or, while my Muse in melting notes complains,
My yielding heart keeps measure to my strains.
By charms like thine which all my soul have won,
Who might not-ah! who would not be undone?
For those Aurora Cephalus might scorn,
And with fresh blushes paint the conscious morn.
For those might Cynthia lengthen Phaon's sleep,
And bid Endymion nightly tend his sheep. 100
Venus for those had rapt thee to the skies,
But Mars on thee might look with Venus' eyes.
O scarce a youth, yet scarce a tender boy!
O useful time for lovers to employ! !
Pride of thy age, and glory of thy race, 105
Come to these arms, and melt in this embrace !
The vows you never will return, receive;
And take at least the love you will not givé.
See, while I write, my words are lost in tears!
The less my sense, the more my love appears. 110

Si tam certus eras hinc ire, modestius iffes, 110

Et modo dixisses : Lesbi puella, vale. Non tecum lacrymas, non oscula summa tulisti ; - Denique non timui, quod dolitura fui. Nil de te mecum est, nisi tantum injuria : nec tu,

Admoneat quod te, pignus amantis habes.. Non mandata dedi ; neque enim mandata dedissem

Ulla, nisi ut nolles immemor effe mei. 120 Per tibi, qui nunquam longe discedat ; Amorem,

Perque novem juro, numina nostra, Deas ; Cum mihi nescio quis, Fugiunt tua gaudia, dixit:

Nec me flere diu, nec potuisse loqui ;
Et lacrymae deerant oculis, et lingua palato:

Astrictum gelido frigore pectus erat.
Poftquam se dolor invenit; nec pectora plangi,

Nec puduit scissis exululare comis.
Non aliter quam si nati pia mater adempti

Portet ad extructos corpus inane rogos.

Sure 'twas not much to bid one kind adieu,
(At least to feign was never hard to you)
Farewell, my Lesbian love, you might have said ;
Or coldly thus, Farewell, oh Lesbian maid !
No tear did you, no parting kiss receive, 115
Nor knew I then how much I was to grieve.
No lover's gift your Sappho could confer,
And wrongs and woes were all you left with her.
No charge I gave you, and no charge could give,
But this, Be mindful of our loves, and live. 120
Now by the Nine, those pow'rs ador'd by me,
And Love, the God that ever waits on thee,
When first I heard (from whom I hardly knew)
That you were fled, and all my joys with you,
Like some fad ftatue, speechless, pale I stood, 125
Grief chill'd my breast, and stopp'd my freezing

No figh 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 fwell to rage, now melt in tears again.'
Not fiercer pangs distract the mournful dame,
Whose first-born infant feeds the fun'ral flame.

Gaudet, et e nostro crescit moerore Charaxus 135

Frater ; et ante oculos itque reditque meos. Utque pudenda mei videatur causa doloris ;

Quid dolet haec ? certe filia vivit, ait. Non veniunt in idem pudor atque amor: omne vi

debat Vulgus; eram lacero pectus aperta finu. 140 Tu mihi cura, Phaon ; te fomnia nostra reducunt;

Somnia formoso candidiora die. Illic te invenio, quanquam regionibus absis ; 145

Sed non longa fatis gaudia somnus habet. Saepe tuos noftra cervice onerare lacertos,

Saepe tuae videor suppofuiffe meos. 150 Blandior interdum, verifque fimillima verba

Eloquor ; et vigilant sensibus ora meis. Oscula cognosco; quae tu committere linguae,

Aptaque consueras accipere, apta dare. Ulteriora pudet narrare ; fed omnia fiunt.

Et juvat, et sine te non libet esse mihi. At cum se Titan oftendit, et omnia secum ;

Tam cito me somnos destituiffe queror.

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 gárments, 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 wreaths Itwine,
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 :

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