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 profane!
On Phoebus' shrine my harp I'll then bestow,
And this infcription fhall be plac'd below:
"Here the who fung, to him that did infpire,
"Sappho to Phoebus confecrates her lyre.

}

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215

"What fuits with Sappho, Phoebus, fuits with thee; "The gift, the giver, and the god agree." But why, alas! relentless youth, ah why To diftant feas muft tender Sappho fly? Thy charms than those may far more pow'rful be, And Phoebus' felf is lefs a god to me.

221

Ah! canft thou doom me to the rocks and fea?
Oh far more faithlefs and more hard than they!
Ah! canft thou rather fee this tender breast
Dash'd on thefe 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 Mufes dwell.

Quicquid erit, melius quam nunc erit: aura, fubito,
Et mea non magnum corpora pondus habent,
Tu quoque mollis amor, pennas fuppone cadenti:
Ne fim Leucadiæ mortua crimen aquæ.
Inde chelyn Phoebo communia munera ponam:
Et fub ea verfus unus et alter erunt.

212

"Grata lyram pofui tibi, Phoebe, poëtria Sappho: 215
"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, ôfcopulis undaque ferocior illa,

Si moriar, titulum mortis habere meæ ?
At quanto melius jungi mea pectora tecum,
Quam poterant faxis præcipitanda dari!
Hæc funt illa, Phaon, quæ tu laudare folebaş;
Vifaque funt toties ingeniofa tibi,

220

225

230

235

Alas! the Mufes now no more inspire;
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 fhall ring,
No more thefe hands fhall touch the trembling ftring:
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 foul, and vigour to my song :
Abfent from thee, the poet's flame expires;
But ah! how fiercely burns the lover's fires?
Gods! can no pray'rs, no fighs, no numbers move
One favage heart, or teach it how to love?
The winds my pray'rs, my fighs, my numbers bear,
The flying winds have loft them all in air!
Oh when, alas! fhall more aufpicious gales
To thefe fond eyes reftore thy welcome fails!
If you return-ah why thefe long delays?
Poor Sappho dies while careless Phaon ftays.

Nunc vellem facunda forent: dolor artibus obftat;
Ingeniumque meis fubftitit omne malis.
Non mihi refpondent veteres in carminą vires.
Plectra dolore tacent: muta dolore lyra eft.
Lesbides æquoreæ, nupturaque nuptaque proles;
Lefbides, Æolia nomina dicta lyra;

Lefbides, infamem quæ me feciftis amatæ ;
Definite ad citharas turba venire meas.

240

245

230

Abftulit omne Phaon, quod vobis ante placebat. 236
(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?
Qui mea verba ferunt, vellem tua vela referrent.
Hoc te, fi faperes, lente, decebat opus.
Sive redis, puppique tuæ votiva paraîtur
Munera; quid laceras pectora noftra mora?

240

245

259

O launch thy bark, nor fear the wat'ry plain;
Venus for thee fhall fmooth her native main.
O launch thy bark, fecure of profp'rous gales;
Cupid for thee fhall spread the fwelling fails.
If you will fly-(yet ah! what cause can be,
Too cruel youth, that you fhould fly from me?) 255
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 ceafe to live or ceafe to love!

Selve ratem: Venus orta mari, mare præftet 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.) JO faltem miferæ, Crudelis, epiftola dicat: Ut mihi Leucadia fata petantur aquæ.]

251

255

The Argument.

Abelard and Eloifa flourished in the twelfth century: they were two of the moft diftinguished perions of their age in learning and beauty, but for nothing more famous than for their unfortunate paffion. After a long courfe of calamities, they retired each to a feveral convent, and confecrated the remainder of their days to religion. It was many years after this feparation that a letter of Abelard's to a friend, which contained the hiftory of his misfortune, fell into the hands of Eloifa. This awakening all her tendernefs, occafioned thofe celebrated Letters (out of which the following is partly extracted, which give fo lively a picture of the ftruggles of Grace and Nature, Virtue and Paffio.. [P.]

IN thefe deep folitudes and awful cells,

Where heav'nly-penfive Contemplation dwells,

And ever-musing Melancholy reigns,
What means this tumult in a veftal's veins ?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I love :---From Abelard it came,
And Eloïfa yet must kifs the name.

Dear fatal name! reft ever unreveal'd,
Nor pafs thefe lips, in holy filence feal'd:
Hide it, my heart, within that clofe difguife,
Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies:
O write it not, my hand-the name appears
Already written-wash it out, my tears!
In vain loft Eloïfa weeps and prays,
Her heart ftill dictates, and her hand obeys.

Relentless walls! whofe darkfome round contains
Repentant fighs, and voluntary pains :

5

10

Ye rugged Rocks! which holy knees have worn ;
Ye Grots and Caverns, fhagg'd with horrid thorn! 20
Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep,
And pitying faints, whofe ftatues learn to weep!
Though cold like you, unmov'd and filent grown,
I have not yet forgot myfelf to ftone.

my heart;

All is not heav'n's while Abelard has part,
Still rebel Nature holds out half
Nor pray'rs nor fafts its ftubborn pulse restrain,

25

Nor tears for ages taught to flow in vain..
Soon as thy letters trembling I uncloíe,

That well-known name awakens all my woes.
Oh name for ever fad! for ever dear!

30

Still breath'd in fighs, ftill usher'd with a tear.

I tremble too, where'er my cwn I find,
Some dire misfortune follows close behind.

Line

Line after line my gufhing eyes o'erflow,.

35

Led through a fad variety of woe :

Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom,

Loft in a convent's folitary gloom!

There ftern Religion quench'd th' unwilling flame;
There dy'd the best of paffions, love and fame.

Yet write, oh write me ail, that I may join
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo fighs to thine.
Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away;
And is my Abelard lefs kind than they?
Tears ftill are mine, and thofe I need not spare,
Love but demands what else were fned in pray'r;
No happier task thefe faded eyes purfue;
To read and weep is all they now can do.

40

45

50

Then fhare thy pain, allow that fad relief;
Ah, more than fhare it, give me all thy grief.
Heav'n first taught letters for fome wretch's aid,
Some banish'd lover, or fome captive maid:
They live, they speak, they breathe what love infpires,
Warm from the foul, and faithful to its fires;
The virgin's with without her fears impart,
Excufe the bluth, and pour out all the heart,
Speed the foft intercourfe from foul to foul,
And waft a figh from Indus to the pole.

55,

Thou know'it how guiltlefs firt I met thy flame, When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name;

My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind,

Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind.
Thofe fmiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry ray,
Shone fweetly lambent with celeftial day.

61

Guiltless I gaz'd; Heav'n liften'd while you fung; 65
And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like thole what precept fail'd to move?
Too foon they taught me 'twas no fin to love :
Back through the paths of pleafing fenfe I ran,
Nor with'd an angel whom I lov'd a man.
Dim and remote the joys of faints I fee;
Nor envy them that heav'n I lofe for thee.

How oft, when prefs'd to marriage, have I faid,
Curfe on all laws but those which Love has made!

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