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Cupid's light darts my tender bofom move,
Still is there caufe for Sappho ftill to love:
So from my birth the Sifters fix'd my doom,
And gave to Venus all my life to come;
Or while my Mufe in melting notes complains,
My yielding heart keeps measure to my strains,
By charms like thine which all my foul have won, 95
Who might not ah! who would not be undone?

For thofe Aurora Cephalus might scorn,

And with fresh blushes paint the confcious morn.
For thofe might Cynthia lengthen Phaon's fleep,
And bid Endymion nightly tend his sheep.
Venus for thofe had rapt thee to the fkies,
But Mars on thee might look with Venus' eyes.
fcarce a youth, yet fcarce a tender boy!

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O ufeful time for lovers to employ!
Pride of thy age, and glory of thy race,

Come to these arms, and melt in this embrace!

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The vows you never will return receive;
And take at least the love you will not give.
See, while I write, my words are loft in tears;
The lefs my fenfe, the more my love appears.
Sure 'twas not much to bid one kind adieu,
(At least to feign was never hard to you)
Farewell my Lefbian Love, you might have faid,
Or coldly thus, Farewell, oh Lefbian maid!
No tear did you, no parting kiss receive,
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.

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Per tibi, qui nunquam longe difcedat, Amoremi, Perque novein juro, numina noftra, Deas;

Cum mihi nefcio quis, Fugiunt tua gaudia, dixit:
Nec me flere diu, nec potuiffe loqui;

Et lacrymze deerant oculis, & lingua palato:
Aftrictum gelido frigore pectus erat.

Poftquam fe dolor invenit; nec pectora plangi,
Nec puduit fciffis exululare comis:

Non aliter quam fi nati pia mater adempti
Portet ad extructos corpus inane rogos.

Gaudet & e noftro crefcit moerore Charaxus

Frater; & ante oculos itque reditque meos. Utque pudenda mei videatur caufa doloris;

Quid dolet haec; certe filia vivit, ait.

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Non veniunt in idem pudor atque amor: omne videbat

Vulgus; eram lacero pc&us aperta finu.

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Tu mihi cura, Phaon: te fomnia noftra reducunt;

Somnia formofo candidiora die.

Illic te invenio, quanquam regionibus abfis;

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

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Saepe tuae videor fuppofuiffe meos. Blandior interdum; verifque fimillima verba Eloquor; & vigilant fenfibus ora meis.

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Now by the Nine, thofe pow'rs ador'd by me,
And Love, the God that ever waits on thee,
When firft I heard (from whom I hardly knew)
That you were fled, and all my joys with you,
Like fome fad ftatue, fpeechlefs, pale I ftood, 125
Grief chill'd my breast, and stopp'd iny freezing blood;
No figh to rife, no tear had pow'r to flow,
Fix'd in a ftupid lethargy of woe:
But when its way th'impetuous paffion found,
I rend my treffes and my breaft I wound;
I rave, then weep, I curfe, and then complain;
Now fwell to rage, now melt in tears again.
Not fiercer pangs distract the mournful dame,
Whofe first born infant feeds the fun'ral flame.
My fcornful brother with a fimile appears,
Infults 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 defpair,
All torn my garments, and my bofom bare,
My woes thy crimes, I to the world proclaim:
Such inconfiftent things are love and fhame!
"Tis thou art all my care and my delight,
My daily longing, and my dream by night:
Oh night more pleafing than the brightest day, 145
When fancy gives what abfence takes away,
And, drefs'd in all vifionary charms,
Reftores my fair deferter to my arms!
Then round your neck in wanton wreaths I twine,
Then you, methinks, as fondly circle mine:
A thoufand tender words I hear and speak;
A thousand melting kiffes, give, and take:

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Ofcula cognofco; quae tu committere linguae,
Aptaque confuêras accipere, apta dare.
Ulteriora pudet narrare; fed omnia fiunt,
Et juvat, & fine te non libet effe mihi.
At cum fe Titan oftendit, & omnia fecum;

Tam cito me fomnos deftituiffe queror.

Antra nemufque peto, tanquam nemus antraque pro

fint,

Confcia deliciis illa fuere tuis.

Illuc mentis inops, ut quam furialis Erichtho

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Impulit, in collo crine jacente feror.

Antra vident oculi fcabro pendentia topho,

Quae mihi Mygdonii marmoris inftar erant.

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Invenio fylvam, quae faepe cubilia nobis
Praebuit, & multa texit opaca coma.
At non invenio dominum fylvaeque, meumque.
Vile folum locus eft: dos erat ille loci.
Agnovi preffas noti mihi cefpitis herbas :
De noftro curvum Pondere gramen erat.
Incubui, tetigique locum qua parte fuisti;
Grata prius lacrymas combibit herba meas.
Quinetiam rami pofitis lugere videntur

Frondibus; & nullae dulce queruntur aves.
Sola virum non ulta pie moeftiffima mater
Concinit Ifmarium Daulias ales Ityn.
Ales Ityn, Sappho defertos cantat amores:
Hactenus, ut inedia caetera nocte filent.
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.

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Then fiercer joys, I blush to mention these,
Yet while I blufh, confefs how much they please.
But when, with day, the fweet delufions fly,
And all things wake to life and joy, but I,
As if once more forfaken, I complain,
And close my eyes to dream of you again:
Then frantic rife, and like fome Fury rove
Thro' lonely plains, and thro' the filent grove,
As if the filent grove, and lonely plains,
That knew my pleafures, 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 mofs o'er grown,
Than Phrygian marble, or the Parian stone.
I find the fhades that veil'd our joys before:
But, Phaon gone, thofe fhades delight no more.
Here the prefs'd herbs with bending tops betray
Where oft entwin'd in am'rous folds we lay; 170
I kifs that earth which once was prefs'd by you,
And all with tears the with'ring herbs bedew,
For thee the fading trees appear to mourn,
And birds defer their fongs till thy return:
Night fhades the groves, and all in filence lie, 175
All but the mournful Philomel and I:
With mournful Philomel I join my train,
Of Tereus fhe, of Phaon I complain.

A fpring there is, whofe filver waters show,
Clear as a glafs, the fhining fands below:
A flow'ry Lotos fpreads its arms above,
Shades all the banks, and feems itself a grove;
Eternal greens the moffy margin grace,
Watch'd by the fylvan Genius of the place.

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