AY, lovely youth, that doft my heart command,
Can Phaon's eyes forget his Sapho's hand?
Must then her name the wretched writer prove,
To thy remembrance loft, as to thy love?
Ask not the cause that I new numbers chufe,
The Lute neglected, and the Lyric mufe;
Love taught my tears in fadder notes to flow,
And tun'd my heart to clegies of woe.
Ì burn, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn
By driving winds the fpreading flames are born!
Phaon to Etna's fcorching fields retires, While I confume with more than Etna's fires! No more my foul a charm in music finds, Music has charms alone for peaceful minds: Soft fcenes of folitude no more can please, Love enters there, and I'm my own disease: No more the Lesbian dames my passion move, Once the dear objects of my guilty love; All other loves are loft in only thine, Ah youth ungrateful to a flame like mine! Whom would not all thofe blooming charms furprize, Those heav'nly looks, and dear, deluding eyes? The harp and bow would you like Phoebus bear, A brighter Phoebus, Phaon might appear, Would you with ivy wreath your flowing hair, Not Bacchus' felf with Phaon could compare : Yet Phoebus lov'd, and Bacchus felt the flame, One Daphne warm'd, and one the Cretan dame; Nymphs that in verfe no more could rival me, Than ev'n thofe Gods contend in charms with thee. The Muses teach me all their foftest lays,
And the wide world refounds with Sapho's praise.
Tho' great Alcaus more fublimely fings,
And strikes with bolder rage the founding strings,
No lefs renown attends the moving lyre,
Which Venus tunes, and all her Loves infpire.
To me what nature has in charms deny'd,
Is well by wit's more lasting charms supply'd.
Tho' fhort my ftature, yet my name extends
To heav'n itself, and earth's remoteft ends.
Brown as I am, an Ethiopian dame
Inspir'd young Perfeus with a gen'rous flame.
Turtles and doves of diff'ring hues, unite,
And gloffy jett is pair'd with fhining white.
If to no charms thou wilt thy heart refign,
But fuch as merit, fuch as equal thine,
By none alas! by none thou can'st be mov'd,
Phaon alone by Phaon must be lov❜d!
Yet once thy Sapho could thy cares employ,
Once in her arms you center'd all your joy:
Still all those joys to my remembrance move,
For oh! how vaft a memory has Love?
My mufic, then, you could for ever hear,
And all my words were music to your ear.
You ftop'd with kiffes my inchanting tongue,
And found my kiffes sweeter than my fong.
In all I pleas'd, but most in what was best ;
And the laft joy was dearer than the rest.
Then with each word, each glance, each motion fir'd,
You ftill enjoy'd, and yet you ftill defir'd,
Till all diffolving in the trance we lay,
And in tumultuous raptures dy'd away.
The fair Sicilians now thy foul inflame;
Why was I born, ye Gods, a Lesbian dame?
But ah beware, Sicilian nymphs! nor boast
That wandring heart which I fo lately loft;
Nor be with all thofe tempting words abus'd,
Those tempting words were all to Sapho us'd.
And you that rule Sicilia's happy plains,
Have pity, Venus, on your Poet's pains!
Shall fortune ftill in one fad tenor run,
And still increafe the woes fo foon begun?
Enur'd to forrows from my tender years,
My parent's afhes drank my early tears.
My brother next, neglecting wealth and fame,
Ignobly burn'd in a destructive flame.
|