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.

I find the shades that veil'd our joys before;

But, Phaon gone, the shades delight no more.
Here the press'd herbs with bending tops betray
Where oft entwin'd in am'rous folds we lay:
I kiss that earth which once was press'd by you,
And all with tears the with'ring herbs bedew.
For thee the fading trees appear
to mourn,

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170

And birds defer their songs till they return:
Night shades the groves, and all in silence lie,
All but the mournful Philomel and I:

175

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:
A flow'ry lotos spreads its arms above,

Shades all the banks, and seems itself a grove;
Eternal greens the mossy margin grace,

180

Watch'd by the sylvan genius of the place.
Here as I lay, and swell'd with tears the flood, 185
Before my sight a wat'ry virgin stood:

She stood and cried, "O you that love in vain!

66

190

Fly hence, and seek the fair Leucadian main: "There stands a rock from whose impending steep "Apollo's fane surveys the rolling deep; “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, "Deucalion scorn'd, and Pyrrha lov'd in vain. 196 Haste, Sappho, haste, from high Leucadio 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. I go, ye nymphs! these 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.

66

To rocks and seas I fly from Phaon's hate,
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,
Nor let a lover's death the guiltless flood profane!
On Phoebus' shrine my harp I'll then bestow,
And this inscription shall be plac'd below:

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212

"Here she who sung to him that did inspire,

"Sappho to Phoebus consecrates her lyre.

215

"What suits with Sappho, Phœbus, suits with thee; "The gift, the giver, and the god agree.”

But why, alas! relentless youth, ah why To distant seas must tender Sappho fly?

Thy charms than those may far more pow'rful be, And Phoebus' self is less a god to me.

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224

Ah! canst thou doom me to the rocks and sea?
Oh far more faithless and more hard than they!
Ah! canst thou rather see this tender breast
Dash'd on these rocks, than to thy bosom press'd?
This breast which once, in vain! you lik'd so well;
Where the loves play'd, and where the Muses dwell.
Alas! the Muses now no more inspire;

230

Untun'd my lute, and silent is my lyre;
My languid numbers have forgot to flow,
And fancy sinks beneath a weight of woe.
Ye Lesbian virgins, and ye Lesbian dames,
Themes of my verse, and objects of my flames,
No more your groves with my glad songs shall ring,
No more these hands shall touch the trembling string:
My Phaon's fled, and I those arts resign,

(Wretch that I am, to call that Phaon mine!)
Return, fair youth, return, and bring along

Joy to my soul, and vigour to my song:

236

Absent from thee the poet's flame expires;

240

But ah! how fiercely burns the lover's fires!
Gods! can no pray'rs, no sighs, no numbers move
One savage heart, or teach it how to love?
The winds my pray’rs, my sighs, my numbers bear,
The flying winds have lost them all in air! 245
Oh when, alas! shall more auspicious gales
To these fond eyes restore thy welcome sails?
If you return....ah, why these long delays?
Poor Sappho dies, while careless Phaon stays.
O launch thy bark, nor fear the wat❜ry plain;
Venus for thee shall smooth her native main.
O launch thy bark, secure of prosp'rous gales;
Cupid for thee shall spread the swelling sails.
If you will fly....yet ah! what cause can be,
Too cruel youth, that you should fly from me?
If not from Phaon I must hope for ease,
Ah let me seek it from the raging seas:
To raging seas unpitied I'll remove,

And either cease to live or cease to love!

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ELOISA TO ABELARD.

THE ARGUMENT.

Abelard and Eloisa flourished in the twelfth century: they were two of the most distinguished persons of their age in learning and beauty, but for nothing more famous than for their unfortunate passion. After a long course of calamities, they retired each to a several convent, and consecrated the remainder of their days to religion. It was many years after this separation that a letter of Abelard's to a friend, which contained the history of his misfortune, fell into the hands of Eloisa. This awakening all her tenderness, occasioned those celebrated letters (out of which the following is partly extracted) which give so lively a picture of the struggles of grace and nature, virtue and passion. P.

IN these deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heav'nly-pensive Contemplation dwells, And ever-musing Melancholy reigns,

What means this tumult in a vestal's veins ?