Sappho and Phaon Read online

  "Several Grecian women have cultivated POETRY, with success, but none have hitherto attained to the excellence of SAPPHO. And among other poets, there are few, indeed, who have surpassed her."

  THE

  SUBJECT

  OF

  EACH SONNET.

  I. INTRODUCTORY.

  II. The temple of Chastity.

  III. The Bower of Pleasure.

  IV. Sappho discovers her Passion.

  V. Contemns its Power.

  VI. Describes the characteristics of Love.

  VII. Invokes Reason.

  VIII. Her Passion increases.

  IX. Laments the volatility of Phaon.

  X. Describes Phaon.

  XI. Rejects the Influence of Reason.

  XII. Previous to her Interview with Phaon.

  XIII. She endeavours to fascinate him.

  XIV. To the Aeolian Harp.

  XV. Phaon awakes.

  XVI. Sappho rejects Hope.

  XVII. The Tyranny of Love.

  XVIII. To Phaon.

  XIX. Suspects his constancy.

  XX. To Phaon.

  XXI. Laments her early Misfortunes.

  XXII. Phaon forsakes her.

  XXIII. Sappho's Conjectures.

  XXIV. Her Address to the Moon.

  XXV. To Phaon.

  XXVI. Contemns Philosophy.

  XXVII. Sappho's Address to the Stars.

  XXVIII. Describes the fascinations of Love.

  XXIX. Determines to follow Phaon.

  XXX. Bids farewell to Lesbos.

  XXXI. Describes her Bark.

  XXXII. Dreams of a Rival.

  XXXIII. Reaches Sicily.

  XXXIV. Sappho's Prayer to Venus.

  XXXV. Reproaches Phaon.

  XXXVI. Her confirmed Despair.

  XXXVII. Foresees her Death.

  XXXVIII. To a Sigh.

  XXXIX. To the Muses.

  XL. Visions appear to her in a dream.

  XLI. Resolves to take the Leap of Leucata.

  XLII. Her last Appeal to Phaon.

  XLIII. Her Reflections on the Leucadian Rock before she perishes.

  XLIV. Sonnect Conclusive.

  "FLENDUS AMOR MEUS EST; ELEGEIA FLEBILE CARMEN;

  NON FACIT AD LACRYMAS BARBITOS ULLA MEAS."

  Ovid.

  "Love taught my tears in sadder notes to flow,

  And tun'd my heart to elegies of woe."

  Pope.

  INTRODUCTORY

  FAVOUR'D by Heav'n are those, ordain'd to taste

  The bliss supreme that kindles fancy's fire;

  Whose magic fingers sweep the muses' lyre,

  In varying cadence, eloquently chaste!

  Well may the mind, with tuneful numbers grac'd,

  To Fame's immortal attributes aspire,

  Above the treach'rous spells of low desire,

  That wound the sense, by vulgar joys debas'd.

  For thou, blest POESY! with godlike pow'rs

  To calm the miseries of man wert giv'n;

  When passion rends, and hopeless love devours,

  By mem'ry goaded, and by frenzy driv'n,

  'Tis thine to guide him 'midst Elysian bow'rs,

  And shew his fainting soul,--a glimpse of Heav'n.

  II.

  HIGH on a rock, coaeval with the skies,

  A Temple stands, rear'd by immortal pow'rs

  To Chastity divine! ambrosial flow'rs

  Twining round icicles, in columns rise,

  Mingling with pendent gems of orient dyes!

  Piercing the air, a golden crescent tow'rs,

  Veil'd by transparent clouds; while smiling hours

  Shake from their varying wings--celestial joys!

  The steps of spotless marble, scatter'd o'er

  With deathless roses arm'd with many a thorn,

  Lead to the altar. On the frozen floor,

  Studded with tear-drops petrified by scorn,

  Pale vestals kneel the Goddess to adore,

  While Love, his arrows broke, retires forlorn.

  III

  TURN to yon vale beneath, whose tangled shade

  Excludes the blazing torch of noon-day light,

  Where sportive Fawns, and dimpled Loves invite,

  The bow'r of Pleasure opens to the glade:

  Lull'd by soft flutes, on leaves of violets laid,

  There witching beauty greets the ravish'd sight,

  More gentle than the arbitress of night

  In all her silv'ry panoply array'd!

  The birds breathe bliss! light zephyrs kiss the ground,

  Stealing the hyacinth's divine perfume;

  While from the pellucid fountains glitt'ring round,

  Small tinkling rills bid rival flow'rets bloom!

  HERE, laughing Cupids bathe the bosom's wound;

  THERE, tyrant passion finds a glorious tomb!

  IV

  WHY, when I gaze on Phaon's beauteous eyes,

  Why does each thought in wild disorder stray?

  Why does each fainting faculty decay,

  And my chill'd breast in throbbing tumults rise?

  Mute, on the ground my Lyre neglected lies,

  The Muse forgot, and lost the melting lay;

  My down-cast looks, my faultering lips betray,

  That stung by hopeless passion,--Sappho dies!

  Now, on a bank of Cypress let me rest;

  Come, tuneful maids, ye pupils of my care,

  Come, with your dulcet numbers soothe my breast;

  And, as the soft vibrations float on air,

  Let pity waft my spirit to the blest,

  To mock the barb'rous triumphs of despair!

  V

  O! How can LOVE exulting Reason queil!

  How fades each nobler passion from his gaze!

  E'en Fame, that cherishes the Poet's lays,

  That fame, ill-fated Sappho lov'd so well.

  Lost is the wretch, who in his fatal spell

  Wastes the short Summer of delicious days,

  And from the tranquil path of wisdom strays,

  In passion's thorny wild, forlorn to dwell.

  O ye! who in that sacred Temple smile

  Where holy Innocence resides enshrin'd;

  Who fear not sorrow, and who know not guile,

  Each thought compos'd, and ev'ry wish resign'd;

  Tempt not the path where pleasure's flow'ry wile

  In sweet, but pois'nous fetters, holds the mind.

  VI

  IS it to love, to fix the tender gaze,

  To hide the timid blush, and steal away;

  To shun the busy world, and waste the day

  In some rude mountain's solitary maze?

  Is it to chant one name in ceaseless lays,

  To hear no words that other tongues can say,

  To watch the pale moon's melancholy ray,

  To chide in fondness, and in folly praise?

  Is it to pour th' involuntary sigh,

  To dream of bliss, and wake new pangs to prove;

  To talk, in fancy, with the speaking eye,

  Then start with jealousy, and wildly rove;

  Is it to loathe the light, and wish to die?

  For these I feel,--and feel that they are Love.

  VII

  COME, Reason, come! each nerve rebellious bind,

  Lull the fierce tempest of my fev'rish soul;

  Come, with the magic of thy meek controul,

  And check the wayward wand'rings of my mind:

  Estrang'd from thee, no solace can I find,

  O'er my rapt brain, where pensive visions stole,

  Now passion reigns and stormy tumults roll--

  So the smooth Sea obeys the furious wind!

  In vain Philosophy unfolds his store,

  O'erwhelm'd is ev'ry source of pure delight;

  Dim is the golden page of wisdom's lore;

  All nature fades before my sick'ning sight:

  For what brig
ht scene can fancy's eye explore,

  'Midst dreary labyrinths of mental night?

  VIII

  WHY, through each aching vein, with lazy pace

  Thus steals the languid fountain of my heart,

  While, from its source, each wild convulsive start

  Tears the scorch'd roses from my burning face?

  In vain, O Lesbian Vales! your charms I trace;

  Vain is the poet's theme, the sculptor's art;

  No more the Lyre its magic can impart,

  Though wak'd to sound, with more than mortal grace!

  Go, tuneful maids, go bid my Phaon prove

  That passion mocks the empty boast of fame;

  Tell him no joys are sweet, but joys of love,

  Melting the soul, and thrilling all the frame!

  Oh! may th'ecstatic thought in bosom move,

  And sighs of rapture, fan the blush of shame!

  IX

  YE, who in alleys green and leafy bow'rs,

  Sport, the rude children of fantastic birth;

  Where frolic nymphs, and shaggy tribes of mirth,

  In clam'rous revels waste the midnight hours;

  Who, link'd in flaunting bands of mountain flow'rs,

  Weave your wild mazes o'er the dewy earth,

  Ere the fierce Lord of Lustre rushes forth,

  And o'er the world his beamy radiance pours!

  Oft has your clanking cymbal's madd'ning strain,

  Loud ringing through the torch-illumin'd grove,

  Lur'd my lov'd Phaon from the youthful train,

  Through rugged dells, o'er craggy rocks to rove;

  Then how can she his vagrant heart detain,

  Whose Lyre throbs only to the touch of Love!

  X

  DANG'ROUS to hear, is that melodious tongue,

  And fatal to the sense those murd'rous eyes,

  Where in a sapphire sheath, Love's arrow lies,

  Himself conceal'd the crystal haunts among!

  Oft o'er that form, enamour'd have I hung,

  On that smooth cheek to mark the deep'ning dyes,

  While from that lip the fragrant breath would rise,

  That lip, like Cupid's bow with rubies strung!

  Still let me gaze upon that polish'd brow,

  O'er which the golden hair luxuriant plays;

  So, on the modest lily's leaves of snow

  The proud Sun revels in resplendent rays!

  Warm as his beams this sensate heart shall glow,

  Till life's last hour, with Phaon's self decays!

  XI

  O! Reason! vaunted Sovreign of the mind!

  Thou pompous vision with a sounding name!

  Can'st thou, the soul's rebellious passions tame!

  Can'st thou in spells the vagrant fancy bind?

  Ah, no! capricious as the wav'ring wind,

  Are sighs of Love that dim thy boasted flame,

  While Folly's torch consumes the wreath of fame,

  And Pleasure's hands the sheaves of truth unbind.

  Press'd by the storms of Fate, hope shrinks and dies;

  Frenzy darts forth in mightiest ills array'd;

  Around thy throne destructive tumults rise,

  And hell-fraught jealousies, thy rights invade!

  Then, what art thou? O! Idol of the wise!

  A visionary theme!--a gorgeous shade!

  XII

  NOW, o'er the tessellated pavement strew

  Fresh saffron, steep'd in essence of the rose,

  While down yon agate column gently flows

  A glitt'ring streamlet of ambrosial dew!

  My Phaon smiles! the rich carnation's hue,

  On his flush'd cheek in conscious lustre glows,

  While o'er his breast enamour'd Venus throws

  Her starry mantle of celestial blue!

  Breathe soft, ye dulcet flutes, among the trees

  Where clust'ring boughs with golden citron twine;

  While slow vibrations, dying on the breeze,

  Shall soothe his soul with harmony divine!

  Then let my form his yielding fancy seize,

  And all his fondest wishes, blend with mine.

  XIII

  BRING, bring to deck my brow, ye Sylvan girls,

  A roseate wreath; nor for my waving hair

  The costly band of studded gems prepare,

  Of sparkling crysolite or orient pearls:

  Love, o'er my head his canopy unfurls,

  His purple pinions fan the whisp'ring air;

  Mocking the golden sandal, rich and rare,

  Beneath my feet the fragrant woodbine curls.

  Bring the thin robe, to fold about my breast,

  White as the downy swan; while round my waist

  Let leaves of glossy myrtle bind the vest,

  Not idly gay, but elegantly chaste!

  Love scorns the nymph in wanton trappings drest;

  And charms the most concealed, are doubly grac'd.

  XIV

  COME, soft Aeolian harp, while zephyr plays

  Along the meek vibration of thy strings,

  As twilight's hand her modest mantle brings,

  Blending with sober grey, the western blaze!

  O! prompt my Phaon's dreams with tend'rest lays,

  Ere night o'er shade thee with its humid wings,

  While the lorn Philomel his sorrow sings

  In leafy cradle, red with parting rays!

  Slow let thy dulcet tones on ether glide,

  So steals the murmur of the am'rous dove;

  The mazy legions swarm on ev'ry side,

  To lulling sounds the sunny people move!

  Let not the wise their little world deride,

  The smallest sting can wound the breast of Love.

  XV

  NOW, round my favor'd grot let roses rise,

  To strew the bank where Phaon wakes from rest;

  O! happy buds! to kiss his burning breast,

  And die, beneath the lustre of his eyes!

  Now, let the timbrels echo to the skies,

  Now damsels sprinkel cassia on his vest,

  With od'rous wreaths of constant myrtle drest,

  And flow'rs, deep tinted with the rainbow's dyes!

  From cups of porphyry let nectar flow,

  Rich as the perfume of Phoenicia's vine!

  Now let his dimpling cheek with rapture glow,

  While round his heart love's mystic fetters twine;

  And let the Grecian Lyre its aid bestow,

  In songs of triumph, to proclaim him mine!

  XVI

  DELUSIVE Hope! more transient than the ray

  That leads pale twilight to her dusky bed,

  O'er woodland glen, or breezy mountain's head,

  Ling'ring to catch the parting sigh of day.

  Hence with thy visionary charms, away!

  Nor o'er my path the flow'rs of fancy spread;

  Thy airy dreams on peaceful pillows shed,

  And weave for thoughtless brows, a garland gay.

  Farewell low vallies; dizzy cliffs, farewell!

  Small vagrant rills that murmur as ye flow:

  Dark bosom'd labyrinth and thorny dell;

  The task be mine all pleasures to forego;

  To hide, where meditation loves to dwell,

  And feed my soul, with luxury of woe!

  XVII

  Love steals unheeded o'er the tranquil mind,

  As Summer breezes fan the sleeping main,

  Slow through each fibre creeps the subtle pain,

  'Till closely round the yielding bosom twin'd.

  Vain is the hope the magic to unbind,

  The potent mischief riots in the brain,

  Grasps ev'ry thought, and burns in ev'ry vein,

  'Till in the heart the Tyrant lives enshrin'd.

  Oh! Victor strong! bending the vanquish'd frame;

  Sweet is the thraldom that thou bid'st us prove!

  And sacr
ed is the tear thy victims claim,

  For blest are those whom sighs of sorrow move!

  Then nymphs beware how ye profane my name,

  Nor blame my weakness, till like me ye love!

  XVIII

  WHY art thou chang'd? O Phaon! tell me why?

  Love flies reproach, when passion feels decay;

  Or, I would paint the raptures of that day,

  When, in sweet converse, mingling sigh with sigh,

  I mark'd the graceful languor of thine eye

  As on a shady bank entranc'd we lay:

  O! Eyes! whose beamy radiance stole away

  As stars fade trembling from the burning sky!

  Why art thou chang'd? dear source of all my woes!

  Though dark my bosom's tint, through ev'ry vein

  A ruby tide of purest lustre flows,

  Warm'd by thy love, or chill'd by thy disdain;

  And yet no bliss this sensate Being knows;

  Ah! why is rapture so allied to pain?

  XIX

  FAREWELL, ye coral caves, ye pearly sands,

  Ye waving woods that crown yon lofty steep;

  Farewell, ye Nereides of the glitt'ring deep,

  Ye mountain tribes, ye fawns, ye sylvan bands:

  On the bleak rock your frantic minstrel stands,

  Each task forgot, save that, to sigh and weep;

  In vain the strings her burning fingers sweep,

  No more her touch, the Grecian Lyre commands!

  In Circe's cave my faithless Phaon's laid,

  Her daemons dress his brow with opiate flow'rs;

  Or, loit'ring in the brown pomgranate shade,

  Beguile with am'rous strains the fateful hours;

  While Sappho's lips, to paly ashes fade,

  And sorrow's cank'ring worm her heart devours!

  XX

  OH! I could toil for thee o'er burning plains;

  Could smile at poverty's disastrous blow;

  With thee, could wander 'midst a world of snow,

  Where one long night o'er frozen Scythia reigns.

  Sever'd from thee, my sick'ning soul disdains

  The thrilling thought, the blissful dream to know,

  And can'st thou give my days to endless woe,