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 songs shall ring,
No more these 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 fong:
Abfent from thee, the Poet's flame expires;
But ah! how fiercely burn 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?
Non mihi refpondent veteres in carmina vires.
Plectra dolore tacent: muta dolore lyra eft.
Lesbides aequoreae, nupturaque nuptaque proles;
Lesbides, Aeolia nomina dicta lyra;
Lefbides, infamem quae me fecistis amatae ;
Definite ad citharas turba venire meas.
Abstulit omne Phaon, quod vobis ante placebat. 235
(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.
ah why thefe long delays?
Poor Sappho dies while careless Phaon stays.
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 should 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!
Sive redis, puppique tuae votiva parantur
Munera; quid laceras pecora noftra mora?
Solve ratem: Venus orta mari, mare praeftat eunti.
Aura dabit curfum; tu modo folve ratem.
Ipfe gubernabit refidens in puppe Cupido :
Ipfe dabit tenera vela legetque manu.
Sive juvat longe fugiffe Pelasgida Sappho ;
(Non tamen invenies, cur ego digna fuga.)
[O faltem miferae, Crudelis, epiftola dicat:
Ut mihi Leucadiae fata petantur aquae.]
ABELARD and Eloifa flourished in the twelfth
Century; they were two of the most distinguished perfons 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 history of his misfortune, fell into the hands of Eloifa. This awakening all her tenderness, occafioned thofe celebrated letters (out of which the following is partly extracted) which give fo lively a picture of the struggles of grace and nature, virtue and paffion.
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