My tresses all abound, nor gems display,
Nor scents Arabian! on my path no flow’rs
Imbibe the morn’s resuscitating pow’rs,
For one blank sorrow, saddens all my way!
As slow the radiant Sun of reason rose,
Through tears my dying parents saw it shine;
A brother’s frailties, swell’d the tide of woes,-
And, keener far, maternal griefs were mine!
Phaon! if soon these weary eyes shall close,
Oh! must that task, that mournful task, be thine?
XXII. Phaon forsakes her.
Wild is the foaming Sea! The surges roar!
And nimbly dart the livid lightnings round!
On the rent rock the angry waves rebound;
Ah me! the less’ning bark is seen no more!
Along the margin of the trembling shore,
Loud as the blast my frantic cries shall sound,
My storm-drench’d limbs the flinty fragments wound,
And o’er my bleeding breast the billows pour!
Phaon! return! ye winds, O! waft the strain
To his swift bark; ye barb’rous waves forbear!
Taunt not the anguish of a lover’s brain,
Nor feebly emulate the soul’s despair!
For howling winds, and foaming seas, in vain
Assail the breast, when passion rages there!
XXIII. Sappho’s Conjectures.
To Ætna’s scorching sands my Phaon flies!
False Youth! can other charms attractive prove?
Say, can Sicilian loves thy passions move,
Play round thy heart, and fix thy fickle eyes,
While in despair the Lesbian Sappho dies?
Has Spring for thee a crown of poppies wove,
Or dost thou languish in th’ Idalian grove,
Whose altar kindles, fann’d by Lover’s sighs?
Ah! think, that while on Ætna’s shores you stray,
A fire, more fierce than Ætna’s, fills my breast;
Nor deck Sicilian nymphs with garlands gay,
While Sappho’s brows with cypress wreaths are drest;
Let one kind word my weary woes repay,
Or, in eternal slumbers bid them rest.
XXIV. Her Address to the Moon.
O Thou! meek Orb! that stealing o’er the dale
Cheer’st with thy modest beams the noon of night!
On the smooth lake diffusing silv’ry light,
Sublimely still, and beautifully pale!
What can thy cool and placid eye avail,
Where fierce despair absorbs the mental sight,
While inbred glooms the vagrant thoughts invite,
To tempt the gulph where howling fiends assail?
O, Night! all nature owns thy temper’d pow’r;
Thy solemn pause, thy dews, thy pensive beam;
Thy sweet breath whisp’ring in the moonlight bow’r,
While fainting flow’rets kiss the wand’ring stream!
Yet, vain is ev’ry charm! and vain the hour,
That brings to madd’ning love, no soothing dream!
XXV. To Phaon.
Can’st thou forget, O! Idol of my Soul!
Thy Sappho’s voice, her form, her dulcet Lyre!
That melting ev’ry thought to fond desire,
Bade sweet delerium o’er thy senses roll?
Can’st thou, so soon, renounce the blest control
That calm’d with pity’s tears love’s raging fire,
While Hope, slow breathing on the trembling wire,
In every note with soft persuasion stole?
Oh! Sov’reign of my heart! return! return!
For me no spring appears, no summers bloom,
No Sun-beams glitter, and no altars burn!
The mind’s dark winter of eternal gloom,
Shews ‘midst the waste a solitary urn,
A blighted laurel, and a mould’ring tomb!
XXVI. Contemns Philosophy.
Where antique woods o’er-hang the mountains’s crest,
And mid-day glooms in solemn silence lour;
Philosophy, go seek a lonely bow’r,
And waste life’s fervid noon in fancied rest.
Go, where the bird of sorrow weaves her nest,
Cooing, in sadness sweet, through night’s dim hour;
Go, cull the dew-drops from each potent flow’r
That med’cines to the cold and reas’ning breast!
Go, where the brook in liquid lapse steals by,
Scarce heard amid’st the mingling echoes round,
What time, the noon fades slowly down the sky,
And slumb’ring zephyrs moan, in caverns bound:
Be these thy pleasures, dull Philosophy!
Nor vaunt the balm, to heal a lover’s wound.
XXVII. Sappho’s Address to the Stars.
Oh! ye bright Stars! that on the Ebon fields
Of Heav’n’s empire, trembling seems to stand;
‘Till rosy morn unlocks her portal bland,
Where the proud Sun his fiery banner wields!
To flames, less fierce than mine, your lustre yields,
And pow’rs more strong my countless tears command;
Love strikes the feeling heart with ruthless hand,
And only spares the breast which dullness shields!
Since, then, capricious nature but bestows
The fine affections of the soul, to prove
A keener sense of desolating woes,
Far, far from me the empty boast remove;
If bliss from coldness, pain from passion flows,
Ah! who would wish to feel, or learn to love?
XXVIII. Describes the fascinations of Love.
Weak is the sophistry, and vain the art
That whispers patience to the mind’s despair!
That bids reflection bathe the wounds of care,
While Hope, with pleasing phantoms, soothes their smart.
For mem’ry still, reluctant to depart
From the dear spot, once rich in prospects fair,
Bids the fond soul enamour’d there,
And its least charm is grateful to the heart!
He never lov’d, who could not muse and sigh,
Spangling the sacred turf with frequent tears,
Where the small rivulet, that ripples by,
Recalls the scenes of past and happier years,
When, on its banks he watch’d the speaking eye,
And one sweet smile o’erpaid an age of fears!
XXIX. Determines to follow Phaon.
Farewell, ye tow’ring Cedars, in whose shade,
Lull’d by the Nightingale, I sunk to rest,
While spicy breezes hover’d o’er my breast
To fan my cheek, in deep’ning tints array’d;
While am’rous insects, humming round me, play’d,
Each flow’r forsook, of prouder sweets in quest;
Of glowing lips, in humid fragrance drest,
That mock’d the Sunny Hybla’s vaunted aid!
Farewell, ye limpid rivers! Oh! farewell!
No more shall Sappho to your grots repair;
No more your white waves to her bosom swell,
Or your dank weeds, entwine her floating hair;
As erst, when Venus in her sparry cell
Wept, to behold a brighter goddess there!
XXX. Bids farewell to Lesbos.
O’er the tall cliff that bounds the billowy main
Shad’wing the surge that sweeps the lonely strand,
While the thin vapours break along the sand,
Day’s harbinger unfolds the liquid plain.
The rude Sea murmurs, mournful as the strain
That love-lorn minstrels strike with trembling hand,
While from their green beds rise the Syren band
With tongues aerial to repeat my pain!
The vessel rocks beside the pebbly
shore,
The foamy curls its gaudy trappings lave;
Oh! Bark propitious! bear me gently o’er,
Breathe soft, ye winds; rise slow, O! swelling wave!
Lesbos; these eyes shall meet thy sands no more:
I fly, to seek my Lover, or my Grave!
XXXI. Describes her Bark.
Far o’er the waves my lofty Bark shall glide,
Love’s frequent sighs the flutt’ring sails shall swell,
While to my native home I bid farewell,
Hope’s snowy hand the burnis’d helm shall guide!
Triton’s shall sport admidst the yielding tide,
Myriads of Cupids round the prow shall dwell,
And Venus, thron’d within her opal shell,
Shall proudly o’er the glitt’ring billows ride!
Young Dolphins, dashing in the golden spray,
Shall with their scaly forms illume the deep
Ting’d with the purple flush of sinking day,
Whose flaming wreath shall crown the distant steep;
While on the breezy deck soft minstrels play,
And songs of love, the lover soothe to sleep!
XXXII. Dreams of a Rival.
Blest as the Gods! Sicilian Maid is he,
The youth whose soul thy yielding graces charm;
Who bound, O! thraldom sweet! by beauty’s arm,
In idle dalliance fondly sports with thee!
Blest as the Gods! that iv’ry throne to see,
Throbbing with transports, tender, timid, warm!
While round thy fragrant lips zephyrs swarm!
As op’ning buds attract the wand’ring Bee!
Yet, short is youthful passion’s fervid hour;
Soon, shall another clasp the beauteous boy;
Soon, shall a rival prove, in that gay bow’r,
The pleasing torture of excessive joy!
The Bee flies sicken’d from the sweetest flow’r;
The lightning’s shaft, but dazzles to destroy!
XXXIII. Reaches Sicily.
I Wake! delusive phantoms hence, away!
Tempt not the weakness of a lover’s breast;
The softest breeze can shake the halcyon’s nest,
And lightest clouds o’ercast the dawning ray!
’Twas but a vision! Now, the star of day
Peers, like a gem on Aetna’s burning crest!
Wellcome, ye Hills, with golden vintage drest;
Sicilian forests brown, and vallies gay!
A mournful stranger, from the Lesbian Isle,
Not strange, in loftiest eulogy of Song!
She, who could teach the Stoic’s cheek to smile,
Thaw the cold heart, and chain the wond’ring throng,
Can find no balm, love’s arrows to beguile;
Ah! Sorrows known too soon! and felt too long!
XXXIV. Sappho’s Prayer to Venus.
Venus! to thee, the Lesbian Muse shall sing,
The song, which Myttellenian youths admir’d,
when Echo, am’rous of the strain inspir’d,
Bade the wild rocks with madd’ning plaudits ring!
Attend my pray’r! O! Queen of rapture! bring
To these fond arms, he, whom my soul has fir’d;
From these fond arms remov’d; yet, still desir’d,
Though love, exulting, spreads his varying wing!
Oh! source of ev’ry joy! of ev’ry care
Blest Venus! Goddess of the zone divine!
To Phaon’s bosom, Phaon’s victim bear;
So shall her warmest, tend’rest vows be thine!
For Venus, Sappho shall a wreath prepare,
And Love be crown’d, immortal as the Nine!
XXXV. Reproaches Phaon.
What means the mist opake that veils these eyes;
Why does yon threat’ning tempest shroud the day?
Why does thy altar, Venus, fade away,
And on my breast the dews of horror rise?
Phaon is false! be dim ye orient Skies;
And let black Erebus succeed your ray;
Let clashing thunders roll, and lightning play;
Phaon is false! and hopeless Sappho dies!
“Farewell! my Lesbian love, you might have said,”
Such sweet remembrance had some pity prov’d,
“Or coldly this, farewell, Oh! Lesbian maid!”
No task severe, for one so fondly lov’d!
The gentle thought had sooth’d my wand’ring shade,
From life’s dark valley, and its thorns remov’d!
XXXVI. Her confirmed Despair.
Lead me, Sicilian Maids, to haunted bow’rs,
While yon pale moon displays her faintest beams
O’er blasted woodlands, and enchanted streams,
Whose banks infect the breeze with pois’nous flow’rs.
Ah! lead me, where the barren mountain tow’rs,
Where no sounds echo, but the night-owl’s screams,
Where some lone spirit of the desart gleams,
And lurid horrors wing the fateful hours!
Now goaded frenzy grasps my shrinking brain,
Her touch absorbs the crystal fount of woe!
My blood rolls burning through each gasping vein;
Away, lost Lyre! unless thou can’st bestow
A charm, to lull that agonizing pain,
Which those who never lov’d, can never know!
XXXVII. Foresees her Death.
When, in the gloomy mansion of the dead,
This with’ring heart, this faded form shall sleep;
When these fond eyes, at length shall cease to weep,
And earth’s cold lap receive this fev’rish head;
Envy shall turn away, a tear to shed,
And Time’s obliterating pinions sweep
The spot, where poets shall their vigils keep,
To mourn and wander near my freezing bed!
Then, my pale ghost, upon th’ Elysian shore,
Shall smile, releas’d from ev’ry mortal care;
Whil, doom’d love’s victim to repine no more,
My breast shall bathe in endless rapture there!
Ah! no!my restless shade would still deplore,
Nor taste that bliss, which Phaon did not share.
XXXVIII. To a Sigh.
Oh Sigh! thou steal’st, the herald of the breast,
The lover’s fears, the lover’s pangs to tell;
Thou bid’st with timid grace the bosom swell,
Cheating the day of joy, the night of rest!
Oh! lucid Tears! with eloquence confest,
Why on my fading cheek unheeded dwell,
Meek, as the dew-drops on the flowret’s bell
By ruthless tempests to the green-sod prest.
Fond sigh be hush’d! congeal, O! slighted tear!
Thy feeble pow’rs the busy Fates control!
Or if thy crystal streams again appear,
Let them, like Lethe’s, oblivion roll:
For Love the tyrant plays, when hope is near,
And she who flies the lover, chains the soul!
XXXIX. To the Muses.
Prepare your wreaths, Aonian maids divine,
To strew the tranquil bed where I shall sleep;
In tears, the myrtle and the laurel steep,
And let Erato’s hand the trophies twine.
No parian marble, there, with labour’d line,
Shall bid the wand’ring lover stay to weep;
There holy silence shall her vigils keep.
Save, when the nightingale such woes as mine
Shall sadly sing; as twilight’s curtains spread,
There shall the branching lotos widely wave,
Sprinkling soft show’rs upon the lily’s head,
Sweet drooping emblem for a lover’s grave!
And there shall Phaon pearls of pity shed,
To gem the vanquish’d heart he scorn’d to save!
/> XL. Visions appear to her in a dream.
On the low margin of a murm’ring stream,
As rapt in meditation’s arms I lay;
Each aching sense in slumbers stole away,
While potent fancy form’d a soothing dream;
O’er the Leucadian deep, a dazzling beam
Shed the bland light of empyrean day!
But soon transparent shadows veil’d each ray,
While mystic visions sprang athwart the gleam!
Now to the heaving gulf they seem’d to bend,
And now across the sphery regions glide;
Now in mid-air, their dulcet voices blend,
“Awake! awake!” the restless phalanx cried,
“See ocean yawns the lover’s woes to end,
“Plunge the green wave, and bid thy griefs subside.”
XLI. Resolves to take the Leap of Leucata.
Yes, I will go, where circling whirlwinds rise,
Where threat’ning clouds in sable grandeur lour;
Where the blast yells, the liquid columns pour,
And madd’ning billows combat with the skies!
There, while the Daemon of the tempest flies
On growing pinions through the troublous hour,
The wild waves gasp impatient to devour,
And on the rock the waken’d Vulture cries!
Oh! dreadful solace to the stormy mind!
To me, more pleasing than the valley’s rest,
The woodland songsters, or the sportive kind,
That nip the turf, or prune the painted crest;
For in despair alone, the wretched find
That unction sweet, which lulls the bleeding breast!
XLII. Her last Appeal to Phaon.
Oh! can’st thou bear to see this faded frame,
Deform’d and mangled by the rocky deep?
Wilt thou remember, and forbear to weep,
My fatal fondness, and my peerless fame?
Soon o’er this heart, now warm with passion’s flame,
The howling winds and foamy waves shall sweep;
Those eyes be ever clos’d in death’s cold sleep,
Collected Poetical Works of Mary Robinson Page 28