With mournful Philonel I join my train,
Of Tereus fhe, of Phaon I complain.

A fpring there is, whofe filver waters fhow,'
Clear as a glafs, the fhining fands below:
A flow'ry lotos fpreads its arms above,
Shades all the banks, and feems itfelf a grovė;
Eternal greens the molly margin grace,
Watch'd by the fylvan genius of the place.

Here as I lay, and fwell'd with tears the flood:
Before my fight a watry virgin flood:

She flood, and cry'd,

6

O you

that love in vain!

Fly hence, and feek the fair Leucadian main.
There flands a rock, from whofe impending steep
Apollo's fane furveys the rolling deep;

There injur'd lovers, leaping from above,
Their flames extinguifh, and forget to love.
Deucalion once with hopelefs fury burn'd,'
In vain he. lov'd, relentless Pyrrha scorn'd:
• But when from hence he plung'd into the main,
• Deucalion fcorn'd, and Pyrrha lov'd in vain.
Hafte, Sappho, hafte, from high Leucadia throw
Thy wretched weight, nor dread the deeps below!
She fpoke, and vanifh'd with the voice, I rife,
And filent tears fall-trickling from my eyes.
I go, ye nymphs! thofe rocks and feas to prove ;
How much I fear! but ah, how much I love!
I go, ye nymphs, where furious love infpires;
Let female fears fubmit to female fires :

Ta

To rocks and feas I fly from Phaon's hate,
And hope from feas and rocks a milder fate*.
Ye gentle gales, beneath my body blow,
And fofily lay me on the waves below!

And thou, kind Love, my finking limbs fufta n,"
Spread thy foft wings, and waft me o'er the main,
Nor let a lover's death the gillefs flood prophane↓
On Phoebus fhrine my harp I'll then beftow,

And this infcription fhall be plac'd below.

Here the who fung, to him that did infpire,

Sappho to Phabus confecrates her lyre;

What fuits with Sappho, Phoebus, fuits with thee;
The gift, the giver, and the god agree.'

But why, alas! relentlefs youth, ah why
To distant feas must tender Sappho fly?

Thy charms than thofe may far more pow'rful bé,
And Peabus' felf is lefs a god to me.

Ah! canft thou doom me to the rocks and fea,
O far more faithlefs and more hard than they ?
Ah! cant thou rather fee this tender breast
Dafh'd on these rocks than to thy bofom preft?
This breaft, which once, in vain! you lik'd fo well;
Where the loves play'd, and where the Mufes dwell
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.

See the Plate

Ye

Ye Lefbian virgins, and ye Lesbian dames,
Themes of my verse, and objects of my flames,
No more your groves with my glad fongs fhall ring,
No more thefe 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 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'ts, 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?
If you return, ah why these long delay's ?
Poor Sappho dies while careless Phaon flays.
O launch thy bark, nor fear the wairy plain :
Venus for thee fhall fmooth her native main.
O launch thy bark, fecure of profp'rous gates;
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 ?}
If not from Phaon I must hope for cafe,

Ah let me feek it from the raging feas
To raging feas unpity'd I'll remove,
And either ccafe to live, or ceafe to love!

RE

REFLECTIONS ON A FUTURE STATE

'TIS

From a Review of Winter.

By JAMES THOMSON.

IS done! dread Winter spreads his latest glooms,
And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year.

How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!

How dumb the tuneful! Horror wide extends
His defolate domain. Behold, fond man!

See here thy pictur'd life; pafs fome few years,
Thy flow'ring Spring, thy Summer's ardent ftrength,
Thy fober Autumn fading into age,

And pale concluding Winter comes at last,

And fhuts the fcene. Ah! whither now are fled
Thofe dreams of greatnefs? thofe unfolid hopes
Of happinefs? thofe longings after fame ?
Thofe reftlefs cares? thofe bufy buffling days?
Those gay-spent, feftive nights? thofe veering thoughts
Loft between good and ill, that hard thy life?
All now are vanish'd! Virtue fole furvives,
Immortal never-failing friend of man,
His guide to happiness on high. And fee!
'Tis come, the glorious morn! the fecond birth
Of heaven and earth! awak'ning nature hears
The new-creating word, and Haris to life,

In

In ev'ry heighten'd form, from pain and death.
For ever free. The great eternal scheme,
Involving all, and in a perfect whole
Uniting as the profpects wider fpreads,

To reafon's eye refin'd clears up apace.
Ye vainly wife! ye blind prefumptuous! now,
Confounded in the duft, adore that Pow'r
And Wisdom oft arraing'd; fee now the cause
Why una!luming worth in fecret liv'd,
And died neglected: why the good man's fhare.
In life was gall and bittergefs of foul:
Why the lone widow and her orphans pin'd
In ftarving folitude; while luxury,

In palaces, lay ftraining her low thought,
To form unreal wants: why heaven-born truth,
And moderation fair, wore the red mark
Of fuperftition's fcourge: why licens'd pain,
That cruel spoiler, that embofom'd foe,
Embitter'd all our blifs. Ye good diftrefs'd!.
Ye noble few! who here unbending stand
Beneath's life's preffure, yet bear up awhile,
And what your bounded view, which only faw
A little part, deem'd evil, is no more:
The forms of Wintry Time will quickly pafs,
And one unbounded Spring encircle all.

AWIN