144
Translations, &c.
But, Phaon! why should I this toil endure,
When thy return would soon complete the cure? 190
Thy beauty, and its balmy pow'r, would be
A Phœbus and Leucadian rock to me.
O harder than the rock to which I go,
And deafer than the waves that war below!
Think yet, oh, think! shall future ages tell 195
That I to Phaon's scorn a victim fell?
Or hadst thou rather see this tender breast
Bruis'd on the clift than close to Phaon's prest?
This breast which, fill'd with bright poetic fire,
You made me once believe you did admire! 200
O could it now supply me with address
To plead my cause, and court thee with success!
But mighty woes my genius quite control,
And damp the rising vigour of my soul:
No more, ye Lesbian Nymphs! desire a song; 205
Mute is my voice, my lute is all unstrung;
My—Phaon's fled, who made my fancy shine,
(Ah! yet I scarce forbear to call him—mine.)
Phaon is fled! but bring the youth again,
Inspiring ardours will revive my vein. 210
But why, alas! this unavailing pray'r?
Vain are my vows, and fleet with common air:
My vows the winds disperse, and make their sport,
But ne'er will waft him to the Lesbian port.
Yet if you purpose to return, ’tis wrong 215
To let your mistress languish here so long.
When thy return would soon complete the cure? 190
Thy beauty, and its balmy pow'r, would be
A Phœbus and Leucadian rock to me.
O harder than the rock to which I go,
And deafer than the waves that war below!
Think yet, oh, think! shall future ages tell 195
That I to Phaon's scorn a victim fell?
Or hadst thou rather see this tender breast
Bruis'd on the clift than close to Phaon's prest?
This breast which, fill'd with bright poetic fire,
You made me once believe you did admire! 200
O could it now supply me with address
To plead my cause, and court thee with success!
But mighty woes my genius quite control,
And damp the rising vigour of my soul:
No more, ye Lesbian Nymphs! desire a song; 205
Mute is my voice, my lute is all unstrung;
My—Phaon's fled, who made my fancy shine,
(Ah! yet I scarce forbear to call him—mine.)
Phaon is fled! but bring the youth again,
Inspiring ardours will revive my vein. 210
But why, alas! this unavailing pray'r?
Vain are my vows, and fleet with common air:
My vows the winds disperse, and make their sport,
But ne'er will waft him to the Lesbian port.
Yet if you purpose to return, ’tis wrong 215
To let your mistress languish here so long.
