 | The Poems of Ambrose Philips |  |
162
A Fragment of Sappho.
I
Bless'd as the immortal gods is he,The youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee all the while
Softly speak and sweetly smile.
II
'Twas this depriv'd my soul of rest,And rais'd such tumults in my breast;
For while I gaz'd, in transport toss'd,
My breath was gone, my voice was lost.
III
My bosom glow'd; the subtle flameRan quick through all my vital frame;
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung,
My ears with hollow murmurs rung.
IV
In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd,My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd;
My feeble pulse forgot to play,
I fainted, sunk, and dy'd away.
| The Poems of Ambrose Philips | |