What it was I wished to receive of all things, Maddened in my soul, ‘Who is he thou seekest, Whom shall I ensnare for my darling Sappho? Who is it grieves thee?’ ‘Nay, if thou but flee he will soon pursue thee, If he get no presents, he’ll give thee presents, If thou love him not, he will love thee quickly, E’en if thou wilt not.’ Come then now again and relieve me, goddess, From my carking cares and whate’er my spirit Longeth for accomplish, and on my side do Battle, my mistress; (GILDERSLEEVE) or, with the translation of doves for sparrows: Guile-weaving child of Zeus, who art Immortal, throned in radiance, spare, O Queen of Love, to break my heart With grief and care. But hither come, as thou of old, When my voice reached thine ear afar, Didst leave thy father’s hall of gold, And yoke thy car, And through mid air their whirring wing Thy bonny doves did swiftly ply O’er the dark earth, and thee did bring Down from the sky. Right soon they came, and thou, blest Queen, A smile upon thy face divine, Didst ask what ail’d me, what might mean That call of mine. ‘What would’st thou have, with heart on fire, Sappho?’ thou saidst. ‘Whom pray’st thou me To win for thee to fond desire? Who wrongeth thee? Soon shall he seek, who now doth shun; Who scorns thy gifts, shall gifts bestow; Who loves thee not, shall love anon, Wilt thou or no.’ So come thou now, and set me free From carking cares; bring to full end My heart’s desire; thyself O be My stay and friend! (TUCKER)[74] Here follow two translations where “he” is changed to “she” in the sixth stanza. The controversy as to the sex of the belovèd turns on the admission or omission of a single letter in the Greek. Deathless Aphrodite, throned in flowers, Daughter of Zeus, O terrible enchantress, With this sorrow, with this anguish, break my spirit, Lady, not longer! Hear anew the voice! O hear and listen! Come, as in that island dawn thou camest, Billowing in thy yokèd car to Sappho Forth from thy father’s Golden house in pity!... I remember: Fleet and fair thy sparrows drew thee, beating Fast their wings above the dusky harvests, Down the pale heavens, Lighting anon! And thou, O blest and brightest, Smiling with immortal eyelids, asked me: ‘Maiden, what betideth thee? Or wherefore Callest upon me? ‘What is hers the longing more than others, Here in this mad heart? And who the lovely One belovèd thou wouldst lure to loving? Sappho, who wrongs thee?’