Restores my fair deserter to my arms! Then round your neck in wanton wreaths I twine, Then you, methinks, as fondly circle mine: 150 A thousand tender words I hear and speak; A thousand melting kisses give, and take:[25] Then fiercer joys, I blush to mention these, Yet, while I blush, confess how much they please. But when, with day, the sweet delusions fly, 155 And all things wake to life and joy, but I, As if once more forsaken, I complain, And close my eyes to dream of you again:[26] Then frantic rise, and like some fury rove Through lonely plains,[27] and through the silent grove, 160 As if the silent grove, and lonely plains, That knew my pleasures, could relieve my pains. I view the grotto, once the scene of love, The rocks around, the hanging roofs above, That charmed me more, with native moss o'ergrown, 165 Than Phrygian marble, or the Parian stone; I find the shades that veiled our joys before; But, Phaon gone, those shades delight no more.[28] Here the pressed herbs with bending tops betray Where oft entwined in am'rous folds we lay; 170 I kiss that earth which once was pressed by you, And all with tears the with'ring herbs bedew. For thee the fading trees appear to mourn, And birds defer their songs till thy return: Night shades the groves, and all in silence lie, 175 All but the mournful Philomel and I: With mournful Philomel I join my strain, Of Tereus she, of Phaon I complain.[29] A spring there is, whose silver waters show, Clear as a glass, the shining sands below: 180 A flow'ry lotos spreads its arms above, Shades all the banks, and seems itself a grove; Eternal greens the mossy margin grace, Watched by the sylvan genius of the place: Here as I lay, and swelled with tears the flood,[30] 185 Before my sight a wat'ry virgin stood: She stood and cried, "O you that love in vain! Fly hence, and seek the fair Leucadian main; There stands a rock, from whose impending steep Apollo's fane surveys the rolling deep; 190 There injured lovers, leaping from above, Their flames extinguish, and forget to love.[31] Deucalion once with hopeless fury burned, In vain he loved, relentless Pyrrha scorned: But when from hence he plunged into the main, 195 Deucalion scorned, and Pyrrha loved in vain. Haste, Sappho, haste, from high Leucadia throw Thy wretched weight, nor dread the deeps below!"[32] She spoke, and vanished with the voice--I rise, And silent tears fall trickling from my eyes. 200 I go, ye nymphs! those rocks and seas to prove; How much I fear, but ah, how much I love!