XLVI
Ἄλλαν μὴ καμεστέραν φρένα·
" Fool, faint not thou !" I laughed in blame
Of Larichus, pale in the flame
Of Hymen's torches : while, alas,
I feel my senses swoon,
Or quicken with delight
At Nature's simplest boon :
Unmoved I cannot pass
The fine bloom of the grass,
Or watch the dimpling shadows on the white,
Vibrating poplar with unshaken frame.
" Faint not," I said—and yet my breath
Comes sharp as I were nigh to death
If suddenly across the grove
The lovely laugh I hear,
Or catch the lovely speech
Of one who makes a peer
Of the blest gods above
The man she deigns to love :
O Anactoria, wast thou born to teach
Sappho how vainly she admonisheth ?
" Faint not"—the poet must dare all;
Me no experience shall appal,
No pang that can make shrill my song :
Though Atthis, hateful, flit
From my fond arms, and by Andromeda dare sit,
I will not let my strong
Heart fail, will bear the wrong,
With piercing accents for Adonis cry,
Or thrice on perished Timas vainly call.
" Faint not," I said. Would'st thou be great,
Thou must with every shock vibrate
That life can bring thee ; seek and yearn ;
Feel in thyself the stroke
Of love, although it rive
As mountain-wind an oak ;
Let jealous passion burn
If Rhodope must turn
To other love ; and laugh that age should strive
The ardours of thy bosom to abate.
