# Sappho and the Vigil of Venus/Sappho

The surviving works of Sappho consist primarily of fragments quoted in other works. In this volume "[t]he translator has essayed to weave together into connected wholes fragments which, being in the same metre, and, being conceivably connected in a sequence, or sequences, of thought, may possibly have been parts of one poem." See the Preface for further details.
Layout 2
I.
To the Queen of Love.
Rainbow-throned immortal one, Aphrodite, Child of Zeus, spell-weaver, I bow before thee— Harrow not my spirit with anguish, mighty Queen, I implore thee!
Nay, come hither, even as once thou, bending Down from far to hearken my cry, didst hear me, From thy Father's palace of gold descending Drewest anear me
Chariot-wafted: far over midnight-sleeping Earth, thy fair fleet sparrows, through cloudland riven Wide by multitudinous wings, came sweeping Down from thine heaven,
Swiftly came: thou, smiling with those undying Lips and star-eyes, Blessèd One, smiling me-ward, Said'st, "What ails thee?—wherefore uprose thy crying Calling me thee-ward? ​Say for what boon most with a frenzied longing Yearns thy soul—say whom shall my glamour chaining Hale thy love's thrall, Sappho?—and who is wronging Thee with disdaining?
Who avoids thee soon shall be thy pursuer: Ay, the gift-rejecter the giver shall now be: Ay, the loveless now shall become the wooer, Scornful shalt thou be!"
Once again come! Come, and my chains dissever, Chains of heart-ache! Passionate longings rend me— Oh fulfil them! Thou in the strife be ever Near, to defend me!
II.
To a Beloved One.
Of this ode only the first four stanzas and the first line of the fifth survive: the remainder has been constructed by combining fragments 15, 25, 17, 9, and 13, with connections supplied by the translator.
Blest as Gods immortal is he, meseemeth, Who, when thou dost witchingly speak, may hear thee, Darling, while his gaze upon thine eyes dreameth, Sitting anear thee, ​Hear thy laugh love-thrilling! In thy net tangled Then my breast's bird wildly his wings must flutter! One, one furtive glance—and my breath is strangled; Nought can I utter:
Palsied fails my tongue, and a wildfire subtle 'Neath my skin is suddenly coursing, searing These mine eyes blind: throbbeth my pulses' shuttle, Stunning mine hearing.
Drops of anguish slip from my forehead: quivers Every limb: parched grass by the sickle laid is Not so pale: my frame in a death-swoon shivers Close unto Hades.
Yet I blench not!—ev'n to the beggar gleaming Treasure shines in dreams, that his sleep is golden: So my love hopes ever: in happy dreaming
Still am I holden.
Yet my dream is troubled, as yearning, straining, Empty arms I stretch, and I wake with weeping. Let the dawn-wind scatter my heart-sick paining Swiftly down-sweeping!
Aphrodite, crownèd with gold, O give me Love for my lot, even my heart's dream-treasure! This, whereof my rival would fain bereave me, Grant of thy pleasure!
III.
The Moon and Stars.
The stars that round the Queen of Night Like maids attend her Hide as in veils of mist their light When she, in full-orbed glory bright, O'er all the earth shines from her height, A silver splendour.
IV.
My Garden.
I've a garden, a garden of dreams, Where the cool breeze whispering sways Softly the apple-sprays, And from leaves that shimmer and quiver Down on mine eyelids streams A slumber-river.
V.
Invocation to Aphrodite.
(Fragments 5, 6, 7 and 8 combined.)
Come, Queen of Cyprus, come to me! Float hither from thy Paphian home; From the all-welcoming haven come To me, to my maid-friends and thine! ​Be golden chalices by thee Brimmed up with heaven's nectar-wine With banquet-joys blent daintily. So for thank-offering shall be led A white kid to thy fane, to stand Before thine altar, and mine hand Libation-drops thereon shall shed.
VI.
To her maiden-friends, or, as some critics hold, to the Muses.
(Fragments 11, 10, 12 and 14 combined.)
To you, companions mine, will I Sing my most sweet heart-gladdening song, To you, whose love, whose praise on high Throned me above earth's poet-throng;— While some, whose lives by me were crowned With blessing, I most thankless found;— But you, O you mine whole life long Shall prove my constancy.
VII.
A Vision of Aphrodite.
(Fragments 18, 20, 19 and 16 combined.)
The golden-sandalled Dawn, meseemed, Let down from heaven a splendour-stair; ​And I saw floating earthward there My Queen, Love's Queen. All round her a cloud-halo gleamed With shimmering lights shot through and through Of many a hue. From her fair Lydian sandals streamed The broidery-sheen. Doves, circling round in mazy rings Of rapture, this way, that way glanced:— But even as I gazed entranced, A bitter wind, methought, 'gan blow. Their hearts turned cold, they drooped their wings, And faded all that glorious show. I woke—I had but dreamed!
VIII.
To one false in love.
(Fragments 21, 22, 23 and 24 combined.)
O false as fair! I am forgotten, then, by thee! Or haply on another shine The eyes that once looked into mine Pretence of love—all faithlessly! Out! nought I care For such as can true love betray! Love on, forsworn, your little day: Ye are nought to me!
IX.
To the Muse of Lyric Song.
(Fragment 26.)
O Queen of Song, who art throned on gold, Upraise the strain which the singer of old, Even he of Teos,—the goodly town Whose daughters wear beauty's royal crown,— From ravishment-breathing lips outrolled, A chant of undying renown.
X.
Self-restraint when angered.
(Fragment 27.)
When wrath's wild-surging tide hath broken The floodgates of thy breast, refrain Thy tongue, lest words in passion spoken Be mad and vain.
XI.
Quoted by Aristotle (Rhetoric, 1, 9) as a dialogue between Alcaeus and Sappho.
Alcaeus.O violet-wreathed, O pure as snow Sappho, whose voice is honey-sweet, Something I fain would say—but O, Shame on my tongue hath set her feet. ​Sappho. If thy desire had been for aught Noble or honourable, not For vileness which a vile heart taught Thy tongue, thine eyes had drooped not so With shame: thy tongue had voiced a thought So honest, all the world might know.
XII.
A last word at parting.
(Fragment 29.)
Stand face to face with me a space, Friend of my heart, For one long gaze on thine eyes' grace Before we part.
XIII.
Leto and Niobe.
It is recorded by Hesiod that Zeus wedded Leto before Hera his sister became his queen. It is here assumed that the Niobe referred to is not that one whose arrogant boast against Leto drew on her the vengeance of Apollo and Artemis in the slaughter of all her children, but the Niobe of an older legend, who became by Zeus the mother of Argus and Pelasgus.
(Fragments 31, 30, 49, 51, 65, 60, 73, 46, 54, 53, 57, 43, 39, 64 combined.)
In the childhood of time, in the infancy Of Heaven and Earth and Ocean's tide, Dear friends were Leto and Niobe; And these twain paced together beside ​A river whose banks were bright with the sheen Of flame-like flowers whose cups of gold Dew-brimmed flashed out of the shimmering green. And there unto Niobe Leto told The tale of a bridal of long agone Ere Hera was throned, when as yet was none Crowned Heaven's Queen. She told how Zeus had led her, his bride, To a palace Olympian of stately pride, Told of the spousal feast divine Whereat the bowl of ambrosia-wine Was mingled, and Hermes' self brimmed up For God and Goddess the blessing-cup; And hands celestial upheld on high Each golden chalice, and pealed the cry From celestial lips—"May happiness Bridegroom and bride with all good bless!" And they summoned to meet in the dancing-ring The feet that flash and the lips that sing— "Come, Graces roseate-armed, draw near! O daughters of Zeus, at his bridal appear, Ye bright-haired Muses, acclaim him here!" Then garlands of soft-petalled flowers did they twine, Those Graces, with lovely hands divine. So with pleachèd wreaths they softly bound The Muses' necks, and their own heads crowned. And she told how the glorious dance-array Would in wildering circles swing and sway, Even as when in the latter day ​Around fair altars the daughters of Crete Float in the mystic measure, with feet Scarce seeming to touch the velvet grass Whereover the white robes rippling pass. So danced the Muses, so danced the Graces Till the low sun flushed the bridal feast All rosy, and golden uprose in the east The moon. Then silent, with reverent faces Those wedded divine ones did they enring Like unto worshippers compassing The altar whereunto their gifts they bring. And Niobe listened as one spell-bound; And her ears were thrilled with the tale as with sound Of harpings unearthly; and sigh upon sigh Brake from her lips, she knew not why. But when in the darkness she lay on her bed, Sleep dusky-eyed, the child of Night, Who on all eyes presses with fingers light, Upon Niobe's eyes no sleep-dews shed; But through hush of the darkness ever she heard Ravishing-sweet the voice of a bird, Of the nightingale, messenger-herald of Spring; And to her through the notes did a message ring Sweet, sweet—yet she could not interpret the thing. But she waited in trance of expectancy, Till lo, the star-sown canopy Of the heavens was cloven, and Eros came From the brightness beyond; a crimson flame Was the mantle that vestured him. Came at his side ​Zeus in his glory of beauty, to claim By the right of his love an earthly bride. And Niobe envied her friend no more. Yea, now did she know, taught by love's lore— Now, when her heart was satisfied— For what cause she had sighed.
XIV.
To Atthis the inconstant, who had forsaken her for Andromeda.
(Fragments 33, 57A, 44, 41, 70, 58 combined.)
I loved thee, Atthis,—even thee!— Ah, long ago! As Aphrodite's handmaid bright As gold wert thou then in my sight. A very queen of love to me Then didst thou show. Fair gifts I sent thee—broidery Of golden thread whose shimmering light Flashed mid the purple on thy knee, A gleam and glow. Then I knew not thine heart aright: But now I know! Thou incarnate false inconstancy— To whom I grow A thing to hate!—thou takest flight On wings of love to—who is she? A rustic wench whose garments flow ​About her heels ungracefully! O yea, let thy false love requite Andromeda's worship! Take delight In her—thou who from my love's height Hast sunk so low!
XV.
The torments of love.
(Fragments 84, 45, 82, 36, 38, 37, 40, 80, 50, 55, 42 combined)
O Queens of Song, descend from your home, From the golden halls of Olympus on high! O shell divine, now, now become Voiceful, to utter mine heart's wild cry! O Calliope, vouchsafe thine aid Unto one whom the Muse of Love hath betrayed! Ah me, I know not what to do Who am wildered all, in a strait betwixt two! I cry from a homeless heart storm-tossed As a child for her mother, a young child lost. Yet not after all-unattainable things Do I strain, nor I hope on passion's wings To soar to the heavens' empyreal blue. But oh, I yearn, how I yearn to slake My thirst where Love's feet brush the dew! For he who the strength of the mighty can break, He whose bitter sweetness no tongue may tell, The dragon whose onslaught none may quell, Love—mine whole being doth Love's breath shake. ​Ah, sleep I cannot: soft-cushioned bed Wooes never my wearied frame to sleep; No pillow brings rest to my throbbing head. From my couch, as one in a nightmare, I leap. Ever Eros is tossing to and fro My spirit, as when great storm-winds blow O'er a tempest-tormented mountain-steep, And down on its groaning oak-woods sweep; So groaneth my spirit, love-scourged so.
XVI.
Sappho to her Girl-friends. She playfully satirizes the foibles of some of them.
(Fragments 34, 77, 76, 61, 71, 48, 86, 83, 47, 129, 32 combined.)
This is my song of maidens dear to me. Eranna, a slight girl I counted thee, When first I looked upon thy form and face, Slim as a reed, and all devoid of grace. But stately stature, grace and beauty came Unto thee with the years—O, dost not shame For this, Eranna, that thy pride hath grown Therewith? Alas for thee! I have not known One beauty ever of more scornful mien, As though thou wert of all earth's daughters queen! Mnasidica is comelier, perchance, Than my Gyrinna—ah, but sweetly rings Gyrinna's matchless voice! In rapture-trance I listen, listen, while Gyrinna sings. ​Hero of Gyara is fleet of foot As fawns, and as light-footed in the dance, The dance taught by the measures of my lute. Ever-impassioned Gorgo!—is it strange That I grow weary of the change on change Of thine adored ones?—of thy rhapsodies O'er each new girl-friend, while the old love dies? Joy to thee, daughter of a princely race, For thy last dear one! Lie in her embrace— Till shines a new star on thy raptured eyes! Fonder of maids thou art, I trow, than she, The ghost who nightly steal young girls, to be In Hades of her woeful company. This is my fair girl-garden: sweet they grow— Rose, violet, asphodel and lily's snow; And which the sweetest is, I do not know; For rosy arms and starry eyes are there, Honey-sweet voices and cheeks passing fair. And these shall men, I ween, remember long; For these shall bloom for ever in my song.
XVII.
A Lament for Adonis.
(Fragments 62, 63, 59, 74, 66, 108 combined.)
Cytherea, thy dainty Adonis is dying! Ah, what shall we do? O Nymphs, let it echo, the voice of your crying, The greenwood through! ​O Forest-maidens, smite on the breast, Rend ye the delicate-woven vest! Let the wail ring wild and high: "Ah for Adonis!" cry. O Sappho, how canst thou chant the bliss Of Kypris—after such day as this? "Oh Adonis, thou leavest me—woe for my lot! And Eros, my servant, availeth me not!" So wails Cytherea, grief-distraught. "Who shall console me for thee? There is none— Not Ares my god-lover, passionate one Who sware in his jealousy forth to hale Hephaestus my spouse from his palace, if he Dared but to lift his eyes unto me. Not he can console me, Adonis, for thee!" Wail for Adonis, wail!
XVIII.
Sonnet to Dica, the fair and wise.
(Fragments 79, 69, 78 combined.)
Dica, I love all dainty grace; and more Than all I love the dainty grace of thee. Love has the splendour of the sun for me, The beauty that the sun's rays earthward pour. I love not thy grace only: I adore Wisdom, a thing divine; and there will be Never a maid that shall the sun's light see Who more than thou is dowered with wisdom's lore. ​Then in thy wisdom, Dica, do thou twine, With fingers soft, in wreaths of anise-spray All fairest flowers to deck thy lovely hair. To suppliants flower-crowned the Gods incline A gracious ear, but turn in scorn away From the ungarlanded, and spurn their prayer.
XIX.
"He Cometh not," she said.
(Fragment 52.)
The moon has dipt into the sea: The Pleiads' westering flight is flown: Deep midnight's pall hangs heavily: The time fleets by: and I—ah me!— Lie on my couch alone, alone!
XX.
To a Rich Vulgarian.
(Fragments 35, 67, 81, 72, 68 combined.)
Thou fool—that thou shouldst plume thyself On rich attire, on jewel-hoard, On dross of thine ill-gotten pelf, On carcanet and flashing ring, On meats and wines that load thy board! Ay, cup on cup past numbering Thou drainest with the drunken! Fool, Who hast not learnt in wisdom's school ​That wealth is an accursèd thing Dislinked from goodness! Only when These twain are wedded, happiness True and abiding comes to bless The fleeting life of dying men. Fool!—yet not as in wrath I speak: Not I on thee would vengeance wreak. A quiet spirit dwells in me That scorns to bruise such worms as thee. Nay, but the inevitable Fate Even now decrees thine after-state:— When thou art dead, so shalt thou lie Ever: thy very name shall die, Thy sordid story not outlast Thy burial; for no part thou hast In Song-land's roses, whose perfume Breathes life immortal, o'er the tomb Triumphant. Unregarded all Shalt thou stray lost in Hades' hall Amidst the fameless dead forlorn, A vile, ignoble thing of scorn!
XXI.
Leda and the Swan's Egg.
(Fragments 56 and 112 combined.)
Leda, 'tis told in ancient song, Did one day light On a strange treasure which among ​Thick-clustering hyacinths was long Hidden from sight— An egg, but of no mortal birth, Far whiter than all eggs of earth. And none save Zeus and she, I wis, Could tell what swan had fathered this, This egg so white.
XXII.
To a youth who wooed a woman older than himself.
(Fragment 75.)
Friend, woo me not so earnestly. Vain is thy prayer. Nay, if in truth thou lovest me, Hereafter spare My wearied ears a suit denied. Go, choose for thee a younger bride. Not I will brook to live with thee, An old wife to a young man tied, Doomed as the years fleet by to see A spouse who gazes hungry-eyed On such as she can never be, The young and fair, And waits to enshroud her clay with glee, And graveward bear.
XXIII.
"I canna min' my wheel, mither."
(Fragments 90, 88, 89, 87 combined.)
Oh my mother, sweetest mother, I can weave my web no more, For my soul for my belovèd is with passion flooded o'er! Aphrodite wills it so. Hush thee, swallow, cease thy plaining of the ancient sin and wrong, O thou daughter of Pandion; for the sorrow in thy song Makes my tears the faster flow. In a dream I saw the Love-queen with a cloud-veil floating round her; And I cried to her to help me, but unpitying I found her: She but smiled to see my woe!
XXIV.
To a Girl in a Garden.
(Fragments 121, 123, 122, 126 combined.)
O soft and dainty maiden, from afar I watch you, as amidst the flowers you move, And pluck them, singing. ​More golden than all gold your tresses are: Never was harp-note like your voice, my love, Your voice sweet-ringing.
XXV.
The Death of Adonis.
(Fragments 108, 110, 115, 117, 116, 111, 114, 113 combined.)
This is the lamentation-song For Adonis—woe for Adonis, woe! Thus wailed Aphrodite in anguish-throe, As she strove to hold him back from death: "Let thine heart not faint, O love! Be strong! O me, it burns me, thy failing breath! It kindles through all my being a fire! My heart is aflame with despairing desire!" She calls to her Eros of golden wing, She bids him steep in the ice-cold spring Fine linen, and lay on Adonis' brow:— "O love, let its coolness revive thee now! . . . Vain, vain!—his eyes see me no more; They are fixed in a gaze upon Hades' door! They close—he sleeps—not the sleep of the dead! Hush, stir not a pebble with heedless tread! No, no! this is death! Now remaineth to me No sweetness on earth—nor honey nor bee!"
XXVI.
(Fragment 85.)
A daughter have I: she is fair, is fair! Graceful and tall does my darling stand As a sunflower gleaming with golden hair! O, all the treasures of Morning-land Were but as dust in the balance laid, Beside her, my Cleïs, my little maid!
XXVII.
An Epithalamium.
(Fragments 91, 92, 99, 106, 104, 103, 100, 105, 101, 102, 96, 109, 93, 94, 97, 95, 133 combined.)
Raise high the beams of the raftered hall, (Sing the Hymen-refrain!) Ye builders, of the bridal-dwelling! (Sing the Hymen-refrain!) Lo, the bridegroom comes, as the War-god tall— (Sing the Hymen-refrain!) Now nay—yet our tallest in stature excelling; (Sing the Hymen-refrain!) For stately he towers above all the throng As the Lesbian singer towers among All alien poets, a prince of song. ​O happy bridegroom! it cometh to-day, The bridal thine heart hath longed for aye! At last shall she be thine own, the maid For whom thou hast sighed, for whom thou hast prayed. For none other maiden beneath the skies, O bridegroom, was like unto her in thine eyes. Whereunto may I liken thee, bridegroom dear? To a green vine-shoot in the spring of the year. Now, now let the bridegroom rejoice, for the bride Into the hall cometh joyful-eyed. Ethereal-pale is her lovely face. Hail, bridegroom! Hail, bride, queenly in grace! How goodly to see thy lord stands there! And his goodness will keep him for thee ever fair. Ah, doth she, ah doth she regretfully brood?— Does her heart still yearn after maidenhood? Nay, not in this hour she cries: "Maidenhood, maidenhood, whither away Forsaking me?" While maidenhood replies: "Not again unto thee shall I come for aye, Not again unto thee!" No more, no more doth she chant Proud young virginity's vaunt: "As the sweet-apple flames on the tip of a spray against the sky, At its uttermost point, which the gleaners forgat, and passed it by— ​O nay, they forgat it not, but they could not attain so high." But she thinks of the fate, an evil thing, That the years fast-fleeting to fair maids bring, When the roses are faded, the gold turns grey, And the smoothness is furrowed, as singeth the lay— "As the hyacinth-flower on the mountain-side that the shepherds tread Underfoot, and low on the earth its bloom dark-splendid is shed." Lo, her hand into thine hath her father given, And thou leadest her home 'neath the Star of Even; To thy portal the bridal-train draws near, And the Chant Processional rings out clear: "Hail, Hesper, who bringest home all That radiant Dawn scattered wide, Bringest back unto fold and stall The sheep and the goat, and thy call Brings the child to the mother's side. Let the rose-ringed Star of the Evenfall Usher thee on, love's willing thrall, Bride, garden of loves like roses blowing, Bride, loveliest image of Paphos' Queen! So pass to the bride-bower, pass within To the nuptial couch, for the sweet bestowing On the bridegroom, whose measure is overflowing, Of the bliss, wherein honoured is Hera: 'tis owned Of the Marriage-goddess, the silver-throned."
THREE EPITAPHS.
XXVIII.
118.
On one consecrated to holy service, who died young.
I am voiceless, yet speaketh my sepulchre for me with voice undying. If one ask of me, maidens, I lay at your feet what story is mine:— Aristo to Artemis vowed me in infancy, sanctifying Her babe—she, Hermoclides' daughter, of old Saonaïades' line. O Queen of all women, thy servant was she: to her prayers replying Graciously, deign thou to honour our house with favour benign.
119.
On a girl who died on the eve of her marriage.
Lo the dust of young Timas. Ere dawned her day of espousals upon her, Death claimed her: her bridal-bower was Persephone's mansion of gloom. ​When she perished, her fair companions all with the steel in her honour Shore from their heads the lovely tresses, and laid on her tomb.
120
On one whose days were labour and sorrow.
O'er the fisherman Pelagon here by Meniskus his father are planted His oar and his weel, for memorials of days ever travail-haunted.
XXIX.
98.
Satiric skit on a gigantic hall-porter.
What a door-keeper! O fit theme for song! A very Titan—feet seven fathoms long! To make his sandals five bulls' hides were brought, And cobblers seven the mighty fabric wrought.
XXX.
To Anactoria who has forsaken a once-loved girl-friend of Sappho.
Rushing war-hosts, horsemen or foot or galleys— These doth one call, those doth another, fairest ​Sights on earth: I say that my love of all is Sweetest and rarest. Hear the proof, which lightly, I wot, convinces:— 'Mid the comely, Helen would fain discover One without peer, and of the goodly princes Chose for her lover Him who brought the glory of Troy to ruin! Reckless all of parent and child, she lavished On the alien love for her own undoing; Troyward was ravished. Anactoria—she who contemns the blessing Near at hand, is like to a reed wind-shaken. Such are you!—love held in secure possessing You have forsaken, Her whose footfall's music myself had rather Hear, and see her face in its beauty beaming, Than to gaze where horsemen and footmen gather Panoply-gleaming. What is best is set above man's attaining; Yet, if Fortune smiled on us once, 'tis better To recall with prayer and with upward-straining Than to forget her.