Sappho, a tragedy [in verse] by Stella

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1876
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Page vii - Then said Saul unto his servants, Seek me a woman that hath a familiar spirit, that I may go to her, and enquire of her. And his servants said to him, Behold there is a woman that hath a familiar spirit at Endor.
Page 54 - O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung ; My ears with hollow murmurs rung. 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 died away.
Page 107 - Celestial visitant, once more Thy needful presence I implore ! In pity come, and ease my grief, Bring my distemper'd soul relief, Favour thy suppliant's hidden fires, And give me all my heart desires.
Page 106 - O Venus, beauty of the skies, To whom a thousand temples rise, Gaily false in gentle smiles, Full of love-perplexing wiles: O goddess! from my heart remove The wasting cares and pains of love. If ever thou hast kindly heard A song in soft distress preferred, Propitious to my tuneful vow, O gentle goddess, hear me now.
Page 50 - VAIN it is for those to weep Who repose in death's last sleep. With Man's life ends all the story Of his wisdom, wit, and glory.
Page 50 - I sigh, Impending age, and youth that hastens by; Swift as a thought the flowing moments roll, Swift as a racer speeds to reach the goal. How rich, how happy the contented guest, Who leaves the banquet soon, and sinks to rest. Damps chill my brow, my pulses flutt'ring beat, Whene'er the vigorous pride of youth I meet Pleasant, and lovely; hopeful to the view As golden visions, and as transient too : But ah ! no terrors stop, nor vows, nor tears Life's mournful evening, and the gloom of years.
Page 4 - Who writes more love-songs than Anacreon; Spends half her nights in babbling with the stars, And gives the other half to clamorous lovers? ERINNA I'll hear no more against our noble Sappho. Who is as chaste as Dian - great as Homer ATHIS As great as Homer! Of poetry she knows no more than I: She writes no better poetry than I; Yet, yesterday, she cut and slashed my poem Until beginning had it none, nor ending. NASIDICA So slashed she mine. UNICA She tore mine into pieces. GONGYLA She struck mine...
Page 53 - Blest 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. "'Twas this deprived my soul of rest, And raised such tumults in my breast; For while I gazed, in transport tost, My breath was gone, my voice was lost.
Page 52 - WHO, but for death, could find repose From life, and life's unnumbered woes ? From ills that mock our art to cure, As hard to fly as to endure ? Whate'er is sweet without alloy, And sheds a more exalted joy, Yon glorious orb that gilds the day, Or, placid moon, thy silver ray, Earth, sea, whate'er we gaze upon, Is thine, O Nature, thine alone ; But gifts, which to ourselves we owe, What are they all, but fear and woe? Chance-pleasure, hardly worth possessing, Ten curses for a single blessing!
Page 1 - The play is full of fire and force, and is thoroughly readable."— Graphic.

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