| I | Blest as th'immortal Gods is he, The Youth who fondly sits by thee, And hears and sees thee all the while Softly speak and sweetly smile. |
| II | 'Twas this deprived my Soul of Rest, And raised such Tumults in my Breast; For while I gaz'd, in Transport tost, My Breath was gone, my Voice was lost: |
| III | My Bosom glowed; the subtle Flame Ran quick through all my vital Frame; O'er my dim Eyes a Darkness hung; My Ears with hollow Murmurs rung. |
| IV | In dewy Damps my Limbs were chil'd; My Blood with gentle Horrors thrill'd; My feeble Pulse forgot to play; I fainted, sunk, and dy'd away. |
Instead of giving any Character of this last Translation, I shall desire my learned Reader to look into the Criticisms which
Longinus
has made upon the Original. By that means he will know to which of the Translations he ought to give the Preference. I shall only add, that this Translation is written in the very Spirit of
Sappho
, and as near the
Greek
as the Genius of our Language will possibly suffer.