To a mind like Sappho's, finely wrought, as that of poets usually are, this became insupportable; life was a burthen; song, now that the one had gone whose praise she valued more than all beside, became neglected; and in a fit of insupportable madness she threw herself into the sea.
"From Leucadia's promontory
Flung herself headlong for the Lesbian boy,
(Ungrateful he to work her such annoy;)
But time hath as in sad requital, given
A branch of laurel to her, and some bard
Swears that a heathen God or Goddess gave
Her swan-like wings wherewith to fly to heaven.
And now, at times, when gloomy tempests roar
Along the Adriatic, in the waves