*
"Sappho and Phaon", by Mary Robinson, [1796],

Xxxvi. Her Confirmed Despair.

Lead me, Sicilian Maids, to haunted bowrs,

While yon pale moon displays her faintest beams

Oer blasted woodlands, and enchanted streams,

Whose banks infect the breeze with poisnous flowrs.

Ah! lead me, where the barren mountain towrs,

Where no sounds echo, but the night-owls screams,

Where some lone spirit of the desart gleams,

And lurid horrors wing the fateful hours!

Now goaded frenzy grasps my shrinking brain,

Her touch absorbs the crystal fount of woe!

My blood rolls burning through each gasping vein;

Away, lost Lyre! unless thou canst bestow

A charm, to lull that agonizing pain,

Which those who never lovd, can never know!