I loved thee,--hark, one tenderer note than all-- Atthis, of old time, once--one low long fall, Sighing--one long low lovely loveless call, Dying--one pause in song so flamelike fast-- Atthis, long since in old time overpast-- One soft first pause and last. One,--then the old rage of rapture's fieriest rain Storms all the music-maddened night again. Swinburne, Songs of the Springtides, p. 57.
Quoted by Hephaestion, about 150 A.D., as an example of metre. The verse stood at the beginning of the first ode of the second book of Sappho's poems, which Hephaestion says was composed entirely of odes in this metre:
Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough, A-top on the topmost twig,--which the pluckers forgot, somehow,-- Forget it not, nay, but got it not, for none could get it now.
II
Like the wild hyacinth flower which on the hills is found, Which the passing fee of the shephards forever tear and wound, Until the purple blossom is trodden in the ground.
Immortal Aphrodite of the broidered throne, daughter of Zeus, weaver of wiles, I pray thee break not my spirit with anguish and distress, O Queen. But come hither, if ever before thou didst hear my voice afar, and listen, and leaving thy father's golden house camest with chariot yoked, and fair fleet sparrows drew thee, flapping fast their wings around the dark earth, from heaven through mid sky. Quickly arrived they; and thou, blessed one, smiling with immortal countenance, didst ask What now is befallen me, and Why now I call, and What I in my mad heart most desire to see. 'What Beauty now wouldst thou draw to love thee? Who wrongs thee, Sappho? For even if she flies she shall soon follow, and if she rejects gifts shall yet give, and if she loves not shall soon love, however loth.' Come, I pray thee, now too, and release me from cruel cares; and all that my heart desires to accomplish, accomplish thou, and be thyself my ally. Wharton's literal translation
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. Descend, thou bright immortal guest,
In all thy radiant charms confessed. Thou once didst leave almighty Jove And all the golden roofs above; The car thy wanton sparrows drew, Hovering in air they lightly flew; As to my bower they winged their way I saw their quivering pinions play.
The birds dismissed (while you remain) Bore back their empty car again: Then you, with looks divinely mild, In every heavenly feature smiled, And asked what new complaints I made, And why I called you to my aid?
What frenzy in my bosom raged, And by what cure to be assuaged? What gentle youth I would allure, Whom in my artful toils secure? Who does thy tender heart subdue, Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who?
Though now he shuns thy longing arms, He soon shall court thy slighted charms; Though now thy offerings he despise, He soon to thee shall sacrifice; Though now he freeze, he soon shall burn, And be thy victim in his turn.
Celestial visitant, once more Thy needful presence I implore. In pity come, and ease my grief, Bring my distempered soul relief, Favour thy suppliant's hidden fires, And give me all my heart desires. Ambrose Philips A Hymn to Venus, 1711
O Venus, daughter of the mighty Jove, Most knowing in the mystery of love, Help me, oh help me, quickly send relief, And suffer not my heart to break with grief.
If ever thou didst hear me when I prayed, Come now, my goddess, to thy Sappho's aid. Orisons used, such favour hast thou shewn, From heaven's golden mansions called thee down.
See, see, she comes in her cerulean car, Passing the middle regions of the air. Mark how her nimble sparrows stretch the wing, And with uncommon speed their Mistress bring.
Arrived, and sparrows loosed, hastens to me; Then smiling asks, What is it troubles thee? Why am I called? Tell me what Sappho wants. Oh, know you not the cause of all my plaints?
I love, I burn, and only love require, And nothing less can quench the raging fire. What youth, what raving lover shall I gain? Where is the captive that should wear my chain?
Alas, poor Sappho, who is this ingrate Provokes thee so, for love returning hate? Does he now fly thee? He shall soon return; Pursue thee, and with equal ardour burn.
Would he no presents at thy hands receive? He will repent it, and more largely give. The force of love no longer withstand; He must be fond, wholly at thy command.
When wilt thou work this change? Now, Venus free, Now ease my mind of so much misery; In this amour my powerful aider be; Make Phaon love, but let him love like me. Herbert To the Goddess of Love, 1713.
Immortal Venus, throned above In radiant beauty, child of Jove, O skilled in every art of love And artful snare; Dread power, to whom I bend the knee, Release my soul and set it free From bonds of piercing agony And gloomy care. Yet come thyself, if, e'er, benign, Thy listening ears thou didst incline To my rude lay, the starry shine Of Jove's court leaving, In chariot yoked with coursers fair, Thine own immortal birds that bear Thee swift to earth, the middle air With bright wings cleaving. Soon they were sped--and thou, most blest, In thine own smiles ambrosial dressed, Didst ask what my mind oppressed-- What meant my song-- What end my frenzied thoughts pursue-- For what loved youth I spread anew My amorous nets--'Who, Sappho, who 'Hath done thee wrong? 'What though he fly, he'll soon return-- 'Still press thy gifts, though now he spurn; ' Heed not his coldness--soon he'll burn, 'E'en though thou chide.' --And saidst thou thus, dread goddess? Oh, Come then once more to ease my woe: Grant all, and thy great self bestow, My shield and guide! John Herman Merivale Hymn to Venus, 1833
Golden-throned beyond the sky, Jove-born immortality: Hear and heal a suppliant's pain: Let not love be love in vain!
Come, as once to Love's imploring Accents of a maid's adoring, Wafted 'neath the golden dome Bore thee from thy father's home;
When far off thy coming glowed, Whirling down th' aethereal road, On thy dove-drawn progress glancing, 'Mid the light of wings advancing;
And at once the radiant hue Of immortal smiles I knew; Heard the voice of reassurance Ask the tale of love's endurance:--
'Why such prayer? And who for thee, Sappho, should be touch'd by me; Passion-charmed in frenzy strong-- Who hath wrought my Sappho wrong?
'--Soon for flight pursuit wilt find, Proffer'd gifts for gifts declined; Soon, thro' long reluctance earn'd, Love refused be Love return'd.'
--To thy suppliant so returning, Consummate a maiden's yearning: Love, from deep despair set free, Championing to victory! F. T. Palgrave Hymn to Aphrodite, 1854
Splendour-throned Queen, immortal Aphrodite, Daughter of Jove, Enchantress, I implore thee Vex not my soul with agonies and anguish; Slay me not, Goddess! Come in thy pity--come, if I have prayed thee; Come at the cry of my sorrow; in the old times Oft thou hast heard, and left thy father's heaven, Left the gold houses, Yoking thy chariot. Swiftly did the doves fly, Swiftly they brought thee, waving plumes of wonder-- Waving their dark plumes all across the aether, All down the azure. Very soon they lighted. Then didst thou, Divine one, Laugh a bright laugh from lips and eyes immortal, Ask me, 'What ailed me--wherefore out of heaven 'Thus I had called thee? 'What it was made me madden in my heart so?' Question me, smiling--say to me, 'My Sappho, 'Who is it wrongs thee? Tell me who refuses 'Thee, vainly sighing.' 'Be it who it may be, he that flies shall follow; 'He that rejects gifts, he shall bring thee many; 'He that hates now shall love thee dearly, madly-- 'Aye, though thou wouldst not.' So once again come, Mistress; and, releasing Me from my sadness, give me what I sue for, Grant me my prayer, and be as heretofore now Friend and protectress. Edwin Arnold, 1869
Beautiful-throned, immortal Aphrodite, Daughter of Zeus, beguiler, I implore thee, Weigh me not down with weariness and anguish O thou most holy!
Come to me now, if ever thou in kindness Hearkenedst my words,--and often hast thou hearkened-- Heeding, and coming from the mansions golden Of thy great Father,
Yoking thy chariot, borne by the most lovely Consecrated birds, with dusky-tinted pinions, Waving swift wings from utmost heights of heaven Through the mid-ether;
Swiftly they vanished, leaving thee, O goddess, Smiling, with face immortal in its beauty, Asking why I grieved, and why in utter longing I had dared call thee;
Asking what I sought, thus hopeless in desiring, Wildered in brain, and spreading nets of passion-- Alas, for whom? and saidst thou, 'Who has harmed thee? 'O my poor Sappho!
'Though now he flies, ere long he shall pursue thee; 'Fearing thy gifts, he too in turn shall bring them; 'Loveless to-day, to-morrow he shall woo thee, 'Though thou shouldst spurn him.'
Thus seek me now, O holy Aphrodite! Save me from anguish; give me all I ask for, Gifts at thy hand; and thine shall be the glory, Sacred protector! T. W. Higgenson, 1871
O fickle-souled, deathless one, Aphrodite, Daughter of Zeus, weaver of wiles, I pray thee, Lady august, never with pangs and bitter Anguish affray me!
But hither come often, as erst with favour My invocations pitifully heeding, Leaving thy sire's golden abode, thou camest Down to me speeding.
Yoked to thy car, delicate sparrows drew thee Fleetly to earth, fluttering fast their pinions, From heaven's height through middle ether's liquid Sunny dominions.
Soon they arrived; thou, O divine one, smiling Sweetly from that countenance all immortal, Askedst my grief, wherefore I so had called thee From the bright portal?
What my wild soul languished for, frenzy-stricken? 'Who thy love now is it that ill requiteth, Sappho? and who thee and thy tender yearning Wrongfully slighteth?
Though he now fly, quickly he shall pursue thee-- Scorns he thy gifts? Soon he shall freely offer-- Loves he not? Soon, even wert thou unwilling, Love shall he proffer.'
Come to me then, loosen me from my torment, All my heart's wish unto fulfilment guide thou, Grant and fulfil! And an ally most trusty Ever abide thou. Moreton John Walhouse In the Gentleman's Magazine, 1877.
Glittering-throned, undying Aphrodite, Wile-weaving daughter of high Zeus, I pray thee, Tame not my soul with heavy woe, dread mistress, Nay, nor with anguish !
But hither come, if ever erst of old time Thou didst incline, and listenedst to my crying, And from thy father's palace down descending, Camest with golden
Chariot yoked: thee fair swift-flying sparrows Over dark earth with multitudinous fluttering, Pinion on pinion, through middle ether Down from heaven hurried.
Quickly they came like light, and thou, blest lady, Smiling with clear undying eyes didst ask me What was the woe that troubled me, and wherefore I had cried to thee:
What thing I longed for to appease my frantic Soul: and Whom now must I persuade, thou askedst, Whom must entangle to thy love, and who now, Sappho, hath wronged thee?
Yea, for if now he shun, he soon shall chase thee; Yea, if he take not gifts, he soon shall give them; Yea, if he love not, soon shall he begin to Love thee, unwilling.
Come to me now too, and from tyrannous sorrow Free me, and all things that my soul desires to Have done, do for me, queen, and let thyself too Be my great ally! J. Addington Symonds, 1893
Besides these complete versions--many others there are, but these are by far the best--compare the following stanza out of Akenside's Ode on Lyric Poetry (about 1745):
But lo, to Sappho's melting airs Descends the radiant queen of Love: She smiles, and asks what fonder cares Her suppliant's plaintive measures move: Why is my faithful maid distressed? Who, Sappho, wounds thy tender breast? Say, flies he?--Soon he shall pursue. Shuns he thy gifts?--He soon shall give. Slights he thy sorrows?--He shall grieve, And soon to all thy wishes bow.
And Swinburne's paraphrase--
For I beheld in sleep the light that is In her high place in Paphos, heard the kiss Of body and soul that mix with eager tears And laughter stinging through the eyes and ears: Saw Love, as burning flame from crown to feet, Imperishable, upon her storied seat; Clear eyelids lifted toward the north and south, A mind of many colours, and a mouth Of many tunes and kisses; and she bowed, With all her subtle face laughing aloud, Bowed down upon me, saying, 'Who doth thee wrong, Sappho?' but thou--thy body is the song, Thy mouth the music; thou art more than I, Though my voice die not till the whole world die; Though men that hear it madden; though love weep, Though nature change, though shame be charmed to sleep. Ay, wilt thou slay me lest I kiss thee dead? Yet the queen laughed from her sweet heart and said: 'Even she that flies shall follow for thy sake, And she shall give thee gifts that would not take, Shall kiss that would not kiss thee' (yea, kiss me) 'When thou wouldst not'--when I would not kiss thee! Swinburne's Anactoria, p. 67 f.
And his--
O thou of divers-coloured mind,* O thou Deathless, God's daughter subtle-souled--lo now, Now to the song above all songs, in flight Higher than the day-star's height, And sweet as sound the moving wings of night! Thou of the divers-coloured seat--behold Her very song of old!-- O deathless, O God's daughter subtle-souled!
* * * * * Child of God, close craftswoman, I beseech thee; Bid not ache nor agony break nor master, Lady, my spirit.
Songs of the Spring-tides: On the Cliffs.
As well as Frederick Tennyson's--
Come to me; what I seek in vain Bring thou; into my spirit send
Sappho lived and prospered during the so called Pre-Classical period, in the early 6th century B.C. (around 580), mostly in Mytilene, the capital of the Aeolic Lesbos island in the North-East Aegean. Arts and culture were thriving there in that period. She was probably born a few decades earlier, by the end of the 7th century BC, around 620, at Eressos, on the same island.
Alkaios was her contemporary, and they both lived about two generations after Terpandros, a well-known guitar-singer that lived in late 7th century and is alleged to be the founder of the first school of lyric poetry on the island of Lesvos. Sappho and Alkaios are the most prominent figures of ancient Lyric poetry, and there are few others, like Archilohos and Anacreon.
She is the most well known poetess of ancient Greece, although some would say of the whole world. She has been loved and praised in her time, and still is, for the beauty and the tenderness in her love lyrics, and for her direct approach to readers feelings. Looks like she loved music and every kind of beauty. She has been called "the Tenth Muse" and the "mortal Muse" (probably the muse of lyrics and erotic poetry), Plato has called her wise (according to Aelianus Claudious), and Horace in his 2nd ode says that even the dead are admiringly listening to her songs in holy silence in the underworld.
She was the daughter of a distinguished family, of Skamandronymos and Kleida (Kleis) and had three brothers, Larihos, Haraksos, and Eurygios. Larixos was the wine-attendant at the town prytaneum. Haraksos traveled to Egypt on trading business, where he fell in love with the beautiful Rodope and he bought her freedom at quite a high price. Sappho scolds him for doing this, in one of her songs.
There has been some mentioning that she was married to a man named Kerkylas, from the Aegean island of Andros, but no reliable source ever mentions this. We are certain she had a daughter named Kleida. (In the Aegean there's still families practising the old custom that may hold from matriarchal times - the first daughter has to be named after the mother's mother.)
Sappho's time is a time of change. Colonies along the Mediterranean coasts start flourishing, sometimes becoming more prominent than their parent-cities, democracy is competing tyranny in many a city-state and politics become quite interesting and affect people's lives.
Sappho traveled to Sicily and stayed in Syrakouce ??? for some years, around 600 BC, maybe to avoid political turbulence in Mytilene. She returns home around 585-580 BC, after tyranny is overthrown, at the times of Pitakos the Mytilenian ruling.
There have been extensive rumours that she killed herself by jumping out of the coast cliffs on a cape in the Ionian-sea Island of Leykas, for the pretty eyes of a young man named Fawn (Faon). But this myth does not look real, it's probably due to some misconception about one of her poems where she praises the beauty of Fawn, who was not a real person but a legendary follower of Aphrodite, the goddess of love.
After her death, the Mytilenian people minted coins with her image. In Syracusse ??? they made a cenotaph in memory of her visit there. All of the ancient world accepted her as the tenth Muse, the mortal one, and many a Greek city put up images of her bust.
Her private life has been a matter of loads of discussions and arguments, but there is not enough reliable information to help us distinguish between fable, legend, gossips, "politically correct" reparations, and truth. Looks as though each writer mentioning Sappho tries to support either their private views, or generally accepted public opinions, or even "spicy" enertaining stories, heavily influenced by their social and cultural frames and time-periods. And none of them is near-contemporary to Sappho to have possibly either met her in person or at least to have met people that really knew her. The most reliable sources are the oldest ones (Herodotus etc.) and they refrain from any comments about her personal life. The heavier smear-campaign was made during the Christian Byzantine times, especially in Soudas lexikon, unshamefully "devising" spicy details bout Sappho's life never mentioned in any previous source.
Some sources say she had fallen in love with some women in her circle, namely Atthis, Telessipa and Megara. Some of her students names are Anagora from Miletus, Gogyla from Kolofon and Eunikia from Salamina.
In those times on the island of Lesvos the daughters of the higher class used to receive musical education (lyre-playing, singing and dancing) in older and more experienced women's salons. Sappho's probably was one of the most distinguished salons in her times. Gorgo, Andromeda and Mica are reported to have been her rivals ('antitexnes' or anti-artists-female, antagonists in this art-offering trade).
In 380 the religious fanatics ruling the empire ordered the first burning of Sappho's poetry. Then in 1073 all known copies of Sappho's lesbian love poems were ordered to be burned by the Christian church authorities in Costantinople and Rome. As a consequence, today we have only one twentienth of Sappho's total output, and even that exists only because of an 1897 archeological discovery, and more discoveries in Egupt and other places away from the church rule.
Writers about Sappho : - Herodotus, referring to her family - Aristotele mentions a short dialogue between Sappho and Alcaios, where he ... wants to tell her something ... but he is ashamed, and Sappho answers back "if it was something positive and beautiful you wanted to say and your tongue was not itching to express wrong things, you would not be ashamed to reveal your fair thoughts.'' - Plato ... - Aristotelian philosopher Hameleon, biographical treatise, ~300 B.C. - The Kolophonian poet Ermeisianax, contemporary of Alexander or Ptolemy, in his elegy named "Leontion", mentioning love relationships between poets, has written about Alkaios love for Sappho, and claims Anacreon was his rival in this love - but Anacreon lived 70 years after Sappho. This could have been some king of allegory, referring to their poetry. - Maximus from Tyrus, philosopher of the second half of 2nd c. AD, says Sappho was "small and dark", and rejects all rumours about her having homosexual affairs with her female students, holding her relationships to her female friends were purely educational, comparing it to Socrates relationship to his students. - Aelianus Claudius, in his Assorted History (Ποικίλη ιστορία), mentions that Plato addressed Sappho as wise. - Horace in his Odes insists that Sappho's songs are worthy of sacred admiration.
- Odysseas Elytis, 20th century AD Greek poet coming from the same island, marvellous in his very own individual ways, may have been the most impartial of them all. He says he feels as though Sappho were a distant cousin of his ''two and a half years ago in Mytilene'', maybe somewhat older, but one with whom they ''grew up together, playing in the same gardens, around the same pomegranate trees, over the same cisterns'', and dedicates one of his ''Mikra Epsilon'' (''petit'' e-letters) ??? to her, where in three small pages he has compressed the all-time world-accepted praise of her poetry, vividly colouring the shades of her ''salon'' almost alive, maybe including the shades of her very soul, ending this ''epsilon'' with the following phrase : ''.. Such a being, both sensitive and courageous, is not often presented by life. A small-built deep-dark-skinned girl, that did prove to be equally capable of subjugating a rose-flower, interpreting a wave or a nightingale, and saying 'I love you', to fill the globe with emotion.''
Artistic installations of the life and times of Sappho of Mytilene
(Lesvos island), one of the Sappho-project pages - http://www.lesbian.org/sappho-project/sapphohome.html ( see above about the lesbian.org technical problems.. september 2005)
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