EPISTLE
TO
SAPPHO
A
young
lady
of
thirteen
years
of
age
.
.
BY
THE
SAME
.
WHILE
yet
no
amorous
youths
around
thee
bow
,
Nor
flattering
verse
conveys
the
faithless
vow
;
To
graver
notes
will
Sappho's
soul
attend
,
And
ere
she
hears
the
lover
,
hear
the
friend
?
Let
maids
less
bless'd
employ
their
meaner
arts
To
reign
proud
tyrants
o'er
unnumber'd
hearts
;
May
Sappho
learn
(
for
nobler
triumphs
born
)
Those
little
conquests
of
her
sex
to
scorn
.
To
form
thy
bosom
to
each
generous
deed
;
To
plant
thy
mind
with
every
useful
seed
;
Be
these
thy
arts
:
nor
spare
the
grateful
toil
,
Where
Nature's
hand
has
bless'd
the
happy
soil
.
So
shalt
thou
know
,
with
pleasing
skill
,
to
blend
The
lovely
mistress
,
and
instructive
friend
:
So
shalt
thou
know
,
when
unrelenting
Time
Shall
spoil
those
charms
yet
opening
to
their
prime
,
To
ease
the
loss
of
Beauty's
transient
flower
,
While
reason
keeps
what
rapture
gave
before
.
And
oh
!
while
Wit
,
fair
dawning
,
spreads
its
ray
,
Serenely
rising
to
a
glorious
day
,
To
hail
the
growing
lustre
oft
be
mine
,
Thou
early
favourite
of
the
sacred
Nine
!
And
shall
the
Muse
with
blameless
boast
pretend
,
In
Youth's
gay
bloom
that
Sappho
call'd
me
friend
:
That
urg'd
by
me
she
shunn'd
the
dangerous
way
,
Where
heedless
maids
in
endless
error
stray
;
That
scorning
soon
her
sex's
idler
art
,
Fair
Praise
inspir'd
and
Virtue
warm'd
her
heart
;
That
fond
to
reach
the
distant
paths
of
Fame
,
I
taught
her
infant
genius
where
to
aim
?
Thus
when
the
feather'd
choir
first
tempt
the
sky
,
And
all
unskill'd
their
feeble
pinions
try
,
Th'
experienc'd
sire
prescribes
th'
adventurous
height
,
Guides
the
young
wing
,
and
pleas'd
attends
the
flight
.