Page:Poems - Southey (1799) volume 1.djvu/64

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By Men despis'd, forsaken by the GodsI supplicate no more.How many a day,O pleasant Lesbos! in thy secret streamsDelighted have I plung'd, from the hot sunScreen'd by the o'er-arching groves delightful shade,And pillowed on the waters: now the wavesShall chill me to repose.Tremendous height!Scarce to the brink will these rebellious limbsSupport me. Hark! how the rude deep belowRoars round the rugged base, as if it calledIts long-reluctant victim! I will come.One leap, and all is over! The deep restOf Death, or tranquil Apathy's dead calmWelcome alike to me. Away vain fears!Phaon is cold, and why should Sappho live?Phaon is cold, or with some fairer one—Thought worse than death!She throws herself from the precipice. 1793.
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