The car thy wanton ſparrows drew;

Hov'ring in air they lightly flew; ⁠16
As to my bower they wing'd their way,
I ſaw their quiv'ring pinions play.

The birds difmiſs'd (while you remain)
Bore back their empty car again: ⁠20
Then you, with looks divinely mild,
In ev'ry heav'nly feature ſmil'd,
And ask'd, what new complaints I made,
And why I call'd you to my aid? ⁠24

What frenzy in my boſom rag'd,
And by what care to be aſſwag'd?
What gentle youth I would allure,
Whom in my artful toils ſecure? ⁠28
Who does thy tender heart ſubdue,
Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who?

Tho now he ſhuns thy longing arms,
He ſoon ſhall court thy ſlighted charms; ⁠32
Tho now thy offerings he deſpiſe,

He ſoon to thee ſhall ſacrifice;