BURNING SAPPHO.

Otago Witness, Issue 3854, 24 January 1928, Page 74

BURNING SAPPHO.

Only a fragment is left to us of the Lesbian singer’s verses—one complete ode, one nearly complete, a dozen or so of random strophes, and a number of dissociated morsels—yet we can understand ■why one no less than Plato in the “Dialogues ” crowned Sappho “ the Tenth Muse ” ; why to the ancient Greeks Homer was “ the poet ” and Sappho “ the poetess ”; why Greek and Latin critics concurred in her praise, calling her “ the flower of the Graces,” “ a miracle ” (says a writer in John o’ London’s Weekly) . “ Her speech,” wrote one of them, “is mingled with flame.” “ The Isles of Greece! ” is Byron’s most lyrical strain. " The Isles of Greece! where ■burning Sappho loved and sung.” She is “ burning Sappho,” her immortal lines often impregnated with glowing passion in a manner superb, unique, quite indescribable.

A famous scholar once confessed he would cheerfully consent, as a trustee for posterity, to the loss of the lyrics of any half dozen modern poets in exchange for the nine books of Sappho’s works known to have been in existence at one time. Of these wonderful strains only fragments have been preserved, in incidental “quotations by other authors. Unfortunately, ancient critics wer e not in the habit of quoting go freely as modern. Would that others had earned our gratitude like Dionysius of Halicarnassus, who cited the only poem we possess in entirety, the Hymn to Aphrodite.” One of the best translations is that of John Addington bymonds The versions of Sir Edwin Arnold and others are vitiated by the unwarrantable liberty taken, from squeamishness, perhaps, of changing the sex of the object of Sappho’s love. Below is th e recent translation, by an American scholar, of the first of the seven stanzas: Throned in splendour, beauteous maid oi mighty Zeus, wile-weaving, immortal Aphrodite, Smile again; thy frowning so affrays me Woe overweighs me. g

The translation partially imitates the Sapphic metre, which Sappho is supposed to have invented, though the English ha s the accentual rhythm of modern and not th e quantitative rhythm of classic verse, and the element of rhyme is, of course, entirely modern. Swinburne’s “ Sapphics,” a brilliant essay at producing the effect of the ancient metre, dispensing with the alien adornment of rhyme for a felicitous arrangement of vowels, i s the only attempt in -English which comes near success. Every line of Sappho’s poems, every turn of a phrase, has an exquisite perfection, an incomparable mastery of the most delicate technical devices, all the resources of verbal harmony at the command of this queen of song, who sang her measures, it is said, to a mode of ancient musie she herself invented.

Sh e was the'-head of a great poetic school at Lesbos ; her most famous pupil was Ennna of Telos, for there and then .women as much as men enthusiastically sought the inspiration of the muse. The nearly complete ode, traditionally known as the “ Ode to Anactoria ” (one of the ■best-known translations of it is of Sir ’Philip Sidney s), was cited by Longinus as the supreme example of the sublime iu poetry, which even Catullus could not rival — .pot one passion but a congress of passions.” Even tiny fragments exhibit a profound. feeling for th e beauty of Nature and a unique correspondence Bound and sense. Little morsels of sweet JSolian tongue— ‘‘ Neither honey

nor bee for me,” “ A very dainty girl gathering flowers ” —seem to contain some subtle significance of beauty and emotion impossible to convey in English.

Her life was covered with a kind of romantic obloquy by the scandal of gossiping generations. We know with certainty very little, save that she was bdrn towards the end of the seventh century b.c., the culminating period of zEolian poetry. The great poet, Alcams, addressed to her an ode of which a fragment remains-, "Darkhaired, pure, sweet-smiling- Sappho, I wish to say somewhat, but shame hinders me, ’ to which she replied in an ode, “ Hadst thou had desire of aught good or fair shame would not hav e touched thine eyes, but thou wouldst have spoken thereof openly.” She wrote an ode in stern rebuke of her brother, who squandered his property on a courtesan. To Ovid is due the probably apocryphal story of her hapless love for the disdainful Phaon and her leap into the sea from a rock on the Leucadian promontory. The Greek comic poets caricatured her unmercifully, as Aristophanes did Socrates, and with their Roman plagiarists, created a legend of er unnatural immorality. The character of some of the existing scraps of her £? e A ry k°f S t n °!' su S8 est a Paragon of evidenc bUt ° f UtteF de P ravit V there is no

During the last 30 years in Egypt and elsewhere new fragments, lost for cenlilh! 3 ’ Sappho’s songs have com e to mav b an t been P leced together as far as pX; 3 P a l lent Paleographers. May treasure” f dust ’ hea P s more of these r ar ™ ore preciol2s tllan the tarnished relics of a Pharaoh’s majesty.— mtO V l6 ? eath ’ s angel, Hermes, came calling me>y name. wand d he ’ and touched me with his £ ndI ’ °lr ife and strifo no longer fond J SO with gladness {or j awe ’ r Bj blessed Cypns that no more I care Am I teT passing me. Fain Am I to die despite my other gain In wealth and honour. Only do I plead 10 field Elysian, whitner thou didst lead At v A “ amem non and the flower Of the Achaeans, take me in my hour And set me in that dewy vale to bloom Perchance again with beauty and perfume.” That is a version of part of the most beautiful and recent additions to the oapphic anthology.