Slike strani


When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell?
As with cold lips I kifs'd the facred veil,
The fhrines all trembled and the lamps grew pale:
Heav'n fcarce believ'd the Conqueft it furvey'd,
And Saints with wonder heard the vows I made.
Yet then, to thofe dread altars as

drew, 115
Not on the cross my eyes were fix'd but you ;
Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call,
And if I lofe thy love, I lofe my all.

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Come with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe;
Thofe ftill at leaft are left thee to bestow.
Still on that breaft enamour'd let me lie,
Still drink delicious poifon from thy eye,

Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be prefs'd;
Give all thou canst and let me dream the reft.

Ah no! inftru&t me other joys to prize,
With other beauties charm my partial eyes,
Full in my view fet all the bright abode,
And make my foul quit Abelard for God.
Ah think at least thy flock deferves thy care,
Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r.
From the falfe world in early youth they fled,
By thee to mountains, wilds, and deferts led.
You rais'd thefe hallow'd walls; the defert fmil'd,
And Paradife was open'd in the Wild,

No weeping orphan faw his father's ftores
Our fhrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
No filver faints, by dying mifers giv❜n,


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VER: 133. You rais'd these hallow'd walls;) He founded the Monastery.



Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n:
But fuch plain roofs as Piety could raise,
And only vocal with the Maker's praife.
In thefe lone walls (their days eternal bound)
Thefe mols-grown domes with fpiry turrets crown'd,
Where awful arches make a noon- day night;
And the dim windows fhed a folemn light;
Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray,
And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day.
But now no face divine contentment wears,
'Tis all blank fadnefs, or continual tears.
See how the force of others pray'rs I try,
(O pious fraud of am'rous charity!)



But why fhould I on others pray'rs depend?

Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!
Ah let thy handmaid, fifter, daughter move,
And all thofe tender names in one, thy love!
The darkfome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd iss
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
The wand'ring ftreans that fhine between the

The grots that echo to the tinkling rills,
The dying gales that pant upon the trees,
The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze;
No more these fcenes my meditation aid,
Or lull to rest the vifionary maid.


But o'er the twilight groves and dufky caves,
Long-founding ifles, and intermingled graves,
Black Melancholy fits, and round her throws
A death-like filence, and a dread repofe:
Her gloomy prefence faddens all the fcene.
Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry green,


Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,
And breathes a browner horror on the woods,
Yet here for ever, ever muft I stay;
Sad proof how well a lover can obey!
Death, only death, can break the lätting chain;
And here, ev'n then, fhall my cold dust remain;
Here all its frailties, all its flames refign,
And wait till 'tis no fin to inix with thine.
Ah wretch! believ'd the fpoufe of God in vain,
Confefs'd within the flave of love and man.
Aflift me, heav'n! bu
whence arofe that pray'?
Sprung it from piety, or from defpair?
Ev'n here, where frozen chastity retires,
Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.

I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;
I mourn the lover, not lament the fault;
I view my crime, but kindle at the view,
Repent old pleasures, and follicit new;

Now turn'd to heav'n, I weep my past offence,
Now think of thee, and curfe my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,

'Tis fure the hardeft fcience to forget!

How fhall I lofe the fin, yet keep the fenfe,
And love th' offender, yet deteft th'offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
Or how diftinguifh penitence from love?
Unequal tafk, a paffion to refign,

For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, fo loft as mine!
Ere fuch a foul regains its peaceful state,
How often mutt it love, how often hate!
How often hope, defpair, refent, regret,
Conceal, difdain, do all things but forget?








But let heav'n feize it, all at once 'tis fir'd;

and you.

Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd!
Oh come! oh teach me nature to fubdue,
Renounce my love, my life, my self
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
Alone can rival, can fucceed to thee.

How happy is the blameless Veftal's lot?
The world forgetting, by the world forgot:
Eternal fun-fhine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wifh refign'd;
Labour and reft, that equal periods keep;
,,Obedient flumbers that can wake and weep;,,
Defires compos'd, affections ever ev❜n ;

Tears that delight, and fighs that waft to heav'n.
Grace fhines around her with fereneft beams,
And whisp'ring Angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th' unfading rofe of Eden blooms,
And wings of Seraphs fhed divine perfumes,
For her the spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins Hymenæals fing.
To founds of heav'nly harps fhe dies away,
And melts in vifions of eternal day.

Far other dreams my erring foul employ,
Far other raptures, of unholy joy:

When at the clofe of each fad, forrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance fnatch'd away,
Then confcience fleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loofe foul unbounded fprings to thee,
O curft, dear horrors of all conscious night!







VER. 212. Obedient flambers, etc.) Taken from Crafhaw. P.

How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking Dæmons all restraint remove,
And stir within me ev'ry fource of love.
I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,
And round thy phantom glue iny clasping arms.

I wake: no more I hear, no more I view,

The phantom flies me, as unkind as you.
I call aloud; it hears not what I say:
I ftretch my empty arms; it glides away.



To dream once more I clofe my willing eyes;
Ye foft illufions, dear deceits, arife!


Alas, no more! methinks we wand'ring go

Thro' dreary waites, and weep each other's woe,
Where round fome mould'ring tow'r pale ivy creeps,
And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the fkies; 145
Clouds interpofe, waves roar, and winds arise.
I fhriek, ftart up, the fame fad profpect find,
And wake to all the griefs I left behind.

For thee the fates, feverely kind, ordain
A cool fufpenfe from pleasure and from pain;
Thy life a long dead calm of fix'd repofe;
No pulfe that riots, and no blood that glows.
Still as the fea, ere winds were taught to blow,
Or moving fpirit bade the waters flow;
Soft as the flumbers of a faint forgiv❜n,
And mild as op'ning gleams of promis'd heav'n
Come, Abelard for what haft thou to dread?
The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.
Nature ftands check'd; Religion disapproves;
Ev'n thou art cold yet Eloïfa loves.
Ah hopeless, lafting flames! like thofe that burn





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