Far other dreams my erring soul employ, Far other raptures of unholy joy.
When, at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away,
Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.
O, cursed, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight! 230
Provoking demons all restraint remove,
And stir within me every source of love.
I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,
And round thy phantom glue my 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 stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise!
Alas, no more! methinks we wandering go
Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe,
Where round some mouldering tower pale ivy
And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find,
And wake to all the griefs I left behind.
For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain
A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain;
Thy life a long dead calm of fix'd repose; 251
No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows:
Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow,
Or moving Spirit bade the waters flow;
Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiven,
And mild as opening gleams of promised heaven.
Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread?
The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.
Nature stands check'd; religion disapproves ;
E'en thou art cold-yet Eloisa loves.
Ah, hopeless lasting flames! like those that burn To light the dead, and warm the unfruitful urn. What scenes appear where'er I turn my, view! The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue,
Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee;
Thy image steals between my God and me;
Thy voice I seem in every hymn to hear;
With every bead I drop too soft a tear.
When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,
And swelling organs lift the rising soul,
One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight;
Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight;
In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown'd,
While altars blaze, and angels tremble round.
While prostrate here in humble grief I lie, Kind, virtuous drops just gathering in my eye; While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll, And dawning grace is opening on my soul; Come, if thou darest, all charming as thou art! Oppose thyself to Heaven; dispute my heart: Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes Blot out each bright idea of the skies; Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears ; Take back my fruitless penitence and prayers; Snatch me, just mounting, from the bless'd abode; Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God! No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole; Rise Alps between us, and whole oceans roll! 290 Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me; Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee. Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign;
Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.
Fair eyes, and tempting looks, which yet I view!
Long loved, adored ideas, all adieu!
O, grace serene! O, virtue heavenly fair!
Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!
Fresh-blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky!
And faith, our early immortality!
Enter, each mild, each amicable guest:
Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest!
See in her cell sad Eloisa spread,
Propp'd on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead.
In each low wind methinks a spirit calls,
And more than echoes talk along the walls.
Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around,
From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound :-
Come, sister, come!' it said, or seem'd to say;
'Thy place is here; sad sister, come away:
Once, like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd;
Love's victim then, though now a sainted maid:
But all is calm in this eternal sleep;
Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep;
E'en superstition loses every fear;
For God, not man, absolves our frailties here.'
I come, I come! prepare your roseate bowers,
Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flowers:
Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go;
Where flames refined in breasts seraphic glow:
Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay, 321
And smoothe my passage to the realms of day:
See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll;
Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul!
Ah, no: in sacred vestments mayst thou stand,
The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand,
Present the cross before my lifted eye,
Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
Ah, then, thy once-loved Eloisa see!
It will be then no crime to gaze on me.
See from my cheek the transient roses fly;
See the last sparkle languish in my eye;
Till every motion, pulse, and breath be o'er,
And e'en my Abelard be loved no more.
O Death all-eloquent! you only prove
What dust we dote on, when 'tis man we love.
Then too, when fate shall thy fair frame destroy, That cause of all my guilt and all my joy; In trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drown'd, 339 Bright clouds descend, and angels watch thee round;
From opening skies may streaming glories shine,
And saints embrace thee with a love like mine.
May one kind grave unite each hapless name,
And graft my love immortal on thy fame!
Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er,
When this rebellious heart shall beat no more;
If ever chance two wandering lovers brings
To Paraclete's white walls and silver springs,
O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads,
And drink the falling tears each other sheds; 350
Then sadly say, with mutual pity moved,-
'O, may we never love as these have loved!'
From the full choir when loud hosannas rise,
And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice;-
Amid that scene, if some relenting eye
Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
Devotion's self shall steal a thought from heaven,
One human tear shall drop, and be forgiven.
And sure, if fate some future bard shall join
In sad similitude of griefs to mine;
Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore,
And image charms he must behold no more;
Such if there be, who loves so long, so well;-
Let him our sad, our tender story tell :
The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost:
He best can paint them who shall feel them most.
THE DUNCIAD.
TO DR. JONATHAN SWIFT.
The proposition, the invocation, and the inscription: then the original of the great empire of Dulness, and cause of the continuance thereof. The college of the goddess in the city, with her private academy for poets in particular: the governors of it, and the four cardinal virtues. Then the poem hastens into the midst of things, presenting her on the evening of a lord mayor's day, revolving the long succession of her sons, and the glories past and to come: she fixes her eye on Bays to be the instrument of that great event which is the subject of the poem: he is described pensive among his books, giving up the cause, and apprehending the period of her empire. After debating whether to betake himself to the church, or to gaming, or to party-writing, he raises an altar of proper books, and, making first his solemn prayer and declaration, purposes thereon to sacrifice all his unsuccessful writings. As the pile is kindled, the goddess, beholding the flame from her seat, flies and puts it out by casting on it the poem of Thulé: she forthwith reveals herself to him, transports him to her temple, unfolds her arts, and initiates him into her mysteries: then, announcing the death of Eusden, the poet laureate, anoints him, carries him to court, and proclaims him successor.
THE mighty mother, and her son* who brings
The Smithfield Musest to the ear of kings,
*The mother (Dulness) is the chief agent in this poem, not her son (Colley Cibber, poet laureate).
+ "Smithfield is the place where Bartholomew-fair was kept, whose shows, machines, and dramatical entertainments, formerly agreeable only to the taste of the rabble, were, by the hero of this poem, and others of equal genius, brought to the theatres of Covent-Garden, Lincoln's-innfields, and the Haymarket, to be the reigning pleasures of the court and town. This happened in the reigns of kings George I. and II. See Book III."
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