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Alas! the Mufes now no more inspire ;
Untun'd my lute, and filent is my lyre;
My languid numbers have forgot to flow,
And fancy finks beneath a weight of woe.
Ye Lesbian Virgins, and ye Lesbian Dames,
Themes of my verfe, and objects of my flames,
No more your groves with my glad fongs fhall ring,
No more thefe hands shall touch the trembling firing:
My Phaon's fled, and I thofe arts refign,
(Wretch that I am, to call that Phaon mine!)
Return, fair Youth, return, and bring along
Joy to my foul, and vigour to my song:
Abfent from thee, the poet's flame expires;
But ah! how fiercely burns the lover's fires?
Gods! can no pray'rs, no fighs, no numbers move
One favage heart, or teach it how to love?
The winds my pray'rs, my fighs, my numbers bear,
The flying winds have loft them all in air!
Oh when, alas! fhall more aufpicious gales
To these fond eyes restore thy welcome fails!
If you return-ah why these long delays?
Poor Sappho dies while careless Phaon stays.

Nunc vellem facunda forent: dolor artibus obftat;
Ingeniumque meis fubftitit omne malis.

Non mihi refpondent veteres in carmina vires.
Plectra dolore tacent: muta dolore lyra eft.
Lefbides æquoreæ, nupturaque nuptaque proles;
Lefbides, Æolia nomina dicta lyra;

Lefbides, infamem quæ me feciftis amatæ ;
Definite ad citharas turba venire meas.

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230

Abftulit omne Phaon, quod vobis ante placebat. 236
(Me miferam! dixi quam modo pene, meus!)
Efficite ut redeat: vates quoque veftra redibit.
Ingenio vires ille dat, ille rapit.

Ecquid ago precibus? pectufne agrefte movetur?
An riget? et zephyri verba caduca ferunt?
Qui mea verba ferunt, vellem tua vela referrent.
Hoc te, fi faperes, lente, decebat opus.
Sive redis, puppique tuæ votiva parantur
Murera; quid laceras pectora nofira mora?

24.0

245

250

O launch thy bark, nor fear the wat'ry plain;
Venus for thee fhall fmooth her native main.
O launch thy bark, fecure of profp'rous gales;
Cupid for thee fhall fpread the fwelling fails.
If you will fly-(yet ah! what caufe can be,
Too cruel youth, that you fhould fly from me?) 255
If not from Phaon I muit hope for ease,
Ah let me feek it from the raging seas :
To raging feas unpity'd I'll remove,
And either ceafe to live or ceafe to love!

Solve ratem: Venus orta mari, mare præftet eunti.
Aura dabit curfum; tu modo folve ratem.
Ipfe gubernabit refidens in puppe Cupido:
Ipfe dabit tenera vela legetque manu.
Sive juvat longe fugiffe Pelafgida Sappho;
(Non tamen invenies, cur ego digna fuga.)

[O faltem miferæ, Crudelis, epiftola dicat:
Ut mihi Leucadia fata petantur aquæ.]

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255

The Argument.

Abelard and Eloifa flourished in the twelfth century: they were two of the mot distinguished perfons of their age in learning and beauty, but for nothing more famous than for their unfortunate paffion. After a long courfe of calamities, they retired each to a feveral convent, and confecrated the remainder of their days to religion. It was many years after this feparation that a letter of Abelard's to a friend, which contained the hiftory of his misfortune, fell into the hands of Eloifa. This awakening all her tenderness, occafioned those celebrated Letters (out of which the following is partly extracted, which give fo lively a picture of the ftruggles of Grace and Nature, Virtue and Paffio... [P.]

IN

thefe deep folitudes and awful cells,

Where heav'nly-penfive Contemplation dwells,
And ever-mufing Melancholy reigns,

What means this tumult in a veftal's veins ?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I love :---From Abelard it came,
And Eloïfa yet must kifs the name.

Dear fatal name! reft ever unreveal'd,
Nor pafs thefe lips, in holy filence feal'd:
Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies:
O write it not, my hand-the name appears
Already written-wash it out, my tears!
In vain loft Eloïfa weeps and prays,
Her heart ftill dictates, and her hand obeys.

Relentless walls! whofe darkfome round contains

Repentant fighs, and voluntary pains:

Ye rugged Rocks! which holy knees have worn;
Ye Grots and Caverns, fhagg'd with horrid thorn! 20
Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep,
And pitying faints, whose statues learn to weep
Though cold like you, unmov'd and filent grown,
I have not yet forgot myfelf to ftone.

All is not heav'n's while Abelard has part,
Still rebel Nature holds out half my heart;
Nor pray'rs nor fafts its ftubborn pulfe reftrain,
Nor tears for ages taught to flow in vain.
Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
That well-known name awakens all my woes.
Oh name for ever fad! for ever dear!

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30

Still breath'd in fighs, ftill usher'd with a tear.
I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
Some dire misfortune follows clofe behind.

Line

Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,

Led through a fad variety of woe:

Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom,
Loft in a convent's folitary gloom!

There ftern Religion quench'd th' unwilling flame;
There dy'd the beft of paffions, love and fame.
Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo fighs to thine.
Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away;
And is my Abelard lefs kind than they?
Tears ftill are mine, and thofe I need not fpare,
Love but demands what else were fed in pray'r
No happier task these faded eyes purfue;
To read and weep is all they now can do.

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Then fhare thy pain, allow that fad relief Ah, more than fhare it, give me all thy grief. Heav'n first taught letters for fome wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover, or fome captive maid: They live, they speak, they breathe what love infpires, Warm from the foul, and faithful to its fires; The virgin's wish without her fears impart, Excufe the blufh, and pour out all the heart, Speed the foft intercourfe from foul to foul, And waft a figh from Indus to the pole.

55

Thou know'ft how guiltlefs first I met thy flame, When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name;

My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind,

Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind.
Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry ray,
Shone fweetly lambent with celeftial day.

Guiltless I gaz'd; Heav'n liften'd while you fung; 65
And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like thofe what precept fail'd to move?
Too foon they taught me 'twas no fin to love:
Back through the paths of pleafing sense I ran,
Nor wish'd an angel whom I lov'd a man.
Dim and remote the joys of faints I fee;
Nor envy them that heav'n I lofe fort hee.

How oft, when prefs'd to marriage, have I said,
Curfe on all laws but thofe which Love has made!

COOKE'S EDITION OF SELECT BRITISH POETS.

fill are mine, and those Feed not fange, but demands what elfe were fed in pray No happier bulk these faded eyes pursue head and we epis. A