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No more my locks in ringlets curl'd diffuse
The costly sweetness of Arabian dews,
Nor braids of gold the varied tresses bind,
That fly disorder'd with the wanton wind:
For whom should Sappho use such arts as these?
He's gone, whom only she desir'd to please!
Cupid's light darts my tender bosom move,
Still is there cause for Sappho still to love:
So from my birth the Sisters fix'd my doom,
And gave to Venus all my life to come;
Or, while my Muse in melting notes complains,
My yielding heart keeps measure to my strains.
By charms like thine, which all my soul have won,
Who might not-ah! who would not be undone ?
For those Aurora Cephalus might scorn,
And with fresh blushes paint the conscious morn:
For those might Cynthia lengthen Phaon's sleep,
And bid Endymion nightly tend his sheep:
Venus for those had rapt thee to the skies,
But Mars on thee might look with Venus' eyes.
O scarce a youth, yet scarce a tender boy!
O useful time for lovers to employ !
Pride of thy age, and glory of thy race,
Come to these arms, and melt in this embrace!
The vows you never will return, receive;
And take at least the love you will not give.
See, while I write, my words are lost in tears!
The less my sense, the more my love appears.
Sure 'twas not much to bid one kind adieu;
(At least to feign was never hard to you!) [said;
Farewell, my Lesbian love," you might have
Or coldly thus, "Farewell, oh Lesbian maid !"
No tear did you, no parting kiss receive,
Nor knew I then how much I was to grieve.
No lover's gift your Sappho could confer,
And wrongs and woes were all you left with her.
No charge I gave you, and no charge could give,
But this, "Be mindful of our loves, and live."

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Cui colar infelix? aut cui placuisse laborem?
Ille mihi cultus unicus auctor abest.
Molle meum levibus cor est violabile telis;

Et semper causa est, cur ego semper amem.
Sive ita nascenti legem dixêre sorores,

Nec data sunt vitæ fila severa meæ ; Sive abeunt studia in mores, artesque magistræ, Ingenium nobis molle Thalia facit. Quid mirum, si me primæ lanuginis ætas

Abstulit, atque anni, quos vir amare potest? Hunc ne pro Cephalo raperes, Aurora, timebam: Et faceres; sed te prima rapina tenet. Hune si conspiciat, quæ conspicit omnia, Phœbe; Jussus erit somnos continuare Phaon. Hunc Venus in coclum curru vexisset eburno; Sed videt et Marti posse placere suo. ✪ nec adhuc juvenis, nec jam puer! utilis ætas! O decus, atque ævi gloria magna tui! Huc ades, inque sinus, formose, relabere nostros: Non ut ames oro, verum ut amare sinas. Scribimus, et lacrymis oculi rorantur obortis: Aspice, quam sit in hoc multa litura loco. Si tam certus eras hinc ire, modestius isses,

Et modo dixisses: "Lesbi puella, vale. " Non tecum lacrymas, non oscula summa tulisti; Denique non timui, quod dolitura fui.

Nil de te mecum est, nisi tantum injuria: nec tu,
· Admoneat quod te, pignus amantis habes.
Non mandata dedi; neque enim mandata dedissem
Ulla, nisi ut nolles immemor esse mei,

Now by the Nine, those powers ador'd by me,
And Love, the god that ever waits on thee,
When first I heard (from whom I hardly knew)
That you were fled, and all my joys with you,
Like some sad statue, speechless, pale I stood,
Grief chill'd my breast, and stopp'd my freezing
No sigh to rise, no tear had power to flow, [blood;
Fix'd in a stupid lethargy of woe:

But when its way th' impetuous passion found,
I rend my tresses, and my breast I wound ;
I rave, then weep; I curse, and then complain;
Now swell to rage, now melt to tears again.
Not fiercer pangs distract the mournful dame,
Whose first-born infant feeds the funeral flame,
My scornful brother with a smile appears,
Insults my woes, and triumphs in my tears:
His hated image ever haunts my eyes;
"And why this grief? thy daughter lives," he cries.
Stung with my love, and furious with despair,
All torn my garments, and my bosom bare,
My woes, thy crimes, I to the world proclaim,
Such inconsistent things are love and shame!
'Tis thou art all my care and my delight,
My daily longing, and my dream by night:
O night, more pleasing than the brightest day,
When Fancy gives what absence takes away,
And, dress'd in all its visionary charms,
Restores my fair deserter to my arms!
Then round your neck in wanton wreaths I twine;
Then you, methinks, as fondly circle mine:
A thousand tender words I hear and speak;
A thousand melting kisses give, and take:
Then fiercer joys; I blush to mention these,
Yet, while I blush, confess how much they please
But when, with day, the sweet delusions fly,
And all things wake to life and joy, but I;
As if once more forsaken, I complain,
And close my eyes to dream of you again:

Per tibi, qui nunquam longe discedat, Amorem, `
Perque novem juro, numina nostra, Deas;
Cum mihi nescio quis, fugiunt tua gaudia, dixite
Nec me fiere diu, nec potuisse loqui:
Et lacrymæ deerant oculis, et lingua palato:
Astrictum gelido frigore pectus erat.
Postquam se dolor invenit; nec pectora plangi
Nec puduit scissis exululare comis:
Non aliter quam si nati pia mater adempti
Portet ad extructos corpus inane rogos.
Gaudet, et e nostro crescit moerore Charaxus
Frater; et ante oculos itque reditque meos
Utque pudenda mei videatur causa doloris :
Quid dolet hæc certe filia vivit, ait.
Non veniunt in idem pudor atque amor: omne

Vulgus; eram lacero pectus aperta sinu.
Tu mihi cura, Phaon; te somnia nostra reducunt
Somnia formoso candidiora die.

Illic te invenio, quanquam regionibus absis;
Sed non longa satis guadia somnus habet.
Sæpe tuos nostra cervice onerare lacertos,
Sæpe tuæ videor supposuisse meos.
Blandior interdum, verisque simillima verba
Eloquor; et vigilant. sensibus ora meis.
Oscula cognosco; quæ tu committere linguæ,
Aptaque consuêras accipere, apta dare.
Ulteriora pudet narrare; sed omnia fiunt.

Et juvat, et sine te non libet esse mihi.
At cum se Titan ostendit, et omnia secum
Tam cito me somnos destituisse queror.

Then frantic rise, and like some fury rove
Thro' lonely plains, and thro' the silent grove ;
As if the silent grove, and lonely plains,
That knew my pleasures, could relieve my pains.
I view the grotto, once the scene of love,
The rocks around, the hanging roofs above,
That charm'd me more, with native moss

But when from hence he plung'd into the main, Deucalion scorn'd, and Pyrrha lov'd in vain. Haste, Sappho, haste, from high Leucadia throw Thy wretched weight, nor dread the deeps below!» She spoke, and vanish'd with the voice-I rise, And silent tears fall trickling from my eyes. o'er-I go, ye nymphs! those rocks and seas to prove¿ How much I fear, but ah, how much I love! I go, ye nymphs, where furious love inspires;

Than Phrygian marble, or the Parian stone.
I find the shades that veil'd our joys before;
But, Phaon gone, those shades delight no more.
Here the press'd herbs with bending tops betray
Where oft entwin'd in amorous folds we lay;
I kiss that earth which once was press'd by you,
And all with tears the withering herbs bedew.
For thee the fading trees appear to mourn,
And birds defer their songs till thy return:
Night shades the groves, and all in silence lie,
All but the mournful Philomel and I:
With mournful Philomel I join my strain,
Of Tereus she, of Phaon I complain.

A spring there is, whose silver waters show,
Clear as a glass, the shining sands below;
A flowery lotos spreads its arms above,
Shades all its banks, and seems itself a grove;
Eternal greens the mossy margin grace,
Watch'd by the sylvan Genius of the place.
Here as I lay, and swell'd with tears the flood,
Before my sight a watery virgin stood:
She stood and cry'd, “Ö you that love in vain!
Fly hence, and seek the fair Leucadian main.
There stands a rock, from whose impending steep
Apollo's fane surveys the rolling deep;
There injur'd lovers, leaping from above,
Their flames extinguish, and forget to love.
Deucalion once with hopeless fury burn'd,
In vain he lov'd, relentless Pyrrha scorn'd:

Antra nemusque peto, tanquam nemus antraque prosint.

Conscia deliciis illa fuere tuis.

Illuc mentis inops, ut quam furialis Erichtho
Impulit, in collo crine jacente feror.
Antra vident oculi scabro pendentia topho,

Que mihi Mygdonii marmoris instar erant,
Invenio sylvam, quæ sæpe cubilia nobis

Præbuit, et multa texit opaca coma.
At non invenio dominum sylvæque, meumque.
Vile solum locus est: dos erat ille loci.
Agnovi pressas noti mihi cespitis herbas:

De nostro curvum pondere gramen erat.
Incubui, tetigique locum qua parte fuisti;
Grata prius lacrymas combibit herba meas.
Quinetiam rami positis lugere videntur

Frondibus; et nullæ dulce queruntur aves. Sola virum non ulta pie moestissima mater

Concinit Ismarium Daulias ales Ityn. Ales Ityn, Sappho desertos cantat amores : Hactenus, ut media cætera nocte silent. Est nitidus, vitroque magis perlucidus omni, Fons sacer; hunc multi numen habere putant. Quem supra ramos expandit aquatica lotos, Una nemus; tenero cespite terra viret. Hic ego cum lassos posuissem fletibus artus, Constitit ante oculos Naïas una meos. Constitit, et dixit, "Quoniam non ignibus æquis Uteris, Ambracias terra petenda tibi. Phœbus ab excelso, quantum patet, aspicit æquor: Actiacum populi Leucadiumque vocant.

Let female fears submit to female fires.
To rocks and seas I fly from Phaon's hate,
And hope from seas and rocks a milder fate.
Ye gentle gales, beneath my body blow,
And softly lay me on the waves below!
And thou, kind Love, my sinking limbs sustain,
Spread thy soft wings, and waft me o'er the main,
Nor let a lover's death the guiltless flood prophane !
On Phoebus' shrine my harp I'll then bestow,
And this inscription shall be plac❜d below.
"Here she who sung, to him that did inspire,
Sappho to Phoebus consecrates her lyre;
What suits with Sappho, Phoebus, suits with thee;
The gift, the giver, and the god agree."

But why, alas, relentless youth, ah, why
To distant seas must tender Sappho fly?
Thy charms than those may far more powerful be,
And Phoebus' self is less a god to me.

Ah! canst thou doom me to the rocks and sea,
O far more faithless, and more hard than they?
Ah! canst thou rather see this tender breast
Dash'd on these rocks, than to thy bosom press'd ;
This breast, which once, in vain! you lik'd so well;
Where the Loves play'd, and where the Muses
Alas! the Muses now no more inspire,
Untun'd my lute, and silent is my lyre;
My languid numbers have forgot to flow,
And fancy sinks beneath a weight of woe.


Hinc se Deucalion Pyrrhæ succensus amore
Misit, et illæso corpore pressit aquas.
Nec mora: versus amor tetigit lentissima Pyrrhæ
Pectora; Deucalion igne levatus erat.

Hanc legem locus ille tenet, pete protinus altam
Leucada; nec saxo desiluisse time."

Ut monuit, cum voce abiit, Ego frigida surgo:
Nec gravida lacrymas continuere genæ.
Ibimus, ô nyniphæ, monstrataque saxa petemus.
Sit procul insano victus amore timor. [bito.
Quicquid erit, melius quam nunc erit: aura, su-
Et mea non magnum corpora pondus habent.
Tu quoque, mollis amor, pennas suppone cadenti :
Ne sim Leucadiæ mortua crimen aquæ.
Inde chelyn Phoebo communia munera ponam:
Et sub ea versus unus et alter erunt.
"Grata lyram posui tibi, Phoebe, poëtria Sappho :
Convenit illa mihi, convenit illa tibi."
Cur tamen Actiacas miseram me mittis ad oras,
Cum profugum possis ipse referre pedem ?
Tu mihi Leucadiâ potes esse salubrior undâ :
Et forma et meritis tu mihi Phoebus eris.
An potes, ô scopulis undaque ferocior illa,
Si moriar, titulum mortis habere meæ ?
At quanto melius jungi mea pectora tecum,
Quam poterant saxis præcipitanda dari!
Hæc sunt illa, Phaon, que tu laudare solebas;
Visaque sunt toties ingeniosa tibi.
Nunc vellem facunda forent: dolor artibus obstat;
Ingeniumque meis substitit omne malis.
Non mihi respondent veteres in carmina vires.
Plectra dolore tacent: muta dolore lyra est.

Ye Lesbian virgins, and ye Lesbian dames,
Themes of my verse, and objects of my flames,
No more your groves with my glad songs shall ring,
No more these hands shall touch the trembling
My Phaon's fled, and I those arts resign, [string:
(Wretch that I am, to call that Phaon mine!)
Return, fair youth, and bring along
Joy to my soul, and vigour to my song!
Absent from thee, the poet's flame expires;
But ah! how fiercely burn the lover's fires?
Gods! can no prayers, no sighs, no numbers move
One savage heart, or teach it how to love?
The winds my prayers, my sighs, my numbers
The flying winds have lost them all in air! [bear,
Oh when, alas! shall more auspicious gales
To these fond eyes restore thy welcome sails?
If you return-ah why these long delays?
Poor Sappho dies while careless Phaon stays.
O, launch thy bark, nor fear the watery plain;
Venus for thee shall smooth her native main.
O launch thy bark, secure of prosperous gales;
Cupid for thee shall spread the swelling sails.
If you will fiy-(yet ah! what cause can be,
Too cruel youth, that you should fly from me?)
If not from Phaon I must hope for ease,
Ah let me seek it from the raging seas:
To raging seas unpity'd I'll remove,
And either cease to live, or cease to love!

Lesbides æquoreæ, nupturaque nuptaque proles;
Lesbides, Æolia nomina dicta lyra;
Lesbides, infamem quæ me fecistis amatæ ;
Desinite all citharas turba venire meas.
Abstulit omne Phaon, quod vobis ante placebat.
(Me miseram! dixi quam modo pene, meus!)
Efficite ut redeat: vates quoque vestra redibit.
Ingenio vires ille dat, ille rapit.

Ecquid ago precibus? pectusne agreste movetur?
An riget? et zephyri verba caduca ferunt>
Qui mea verba ferunt, vellem tua vela referrent.
Hoc te, si saperes, lente, decebat opus.
Sive redis, puppique tuæ votiva parantur

Munera; quid laceras pectora nostra mora ?
Solve ratem: Venus orta mari, mare præstat eunti.
Aura dabit cursum; tu modo solve ratem.
Ipse gubernabit residens in puppe Cupido:
Ipse dabit tenera vela legetque manu,
Sive juvat longe fugisse Pelasgida Sappho ;
(Non tamen invenics, cur ego digna fuga.)
[O saltem miseræ, crudelis, epistola dicat:
Ut mihi Leucadia fata petantur aquæ.]



ABELARD and Eloïsa flourished in the twelfth century; they were two of the most distinguished persons of their age in learning and beauty, but for nothing more famous than for their unfortunate passion. After a long course of calamities, they retired each to a several convent, and consecrated the remainder of their days to religion. It was many years after this separation, that a letter of Abelard's to a friend, which contained the history of his misfortune, fell into the hands of Eloisa. This awakening all her tenderness, VOL. XIL

those celebrated letters (out of which the following is partly extracted) which give so lively a picture of the struggles of grace and nature, virtue and passion.


In these deep solitudes and awful cells,
Where heavenly-pensive Contemplation dwells,
And ever musing Melancholy reigns;

What means this tumult in a vestal'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 Eloisa yet must kiss the name.

Dear, fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd,
Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'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 lost Eloisa weeps and prays,
Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.

Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains
Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:
Ye rugged rocks! which holy knces have worn;
Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn!
Shrines! where their vigils pale-eyed virgins keep;
And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep!
Though cold like you, unmov'd and silent grown, ́
I have not yet forgot myself to stone.
All is not Heaven's while Abelard has part,
Still rebel Nature holds out half my heart;
Nor prayers nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain,
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 sad! for ever dear! Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear I tremble too, where'er my own I find, Some dire misfortune follows close behind. Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow, Led through a sad variety of woe: Now warm in love, now withering in my bloom, Lost in a convent's solitary gloom! There stern Religion quench'd th' unwilling flame, There dy'd the best of passions, love and fame. Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine. Nor foes nor Fortune take this power away; And is my Abelard less kind than they? Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare, Love but demands what else were shed in prayer ; No happier task these faded eyes pursue; To read and weep is all they now can do.

Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief; Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief. Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover or some captive maid; They live, they speak, they breathe what love inWarm from the soul, and faithful to its fires, [spires, The virgin's wish without her fears impart, Fxcuse the blush, and pour out all the heart, Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the pole.

Thou know'st how guiltless 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, attempering every ray,
Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.
Guiltless gaz'd; Heaven listen'd while you sung;
And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like those what precept fail'd to move?
"Too soon they taught me 'twas no six to love:
Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
Nor wish'd an angel whom I lov'd a man.
Dim and remote the joys of saints I see,
Nor envy them that Heaven I lose for thee.
How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said,
Curse on all laws but those which Love has made!
Love, free as air, at sight of human ties,
Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.
Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame,
August her deed, and sacred be her fame;
Before true passion all those views remove;
Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to love?
The jealous god, when we prophane his fires,
Those restless passions in revenge inspires,
And bids them make mistaken mortals groan,
Who seek in love for aught but love alone.
Should at my feet the world's great master fall,
Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn them all :
Not Cæsar's empress would I deign to prove ;
No, make me mistress to the man I love.

If there be yet another name more free,
More fond than mistress, make me that to thee!
Oh, happy state! when souls each other draw,
When love is lib rty, and Nature law:
All then is full. possessing and possess'd,
No craving void left aching in the breast:
Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it
And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
This sure is bliss (if bliss on Earth there be)
And once the lot of Abelard and me.


You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desert smil'də
And Paradise was open'd in the wild.
No weeping orphan saw his father's stores
Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
No silver saints, by dying misers given,
Here bribe the rage of ill-requited Heaven;
But such plain roofs as Piety could raise,
And only vocal with the Maker's praise.
In these lone walls, (their days eternal bound)
These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown'd
Where awful arches make a noon-day night,
And the dim windows shed a solemn 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 sadness, or continual tears.
See how the force of others' prayers I try,
(O pious fraud of amorous charity!)
But why should I on others' prayers depend?
Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!
Ah, let thy handmaid, sister, daughter, move,
And all those tender names in one, thy love!
The darksome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd
Wave high, and murinur to the hollow wind,
The wandering streams that shine between the hills,
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 scenes my meditation aid,
Or lull to rest the visionary maid:

But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
Long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves,
Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws
A death-like silence, and a dread repose;
Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,
Shades every flower and darkens every green,

And breathes a browner horrour on the woods.
Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;

Alas, how chang'd! what sudden horrours rise! Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,
A naked lover bound and bleeding lies!
Where, where was-Eloise? her voice, her hand,
Her ponyard had oppos'd the dire command.
Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain;
The crime was common, common be the pain:
I can no more; by shame, by rage suppress'd,
Let tears and burning blushes speak the rest.

Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day,
When victims at yon altar's foot we lay?
Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell,
When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell?
As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil,
The shrines uil trembled and the lamps grew pale:
Heaven scarce believ'd the conquest it survey'd,
And saints with wonder heard the vows I made.
Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
Not on the cross my eyes were fix'd, but you :
Not grace, or zeal, love only was my cal!;
And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.
Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe;
Those still at least are left thee to bestow,
Still on that breast enamour'd let me lie,
Still drink delicious poison from thy eye,
Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press'd;
Give all thou canst--and let me dreain the rest.
Ah, no! instruct me other joys to prize,
With other beauties charin my partial eyes,
Full in my view set all the bright abode,
And make my soul quit Abelard for God.

Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy care,
Plants of thy hand, and children of thy prayer.
From the false world in early youth they fled,
By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led

Sad proof how well a Jover can obey!
Death, only Death, can break the lasting chain;
And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain
Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,
And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.

Ah, wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in vain,
Confess'd within the slave of love and man.
Assist me, Heaven! but whence arose that prayer
Sprung it from piety, or from despair?
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 solicit new;
Now turn'd to Heaven, I weep my past offence,
Now think of thee, and curse my innocence.
Of all afHiction taught a lover yet,
'Tis sure the hardest science to forget!
How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense,
And love th' offender, vet detest th' offence!
How the dear object from the crime remove,
Or how distinguish panitence froin love?
Unequal task! a passion to resign,

For Hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine!
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often inust it love, how often hate!
flow often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain,-do all things but forget!
But let Heaven seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd:
Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd!

Oh, come, oh, teach me Nature to subdue,
Renounce my love, my life, myself and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot;
The world forgetting, by the world forgot!
Eternal sun-shine of the spotless mind!
Each prayer accepted, and each wish resign'd;
Labour and rest that equal periods keep;
"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
Desires compos'd, affections ever even;
Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heaven.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
And whispering angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes;
For her the spouse prepares the bridal ring;
For her white virgins hymenaals sing;
To sounds of heavenly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day.

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 curst, dear horrours of all-conscious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
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 cyes;
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 creeps,
And low-brow'd rocks bang nodding o'er the deeps.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
I shrick, 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 calin of fix'd repose;
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 promis'd Heaven.
Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread?
The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.
Nature stands check'd; Religion disapproves ;
Ev'n thou art cold-vet Eloisa loves.

Ah, hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn
To light the dead, and warm th' 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 în every hymn to hear,
With every bead I drop too soft a tear.
When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,
And swelling orgaus 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 dar'st, 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; [tears Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those Take back my fruitless penitence and pravers; Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest 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!
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 lov'd, ador'd 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!

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See in her cell sad Eloïsa spread,

Propt 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 lamp around,
From yonder shrine 1 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:
Ev'n 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 refin'd in breasts seraphic glow;
Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay,
And smooth 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,
Prescut the cross before my lifted eye,
Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
Ah, then thy once lov'd Eloïsa sce!
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 cv'n ny Abelard be lov'd no more.
O Death all eloquent! you only prove
What dust we doat on, when 'tis man we love.

Then too, when Fate shall thy fair frame de (That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy) fstroy, In trance extatic may thy pangs be drown'd. Bright clouds descend, and angels watch thee round, From opening skies may streaming glories shine, And saints embrace thee with a love like mine 1

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