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Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe;
Thofe ftill at leaft are left thee to beftow.
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 can'ft- and let me dream the reft.
Ah no! inftruct 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 deserves thy care,
Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r. 130
From the falfe world in early youth they fled,
By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led.
You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the defert fmil'd,
And paradife was open'd in the wild.
No weeping orphan saw his father's ftores
Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
No filver faints, by dying mifers giv❜n,
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 praise.
In these lone walls (their days eternal bound)
These mofs-grown domes with spiry 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 sadness, or continual tears.
See how the force of others pray'rs 1 try,
(O pious fraud of am'rous charity!)
VER. 133. You rais'd these hallow'd walls;] He founded the Monaftery.
But why should I on others pray'rs depend?
Come thou, my father, brother, hufband, friend!
Ah let thy handmaid, fifter, daughter move,
And all those tender names in one, thy love!
The darkfome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd, 155
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
The wand'ring ftreams that fhine 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 fcenes my meditation aid,
Or lull to reft the vifionary maid.
But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
Long-founding illes, and intermingled graves,
Black Melancholy fits, and round her throws
A death-like filence, and a dread repofe;
Her gloomy prefence faddens all the scene,
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 lafting 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 mix with thine...
Ah wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in vain,
Confefs'd within the flave of love and man.
Affift me, heav'n! but whence arose that pray'r?
Sprung it from piety, or from despair?
Ev'n here, where frozen chastity retires,
Love finds an altar for forbidden fres
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 folicit new ;
Now turn'd to heav'n, 1 weep my paft offence,
Now think of thee, and curfe my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
"Tis fure the hardest science to forget!
How shall I lose the fin, yet keep the fenfe,
And love th' offender, yet deteft th' offence ?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
Or how diftinguish penitence from love?
Unequal task! a paffion to refign,
For hearts fo touch'd, fo pierc'd, fo loft as mine!
Ere fuch a foul regains its peaceful state,
How often muft it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, refent, regret,
Conceal, difdain, do all things but forget?
But let heav'n feize it, all at once 'tis fir'd;
Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but infpir'd!
Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue,
Renounce my love, my life, myfelf and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
Alone can rival, can fucceed to thee.
VER. 212. Obedient plumbers, etc.] Taken from Crashaw,
How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot?
The world forgetting, by the world forgot:
Eternal fun-fhine of the fpotlefs mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each with refign'd;
Labour and reft, that equal periods keep;
"Obedient Alumbers that can wake and weep ;"
Defires compos'd, affections ever ev'n;
Tears that delight, and fighs that waft to heav'n.
Grace shines around her with fereneft beams,
And whifp'ring Angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th' unfading rofe of Eden blooms,
And wings of Seraphs shed 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 visions of eternal day.
Far other dreams my erring foul employ,
Far other raptures, of unholy joy :
When at the close of each fad, forrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance fnatch'd away,
Then conscience fleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loose foul unbounded springs to thee.
O curft, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking Demons all restraint remove,
And ftir within me ev'ry source of love.
I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,
And round thy phantom glue my clafping 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 fay:
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 waftes, 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 becken from the skies;
Clouds interpofe, waves roar, and winds arife.
I fhriek, ftart up, the fame fad prospect 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 repos;
No pulfe that riots, and no blood that glows.
Still as the fea, ere winds were taught to blow,
Or moving spirit 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 hast 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, lasting flames! like those that burn
To light the dead, and warm th’unfruitful urn.
What fcenes appear where'er I turn my view?
The dear ideas, where 1 fly, pursue,
Rife in the grove, before the altar rife,
Stain all my foul, and wanton in my eyes.
I waste the Matin lamp in fighs for thee,
Thy image steals between my God and me,
Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear,
11 With ev'ry bead I drop too foft a tear.
When from the cenfer clouds of fragrance roll,
And fwelling organs lift the rifing foul,
One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight,
Priefts, tapers, temples, fwim before my fight:
In feas of flame my plunging foul is drown'd,
While Altars blaze, and Angels tremble round,
While proftrate here in humble grief I lie,
Kind, virtuous drops juft gath'ring in my eye,
While praying, trembling, in the duft I roll,
And dawning grace is op'ning on my foul:
Come, if thou dar'ft, all charming as thou art!
Oppofe thyself to Heav'n; difpute my heart;
Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes
Blot out each bright idea of the skies;
Take back that grace, those forrows, and thofe tears
Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs ;