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A BELAR D.

N these deep folitudes and awful cells,

IN

Where heavenly 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 clofe difguife,
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 shagg'd with horrid thorn!
Shrines! where their vigils pale-eyed virgins keep,
And pitying faints, whofe ftatues learn to weep!
Though cold like you, unmov'd and filent
I have not yet forgot myself to stone.
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All

All is not Heaven's while Abelard has part,
Still rebel Nature holds out half my heart;

Nor prayers 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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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 gufhing eyes o'erflow,

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Led through a fad variety of woe:

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

There ftern Religion quench'd th' unwilling flame,

There dy'd the best of paffions, Love and Fame.

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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 power away; And is my Abelard less kind than they?

Tears ftill are mine, and those I need not spare,

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Love but demands what else were fhed in prayer;

No happier task these faded eyes purfue;
To read and weep is all they now can do.

Then share thy pain, allow that fad relief;

Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief.
Heaven first taught letters for fome wretch's aid,
Some banish'd lover, or fome captive maid;

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They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires, Warm from the foul, and faithful to its fires,

The

The virgin's with 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.

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.

Thofe fmiling eyes, attempering every ray,

Shone fweetly lambent with celeftial day.

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Guiltless I gaz'd; heaven liften'd while you fung; 65
And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like those 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 wifh'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man.
Dim and remote the joys of faints I fee;
Nor envy them that heaven I 'ofe for thee.

How oft, when prefs'd to marriage, have I said,
Curfe on all laws but thofe which love has made!
Love, free as air, at fight of human tiės,
Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.
Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame,
Auguft her deed, and facred be her fame;
Before true paflion all thofe views remove,

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Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love? 80
The jealous God, when we prophane his fires,
Those restlefs paffions in revenge infpires,
And bids them make mistaken mortals groan,
Who feek in love for aught but love alone.

Should

Should at my feet the world's great master fall,

Himself, his throne, his world, I'd fcorn them all:
Not Cæfar's emprefs would I deign to prove;

No, make me miftrefs to the man I love.

If there be yet another name more free,

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More fond than miftrefs, make me that to thee!
O! happy state! when fouls each other draw,
When love is liberty, and nature law
All then is full, poffeffing, and poffefs'd,
No craving void left aching in the breast:

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Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
And each warm with springs mutual from the heart.
This fure is blifs (if blifs on earth there be)
And once the lot of Abelard and me.

Alas, how chang'd! what fudden horrors rise !
A naked lover bound and bleeding lies!
Where, where was Eloïfe? her voice, her hand,
Her poynard had oppos'd the dire command.
Barbarian, ftay! 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 reft.

Canft thou forget that fad, that folemn day,
When victims at yon altar's foot we lay?
Canft thou forget what tears that moment fell,

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When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell? 110
As with cold lips I kifs'd the facred veil,

The shrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale:
Heaven scarce believ'd the Conqueft it furvey'd,
And Saints with wonder heard the vows I made.

Yet

Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
Not on the crofs 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.

Come with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe;
Thofe ftill at least are left thee to bestow.

Still on that breast enamour'd let me lie,

Still drink delicious poifon from thy eye,

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Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be prefs'd;
Give all thou canft-and let me dream the rest.
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 leaft thy flock deferves thy care,
Plants of thy hand, and children of thy prayer.
From the falfe world in early youth they fled,
By thee to mountains, wilds, and deferts led.
You rais'd these 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 given,
Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited Heaven;
But fuch plain roofs as Piety could raise,
And only vocal with the Maker's praise.

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In thefe lone walls (their days eternal bound)

These moss-grown domes with fpiry turrets crown'd,

Where awful arches make a noon-day night,

And the dim windows fhed a folemn light;

Thy

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