For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring, Far other dreams my erring soul employ, 220 When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day, 225 230 235 I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms, NOTES. Then, as my taper waxes dim, Chant ere I sleep my measur'd hymn; 240 Of parting wings bedropt with gold. Warton. Ver. 219. For her] Copied exactly from the opinions and ideas of the Mystics and Quietists. There were but six Vestal Virgins at Rome; and it was with great difficulty the number was kept up, from the dread of the punishment for violating the vow, which was to be interred alive. Warton. Alas, no more! methinks we wand'ring go 255 For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain; 250 Thy life a long dead calm 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 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 stands check'd; Religion disapproves; Ev'n thou art cold-yet 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, NOTES. 260 Ver. 241. Methinks we wand'ring] I have been sometimes inclined to think, that some vision more appropriated, and drawn from her peculiar distress, would have been more striking. Virgil adds to Dido's dream a circumstance beautifully drawn from her own story: And seeks her Tyrians o'er the waste in vain. Warton. 265 270 Rise in the grove, before the altar rise, 280 While prostrate here in humble grief I lie, Kind, virtuous drops just gath'ring in my eye, While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll, And dawning grace is op'ning on my soul: Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art! Oppose thyself to heav'n; 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 pray'rs ; NOTES. 285 Ver. 274. Priests, tapers, temples,] Equal to any part of Sappho's Ode, so celebrated by Longinus for an assemblage of striking cirWarton. 'cumstances. PARALLEL PASSAGES. Ver. 274. Priests, tapers, &c.] 66 Priests, tapers, temples, swam before my sight, Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode ; Rise alps between us! and whole oceans roll! 290 Oh Grace serene! oh virtue heav'nly fair! Fresh-blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky! Enter, each mild, each amicable guest: 300 See in her cell sad Eloisa 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 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; 66 66 NOTES. 305 310 Ver. 298. low-thoughted care!] An epithet from Milton's Comus, IVarton. Ver. 308. a hollow sound.] Though Virgil evidently gave the hint: (Hinc exaudiri voces et verba vocantis visa viri. 1. 4. p. 460.) yet this call of some sister, that had been involved in a similar distress, appears more solemn and interesting. Warton. "Once like thyself, I trembl'd, wept, and pray'd, "Love's victim then, tho' 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: 66 315 For God, not man, absolves our frailties here." And smooth my passage to the realms of day: 330 335 What dust we doat on, when 'tis man we love. round, 340 |