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To founds of heav'nly harps fhe dies away;
And melts in vifions 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, 225
Fancy restores what vengeance fnatch'd away,
Then conscience fleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loose foul unbounded fprings to thee.
Oh curft, dear horrors of all-confcious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight! 230
Provoking Dæmons all restraint remove;
And stir within me ev'ry 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, 235
The phantom flies me, as unkind as you.
I call aloud; it hears not what I say :

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I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
Ye foft illufions, dear deceits, arife!
Alas, no more! methinks we wand'ring go
Thro' dreary wastes, 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 beckon from the skies; 245
Clouds interpofe, waves roar, and winds arise.
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 suspense from pleasure and from pain; 250
Thy life a long dead calm of fix'd repose;

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, 255
And mild as op'ning gleams of promis'd heav'n.

Come, Abelard! for what haft thou to dread? The torch of Venus burns not for the dead. Nature ftands check'd; Religion difapproves ; Ev'n thou art cold---yet Eloïfa loves. 260 Ah hopeless, lafting 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,

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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 feem in ev'ry hymn to hear,
With ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear. 270
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,
Priests, tapers, temples, fwim before my fight:
In feas of flame my plunging foul is drown'd, 275
While Altars blaze, and Angels tremble round.

While proftrate 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 foul: 280
Come, if thou dar'ft, 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 forrows, and those
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tears;

Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs ;
Snatch me, just mounting, from the bleft abode,
Affift the fiends, and tear me from my God!
No, fly me, fly me, far as Pole from Pole;
Rife Alps between us! and whole oceans roll! 290
Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,
Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.

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Thy oaths I quit, thy memory refign;
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!
Oh Grace ferene! oh virtue heav'nly 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 fad Eloïfa spread, Prompt on fome tomb, a neighbour of the dead. In each low wind methinks a Spirit calls, 305 And more than Echoes talk along the walls. Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around, From yonder shrine I heard a hollow found. "Come, fifter, come! (it faid, or feem'd to say)

Thy place is here, fad fifter, come away! 310 "Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd, "Love's victim then, tho' now a fainted maid: "But all is calm in this eternal fleep;

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"Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep, "Ev'n fuperftition lofes every fear : "For God, not man, abfolves our frailties here."

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I come, I come! prepare your rofeate bow'rs,
Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs.
Thither, where finners may have reft, I go,
Where flames refin'd in breasts feraphic glow: 320
Thou, Abelard! the laft fad office pay,
And smooth my paffage to the realms of day :
See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll,
Suck my
laft breath and catch my flying foul!
Ah no--in facred vestments may'st thou stand, 325
The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand,
Prefent the Crofs before my lifted eye,
Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
Ah then, thy once-lov'd Eloïfa fee!
It will be then no crime to gaze on me.
See from my cheek the tranfient roses fly!
See the last sparkle languish in my eye!
'Till every motion, pulfe, and breath be o'er;
And ev❜n my Abelard be lov'd no more.
Oh Death all-eloquent! you only prove
What duft we doat on, when 'tis man we love.

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Then too, when fate shall thy fair frame destroy, (That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy) In trance extatic may thy pangs be drown'd, Bright clouds defcend, and Angels watch thee

round,

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