« EelmineJätka »
How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot? The world forgetting, by the world forgot: Eternal fun-fhine of the spotlefs mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each with refign'd; 210
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
"Obedient flumbers that can wake and weep;"
Defires compos'd, affections ever ev'n;
Tears that delight, and fighs that waft to heav'n.
Grace fhines around her with serenest beams,
And whisp'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 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 confcience fleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loose foul unbounded springs to thee.
O curft, dear horrors of all confcious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking Dæmons all restraint remove,
And ftir within me ev'ry fource of love.
VER. 212. Obedient flumbers, etc.] Taken from Crafhaw. P.
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, arise!
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 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 fufpenfe 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 fpirit 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 haft 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, 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,
Rife in the grove, before the altar rise,
Stain all my foul, and wanton in my eyes.
I waste the Matin lamp in fighs for thee,
Thy image fteals 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.
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, swim 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 juft gath'ring in my eye,
While praying, trembling, in the dust 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 thofe deluding eyes
Blot out each bright idea of the skies;
Take back that grace, thofe forrows, and those
Take back my fruitlefs penitence and pray'rs ;
Snatch me juft 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 fhare one pang of all I felt for thee.
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!
O 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 gueft;
Receive, and wrap me in eternal reft!
See in her cell fad Eloïfa spread,
Propt on fome 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 fhrine I heard a hollow found. "Come, fifter, come! (it faid, or feem'd to say) "Thy place is here, fad fifter, come away! "Once like thy felf, I trembled, wept, and pray'd, "Love's victim then, tho' now a fainted maid: "But all is calm in this eternal fleep;
"Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep,
"Ev'n fuperftition loses ev'ry fear:
315 "For God, not man, abfolves our frailties here." I come, I come! prepare your roseat bow'rs, Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs. Thither, where finners may have rest, I go, Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow: 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 breaft, and catch my flying foul! Ah no in facred veftments may'st thou ftand, 325 The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand, Prefent the cross 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 ev'ry motion, pulse, and breath be o'er; And ev'n my Abelard be lov'd no more. O Death all-eloquent! you only prove What duft we doat on, when 'tis man we love. Then too, when fate fhall thy fair frame deftroy, (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, From op'ning fkies may ftreaming glories fhine, And Saints embrace thee with a love like mine.