Imatges de pàgina
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Affift me heav'n! but whence arofe that pray'r?
Sprung it from piety, or from despair?
Ev'n here, where frozen chastity retires,
Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.

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 follicit new;

Now turn'd to heav'n, I weep my paft offence,

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Now think of thee, and curfe my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
'Tis fure the hardest science to forget!

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How fhall I lose the fin, yet keep the sense,
And love th' offender, yet deteft th' offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
Or how distinguish penitence from love?
Unequal task! a paffion to refign,

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For hearts so touch'd, fo pierc'd, fo loft as mine.

E'er fuch a foul regains its peaceful ftate,

How often muft it love, how often hate!
How often hope, defpair, 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 inspir'd!
Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue,
Renounce my love, my life, my felf—and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
Alone, can rival, can fucceed to thee.

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How happy is the blameless veftal's lot? The world forgetting, by the world forgot: Eternal fun-fhine of the fpotlefs mind!

Each pray'r accepted, and each wish refign'd;
Labour and reft, that equal periods keep;
"Obedient flumbers that can wake and weep;"
Defires compos'd, affections ever even;

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Tears that delight, and fighs that waft to heav'n.
Grace fhines around her with ferenest beams,
And whifp'ring Angels prompt her golden dreams.

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For

For her the Spoufe prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins Hymenæals fing,
For her th' unfading rofe of Eden blooms,
And wings of Seraphs shed divine perfumes,
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 clofe of each fad, forrowing day,
Fancy reftores 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 stir within me ev'ry source of love.

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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,
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.

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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;
Clouds interpofe, waves roar, and winds arife.
I fhriek, ftart up, the fame fad profpect find,
And wake to all the griefs I left behind.

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For thee the fates, feverely kind, ordain
A cool fufpenfe from pleasure and from pain;
Thy life a long, dead calm of fix'd repose ;
No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows.
Still as the fea, e'er winds were taught to blow,
Or moving fpirit bade the waters flow;

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Soft as the flumbers of a faint forgiv❜n,

And mild as opening 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 Eloifa loves.
Ah hopeless, lafting flames! like those that burn
To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn.
What fcenes appear, where-e'er I turn my view,
The dear ideas where I fly, purfue,
Rife in the grove, before the altar rise,
Stain all my foul, and wanton in my eyes.
I wafte 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 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,
Priests, 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 just gath'ring in my eye,
While praying, trembling, in the duft I roll,
And dawning grace is opening on my foul;
Come, if thou dar'ft, all charming as thou art!
Oppofe thy felf to heav'n; difpute my heart;
Coine, with one glance of those deluding eyes
Blot out each bright idea of the skics;

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Take back that grace, thofe forrows, and thofe tears; 285
Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs ;
Snatch me, juft mounting, from the bleft abode
Affist 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!"
Ah come not, write not, think not once of me,
Nor fhare one pang of all I felt for thee.

;

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Thy

Thy oaths I quit, thy memory refign;

Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.

Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!) 295 Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu !

O grace ferene! oh virtue heav'nly fair!

Q

Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!

Fresh blooming hope, gay daughter of the fky!

And faith, our early immortality!

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Enter, each mild, each amicable guest ;

Receive, and wrap me in eternal reft!
See in her cell fad Eloifa fpread,-

Propt on fome tomb, a neighbour of the dead!

In each low wind methinks a spirit calls,

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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!

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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 lofes ev'ry fear :
For God, not man, abfolves our frailties here.'
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 breafts feraphic glow:
Thou, Abelard! the laft fad office pay,

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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 veftments may'ft thou ftand,

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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 Eloifa fee!
It will be then no crime to gaze on me.

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See

See from my cheek the tranfient roles fly!
See the last sparkle languish in my eye!
'Till ev'ry motion, pulfe, 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 shall thy fair frame deftroy, (That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy) In trance extatic may thy pangs be drown'd,

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Bright clouds descend, and Angels watch thee round, 340"
From opening fkies may ftreaming glories shine,
And Saints embrace thee with a love like mine.
May * one kind grave unite each hapless name,
And graft my love immortal on thy fame!
Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er,
When this rebellious heart fhall beat no more;
If ever chance two wand'ring lovers brings
To Paraclete's white walls and filver fprings,
O'er the pale marble fhall they join their heads,
And drink the falling tears each other sheds;
Then fadly fay, with mutual pity mov'd,
"Oh may we never love as thefe have lov'd!"

From the full choir when loud Hofanna's rife,
And fwell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
Amid that scene, if some relenting eye
Glance on the ftone where our cold relicks lie,
Devotion's felf shall steal a thought from heav'n,
One human tear fhall drop, and be forgiv❜n.
And fure if fate fome future bard shall join
In fad fimilitude of griefs to mine,
Condemn'd whole years in abfence to deplore,
And image charms he muft behold no more;
Such if there be, who loves fo long, fo well;.
Let him our fad, our tender ftory tell;

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The well-fung woes will footh my penfive ghoft; 365 He beft can paint 'em, who fhall feel 'em moft.

Abelard and Eloifa were interred in the fame grave, or in monuments aḍā joining, in the Monastery of the Paraclete: He died in 1142, the in 1163.

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