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, write it not, my hand—the name appears And bids them make mistaken mortals groan, Already written-wash it out, my tears!

Who seek in love for aught but love alone.

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, write it not, my hand-lhe name appears And bids them make mistaken mortals groan, Already written-wash it out, my tears !

Who seek in love for aught but love alone. In vain lost Eloïsa weeps and prays,

Should at my feet the world's great master fall, Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys. Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn them all :

Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains Not Cesar's empress would I deign to prove; Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains :

No, make me mistress to the man I love. Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn; If there be yet another name more free, Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn! More fond than mistress, make me that to thee! Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep; Oh, happy state! when souls each other draw, And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep! When love is liberty, and Nature law: Though cold like you, unmoy'd and silent grown, All then is full, possessing and possessid, I have not yet forgot myself to stone.

No craving void left aching in the breast : All is not Heaven's while Abelard has part, Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part, Still rebel Nature holds out half my heart; And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart. Nor prayers nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain, This sure is bliss (if bliss on Earth there be) Nor tears, for ages taught to flow in vain.

And once the lot of Abelard and me. Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,

Alas, how chang'd! what sudden horrors rise ! That well-known name awakens all my woes. A naked lover bound and bleeding lies! Oh, name for ever sad! for ever dear!

Where, where was Eloïsa ? her voice, her hand, Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear. Her poniard had oppos d the dire command. I tremble too, where'er my own I find,

Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain; Some dire misfortune follows close behind.

The crime was common, common be the pain. Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow, | I can no more; by shame, by rage suppress'd, Led through a sad variety of woe :

Let tears and burning blushes speak the rest. Now warm in love, now withering in my bloom, Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day, Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!

When victims at yon altar's foot we lay? There stern Religion quench'd th' unwilling flame, Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell, There died the best of passions, love and fame. When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell ?

Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil, Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine. The shrines all trembled and the lamps grew pale: Nor foes nor Fortune take this power away; Heaven scarce believ'd the conquest it survey'd, And is my Abelard less kind than they?

And saints with wonder heard the vows I made. Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare, Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew, Love but demands what else were shed in prayer; Not on the cross my eyes were fix'd, but you : No happier task these faded eyes pursue; Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call; To read and weep is all they now can do. | And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.

Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief; Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief.

Those still at least are left thee to bestow. Hearen first taught letters for some wretch's aid, Still on that breast enamour'd let me lie, Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid ; (spires, Still drink delicious poison from thy eye, They live, they speak, they breathe what love in- Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press'd ; Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires, Give all thou canst-and let me dream the rest. The virgin's wish without her fears impart, Ah, no! instruct me other joys to prize, Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart, With other beauties charm my partial eyes, Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, Full in my view set all the bright abode, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.

And make my soul quit Abelard for God Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame, Ah! think at least thy flock deserves thy care, When Love approach'd me under Friendship’s name; Plants of thy hand, and children of thy prayer. My fancy form’d thee of angelic kind,

From the false world in early youth they ned, Some emanation of th' All-beauteous Mind. By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led. Those smiling eyes, attempering every ray, You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desert smild, Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day. And Paradise was open'd in the wild. Guiltless I gaz'd; Heaven listen'd while you sung: No weeping orphan saw his father's stores And truths divine came mended from that tongue. Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors ; From lips like those what precept fail'd to move? No silver saints, by dying misers given, Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love: Here bribe the rage of ill-requited Heaven; Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran, But such plain roofs as Piety could raise, Nor wish'd an angel whom I lov'd a man. And only vocal with the Maker's praise, Dim and remote the joys of saints I see,

In these lone walls, (their days eternal bound,) Nor envy them that Heaven I lose for thee. These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown'd

How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said, Where awful arches make a noon-day night,
Curse on all laws but those which love has made! And the dim windows shed a solemn light;
Love, free as air, at sight of human ties

Thy eyes diffusd a reconciling ray,
Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies. And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day.
Let wealth, let honor, wait the wedded dame, But now no face divine contentment wears,
August her deed, and sacred be her fame;

'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears.
Before true passion all those views remove; See how the force of others' prayers I try,
Fame, wealth, and honor! what are you to love ? (O pious fraud of amorous charity!)
The jealous god, when we profane his fires, But why should I on others' prayers depend ?
Those restless passions in revenge inspires, Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!

Ah, let thy handmaid, sister, daughter, move, Far other dreams my erring soul employ,
And all those tender names in one, thy love! Far other raptures of unholy joy:
The darksome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd When, at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind, Fancy restores what Vengeance snatch'd away,
The wandering streams that shine between the hills, Then Conscience sleeps, and leaving Nature free,
The grots that echo to the tinkling rills,

All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee. The dying gales that pant upon the trees,

O curst, dear horrors of all-conscious night! The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze ; How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight! No more these scenes my meditation aid,

Provoking demons all restraint remove, Or lull to rest the visionary maid :

And stir within me every source of love. But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves, I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms, Long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves, And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms. Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws I wake:- no more I hear, no more I view, A death-like silence, and a dread repose ;

The phantom flies me, as unkind as you. Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene, I call aloud ; it hears not what I say: Shades every flower and darkens every green, I stretch my empty arms; it glides away. Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,

To dream once more I close my willing eyes; And breathes a browner horror on the woods. Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise! Yet here for ever, ever must I stay ;

Alas, no more! methinks we wandering go Sad proof how well a lover can obey!

Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe Death, only Death, can break the lasting chain; Where round some mouldering tower pale ivy creeps, And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain; And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,

Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies : And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.

Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise. Ah, wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in vain, I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find, Confess'd within the slave of love and man. And wake to all the griefs I left behind. Assist me, Heaven! but whence arose that prayer? For thee the Fates, severely kind, ordain Sprung it from piety, or from despair?

A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain; Ev'n here where frozen Chastity retires,

Thy life a long dead calm of fix'd repose : Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.

No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows. I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought; Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow, I mourn the lover, not lament the fault;

Or moving spirit bade the waters flow; I view my crime, but kindle at the view,

Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiven, Repent old pleasures, and solicit new;

And mild as opening gleams of promis'd Heaven. Now turn'd to Heaven, I weep my past offence, | Come, Abelard ! for what hast thou to dread? Now think of theo, and curse my innocence. The torch of Venus burns not for the dead. Of all affliction taught a lover yet,

Nature stands check'd ; Religion disapproves; 'Tis sure the hardest science to forget!

Ev'n thou art cold-yet Eloïsa loves. How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense, Ah, hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence ? To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn. How the dear object from the crime remove,

What scenes appear where'er I turn my view! Or how distinguish penitence from love?

The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue,
Unequal task ! a passion to resign,

Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine! Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,

I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee,
How often must it love, how often hate !

Thy image steals between my God and me; How often hope, despair, resent, regret,

Thy voice I seem in every hymn to hear, Conceal, disdain,-do all things but forget! With every bead I drop too soft a tear. But let Heaven seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd: When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll, Not touch’d, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd! And swelling organs lift the rising soul, Oh, come, oh, teach me Nature to subdue, One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight, Renounce my love, my life, myself—and you. Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight: Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown'd, Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.

While altars blaze, and angels tremble round. How happy is the blameless vestal's lot ;

While prostrate here in humble grief I lie, The world forgetting, by the world forgot! Kind, virtuous drops just gathering in my eye, Eternal sun-shine of the spotless mind!

While, praying, trembling, in the dust I roll, Each prayer accepted, and each wish resign'd; And dawning grace is opening on my soul : Labor and rest that equal periods keep;

Come, if thou dar’st, all charming as thou art! Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;". Oppose thyself to Heaven ; dispute my heart; Desires compos'd, affections ever even;

Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes, Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heaven. Blot out each bright idea of the skies; Grace shines around her with serenest beams, Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears And whispering angels prompt her golden dreams. Take back my fruitless penitence and prayers : For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,

Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode; And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes; Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God! For her the spouse prepares the bridal ring;

No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole! For her white virgins hymenæals sing:

Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll! To sounds of heavenly harps she dies away, Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me, And melts in visions of eternal day.

Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.

Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign!

Such, if there be, who loves so long, so well; Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine. Let him our sad, our tender story tell ! Fair eyes, and tempting looks, (which yet I view !) The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost ; Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu !

He best can paint them who shall feel them most!
O Grace serene! O Virtue heavenly 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!

THE TEMPLE OF FAME.
See in her cell sad Eloïsa spread,
Propt on some tomb, a neighbor of the dead.

Written in the Year 1711.
In each low wind methinks a spirit calls,
And more than Echoes talk along the walls.

ADVERTISEMENT.
Here, as I watch'd the dying lamp around,
From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound. The hint of the following piece was taken from
Come, sister, come !" (it said, or seem'd to say) Chaucer's House of Fame. The design is in a
“Thy place is here, sad sister, come away! manner entirely altered, the descriptions and most
Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd, of the particular thoughts my own; yet I could
Love's victim then, though now a sainted maid : not suffer it to be printed without this acknow-
But all is calm in this eternal sleep:

ledgment. The reader, who would compare this Here Grief forgets to groan, and Love to weep; with Chaucer, may begin with his third book of Ev'n Superstition loses every fear;

Fame, there being nothing in the two first books For God, not man, absolves our frailties here." that answers to their title.

I come! I come! prepare your roseate bowers, The poem is introduced in the manner of the ProCelestial palms, and ever-blooming flowers.

vençal poets, whose works were for the most part Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go,

visions, or pieces of imagination, and constantly Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow; descriptive. From these, Petrarch and Chaucer Thou, Abelard. the last sad office pay,

frequently borrowed the idea of their poems. And smooth my passage to the realms of day : See the Trionfi of the former, and the Dream, See my lips tremble, and my eyeballs roll,

Flower and the Leat, &c. of the latter. The Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul! author of this therefore chose the same sort of Ah, no—in sacred vestments may'st thou stand, exordium. The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand, Present the cross before my lifted eye,

In that soft season, when descending showers Teach me at once, and learn of me to die. Call forth the greens, and wake the rising flowers; Ah, then thy once-lov'd Eloïsa see!

When opening buds salute the welcome day, It will be then no crime to gaze on me.

And earth relenting feels the genial ray; See from my cheek the transient roses fly!

As balmy sleep had charm'd my cares to rest, See the last sparkle languish in my eye!

And love itself was banish'd from my breast, Till every motion, pulse, and breath be o'er; (What time the morn mysterious visions brings, And ev'n my Abelard be lov'd no more.

While purer slumbers spread their golden wings,) O Death all eloquent ! you only prove

A train of phantoms in wild order rose, What dust we dote on, when 'tis man we love. And join'd, this intellectual scene compose.

Then too, when Fate shall thy fair frame destroy I stood, methought, betwixt earth, seas, and skies; (That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy,) The whole creation open to my eyes : In trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drown'd, In air self-balanc'd hung the globe below, Bright clouds descend, and angels watch thee round. Where mountains rise, and circling oceans flow; From opening skies may streaming glories shine, Here naked rocks, and empty wastes, were seen; And saints embrace thee with a love like mine! There towering cities, and the forests green:

May one kind grave unite each hapless name, Here sailing ships delight the wandering eyes! And graft my love immortal on thy fame! There trees and intermingled temples rise : Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er, Now a clear sun the shining scene displays; When this rebellious heart shall beat no more; The transient landscape now in clouds decays. If ever chance two wandering lovers brings

O'er the wide prospect as I gaz'd around,
To Paraclete's white walls and silver springs, Sudden I heard a wild promiscuous sound,
O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads, Like broken thunders that at distance roar,
And drink the falling tears each other sheds; Or billows murmuring on the hollow shore:
Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov'd,

Then gazing up, a glorious pile beheld,
"O, may we never love as these have lov'd !" Whose towering summit ambient clouds conceal'd.
From the full choir, when loud hosannas rise, High on a rock of ice the structure lay.
And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,

Steep its ascent, and slippery was the way; Amid that scene if some relenting eye

The wondrous rock like Parian marble shone, Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie, And seem'd, to distant sight, of solid stone. Devotion's self shall steal a thought from Heaven, Inscriptions here of various names I view'd, One human tear shall drop, and be forgiven. The greater part by hostile time subdued; And sure if Fate some future bard shall join Yet wide was spread their fame in ages past, In sad similitude of griefs to mine,

And poets once had promis'd they should last. Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore, Some fresh engray'd appear'd of wits renown'd; And image charms he must behold no more : I look'd again, nor could their trace be found.

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