"And whence, unhappy youth," he cried, "The sorrows of thy breast? "From better habitations spurn'd, Reluctant dost thou rove? Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, Or unregarded love?

"Alas! the joys that fortune brings

Are trifling, and decay;

And those who prize the paltry things

More trifling still than they.
"And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep;
A shade that follows wealth or fame,
And leaves the wretch to weep?
"And love is still an emptier sound,
The modern fair one's jest ;
On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle's nest.

"For shame! fond youth, thy sorrows hush,
And spurn the sex!" he said:
But, while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betray'd.
Surpris'd he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view,
Like colors o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.
The bashful look, the rising breast,

Alternate spread alarms;
The lovely stranger stands confest
A maid in all her charms.

And, "Ah, forgive a stranger rude,

A wretch forlorn," she cried, "Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude Where heaven and you reside! "But let a maid thy pity share,

Whom love has taught to stray; Who seeks for rest, but finds despair

Companion of her way.

"My father liv'd beside the Tyne,
A wealthy lord was he;

And all his wealth was mark'd as mine,
He had but only me.

"To win me from his tender arms

Unnumber'd suitors came;
Who prais'd me for imputed charms,
And felt, or feign'd a flame.
Each hour a mercenary crowd
With richest proffers strove;
Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,
But never talk'd of love.

"In humble, simplest habit clad,
No wealth or power had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.
"The blossom op'ning to the day,
The dews of heav'n refin'd,
Could nought of purity display.
To emulate his mind.

"The dew, the blossoms of the tree,

With charms inconstant shine; Their charms were his, but, woe to me! Their constancy was mine.

"For still I tried each fickle art, Importunate and vain :

And while his passion touch'd my heart,
I triumph'd in his pain:

"Till, quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride;
And sought a solitude forlorn

In secret, where he died.

"But mine the sorrow, mine the fault! And well my life shall pay ;

I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay!
"And there forlorn, despairing, hid,
I'll lay me down and die;
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I!"

"Forbid it, Heaven!" the Hermit cried, And clasp'd her to his breast:

The wond'ring fair-one turn'd to chide'Twas Edwin's self that press'd.

Why feels my heart its long forgotten heat? Yet, yet I love!-From Abelard it came, And Eloisa yet must kiss the name.

Dear, fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd,
Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd:
Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
Where, mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies:
O, write it not, my hand-the name appears
Already written-wash it out, my tears!
In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays,
Her heart still dictates and her hand obeys.
Relentless walls! whose darksome round
contains

Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:
Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have
[thorn!
Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid

worn;

keep;

And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep! [grown, Though cold like you, unmov'd and silent I have not yet forgot myself to stone. All is not heaven's while Abelard has part, Still rebel nature holds out half my heart; Nor prayers, nor fasts, its stubborn pulse restrain,

Nor tears for ages taught to flow in vain.

Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
That well-known name awakens all my woes.
Oh, name for ever sad! for ever dear!
Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear.
I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
Led through a sad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now withering in my
Lost in a convent's solitary gloom! [bloom,
There stern religion quench'd th' unwilling
flame,

There dy'd the best of passions, love and fame.
Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine!
Nor foes nor fortune take this power away;
And is my Abelard less kind than they?
Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,
Love but demands what else were shed in
prayer ;

No happier task these faded eyes pursue;
To read and weep is all they now can do.

Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief; Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief. Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,

Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid; They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,

Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires. The virgin's wish without her fears impart, Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart, Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the pole.

Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame,

Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies. Let wealth, let honor, wait the wedded dame, August her deed, and sacred be her fame; Before true passion all those views remove; Fame, wealth, and honor! what are you to love?

The jealous God, when we profane his fires,
Those restless passions in revenge inspires,
And bids them make mistaken mortals groan,
Who seek in love for aught but love alone.
Should at my feet the world's great master fall,
Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn them
all;

Not Cæsar's empress would I deign to prove ;
No, make me mistress to the man I love :
If there be yet another name, more free,
More fond than mistress, make me that to
thee!

Oh, happy state! when souls each other draw,
When love is liberty, and nature law:
All then is full, possessing and possess'd,
No craving void left aching in the breast:
Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips
it part,
[heart.
And each warm wish springs mutual from the
This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be),
And once the lot of Abelard and me.

[rise!

made.

sung;

move?

Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love:
Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
Nor wish'd an angel whom I lov'd a man.
Dim and remote the joys of saints I see,
Nor envy them that heaven I lose for thee.
How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I
said,

Curse on all laws but those which love has

care,

By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led. You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desert smil'd,

And paradise was open'd in the wild.
No weeping orphan saw his father's stores
Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
No silver saints, by dying misers given,
Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heaven;
But such plain roofs as piety could raise,
And only vocal with the Maker's praise.
In these lone walls (their day's eternal bound)
These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets
crown'd,

Where awful arches make a noon-day night,
And the dim windows shed a solemn light;
Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray,
And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day.
But now no face divine contentment wears,
"Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears.
See how the force of others' prayers I try,
(O pious fraud of amorous charity!)
But why should I on others' prayers depend?
Come thou, my father, brother, husband,
friend!

Ah, let thy handmaid, sister, daughter, move,
And all those tender names in one, thy love!
The darksome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind;
The wand'ring streams that shine between the
hills,

The grots that echo to the tinkling rills,
The dying gales that pant upon the trees,
The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze;
No more these scenes my meditation aid,
Or lull to rest the visionary maid.
But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
Long sounding aisles, and intermingled graves,
Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws
A death-like silence, and a dread repose;
Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,
Shades every flower, and darkens every green,
Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,
And breathes a browner horror on the woods.
Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;
Sad proof how well a lover can obey!
Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;
And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust re-
main;

Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,
And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.
Ah, wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in
vain,

Confess'd within the slave of love and man. Assist me, heav'n! but whence arose that prayer?

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;

Now think of thee, and curse my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
'Tis sure the hardest science to forget!
How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense,
And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
Or how distinguish penitence from love?
Unequal task! a passion to resign, [mine!
For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain-do all things but forget!
But let heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd:
Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but in-
spir'd!

Oh, come! oh, teach me nature to subdue,
Renounce my love, my life, myself—and you!
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot; The world forgetting, by the world forgot! Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each prayer accepted, and each wish resign'd;

Labour and rest that equal periods keep; "Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep ;" Desires compos'd, affections ever even; Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to heaven.

Grace shines around her with serenest beams, And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden

dreams.

For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes;
For her the spouse prepares the bridal ring;
For her white virgins hymenaals sing:
To sounds of heavenly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day.

Far other dreams my erring soul employ,
Far other raptures of unholy joy:
When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away;
Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature
free,

All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.
O curst, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking demons all restraint remove,
And stir within me every source of love.
I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy
charms,
[arms.
And round thy phantom glue my clasping
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 say:
I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise!
Alas, no more!-methinks we wand'ring go
Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's

woe,

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,
Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee,
Thy image steals between my God and me,
Thy voice I seem in every hymn to hear,
With every bead I drop too soft a tear.
When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,
And swelling organs lift the rising soul,
One thought of thee puts all the pomp to
flight,

Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight:
In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown'd,
While altars blaze, and angels tremble round.
While prostrate here in humble grief I lie,
Kind, virtuous drops just gathering in my eye,
While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll,
And dawning grace is opening on my soul:
Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art!
Oppose thyself to heaven; 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 prayers;| Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode;

Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God!

No, fly me, fly me! far as pole from pole; Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll! Ah, come not, write not, think not once

Receive and wrap me in eternal rest!
See in her cell sad Eloisa spread,
Propt on some tomb, a neighbor 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 lamp 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! Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd, [maid: Love's victim then, though now a sainted But all is calm in this eternal sleep; Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep: Ev'n superstition loses every fear; For God, not man, absolves our frailties here.” I come, I come! prepare your roseate bow

ers,

Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flowers.
Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go,
Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow:
Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay,
And smooth my passage to the realms of day;
See my lips tremble, and my eyeballs roll,
Suck my last breath, and catch my flying
soul!
[stand,
Ah, no-in sacred vestments mayst thou
The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand,
Present the cross before my lifted eye,
Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
Ah then, thy once-lov'd Eloisa see!
It will be then no crime to gaze on me.
See from my cheek the transient roses fly!
See the last sparkle languish in my eye!
Till every 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 dust we doat on, when 'tis man we love.
Then too, when fate shall thy fair frame de-

From opening skies may streaming glories And saints embrace thee with a love like mine! [name,

May one kind grave unite each hapless And graft my love immortal on thy fame! Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er, When this rebellious heart shall beat no more; If ever chance two wandering lovers brings To Paraclete's white walls and silver springs, O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads,

And drink the falling tears each other sheds ; Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov'd,

rise,

Amid that scene, it some relenting eye
Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
Devotion's self shall steal a thought from hea-
ven,

One human tear shall drop, and be forgiven.
And sure if fate some future bard shall join
In sad similitude of griefs to mine,
Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore,
And image charms he must behold no more;
Such if there be, who loves so long, so well;
Let him our sad, our tender story tell!
The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive
ghost;

Still in constraint your suffering sex remains,
Or bound in formal, or in real chains :
Whole years neglected, for some months
ador'd,

The fawning servant turns a haughty lord.
Ah, quit not the free innocence of life,
For the dull glory of a virtuous wife;
Nor let false shows, nor empty titles please :
Aim not at joy, but rest content with ease.

The gods, to curse Pamela with her prayers, Gave the gilt coach and dappled Flanders

mares,

IN these gay thoughts the loves and graces
And all the writer lives in every line: [shine,
His easy art may happy nature seem,
Trifles themselves are elegant in him.
Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate,
Who without flattery pleas'd the fair and great;
Still with esteem no less convers'd than read;
With wit well-natur'd, and with books well-
bred:

His heart, his mistress and his friend did share;
His time, the muse, the witty and the fair.
Thus wisely careless, innocently gay,
Cheerful he play'd the trifle, life, away;
Till fate scarce felt his gentle breath supprest,
As smiling infants sport themselves to rest.
Ev'n rival wits did Voiture's death deplore,
And the gay mourn'd who never mourn'd be-
fore;

The truest hearts for Voiture heav'd with sighs,
Voiture was wept by all the brightest eyes:
The smiles and loves had died in Voiture's
death,

But that for ever in his lines they breathe.

Let the strict life of graver mortals be A long, exact, and serious comedy; In every scene some moral let it teach, And, if it can, at once both please and preach. Let mine an innocent, gay farce appear, And more diverting still than regular, Have humour, wit, a native ease and grace, Though not too strictly bound to time and place ;'

Critics in wit, or life, are hard to please;

She sighs, and is no duchess at her heart.

But, madam, if the fates withstand, and you Are destin'd Hymen's willing victim too, Trust not too much your now resistless charms, Those, age or sickness, soon or late disarms: Good-humour only teaches charms to last, Still makes new conquests, and maintains the past;

Love, rais'd on beauty, will like that decay,
Our hearts may bear its slender chain a day;
As flowery bands in wantonness are worn,
A morning's pleasure, and at evening torn ;
This binds in ties more easy, yet more strong.
The willing heart, and only holds it long.

Thus Voiture's early care still shone the

fin'd,

Severe to all, but most to womankind; Custom, grown blind with age, must be your

guide;

Your pleasure is a vice, but not your pride; By nature yielding, stubborn but for fame; Made slaves by honor, and made fools by shame.

Marriage may all those petty tyrants chase, But sets up one, a greater, in their place : Well might you wish for change by those accurst,

But the last tyrant ever proves the worst.

CHORUS OF ATHENIANS.

STROPHE I.

РОРЕ.

YE shades, where sacred truth is sought;
Groves, where immortal Sages taught;
Where heavenly visions Plato fir'd,
And Epicurus lay inspir'd!

* Altered from Shakspeare by the Duke of Buckingham, at whose desire these two Choruses were composed, to supply as many wanting in his Play. They were set many years afterwards by the famous Bononcini, and performed at BuckinghamHouse.