Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear,
With ev'ry 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 gath'ring in my eye, While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll, And dawning grace is op'ning on my soul: Come, if thou dar'st, 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 sorrows, and those tears;
Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs ;
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 of me,
Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.
Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign;

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

Fair eyes, and tempting looks, (which yet I view!)
Long loved, adored ideas, all adieu !

Oh Grace serene! 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!

See in her cell sad Eloïsa spread, Propt on some 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 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, 'Love's victim then, tho' now a sainted maid: 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'rs, Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs. Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go, Where flames refined 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 eye-balls roll,

Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul!
Ah no-in sacred vestments may'st thou stand,
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 Eloïsa 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.
Oh Death all-eloquent! you only prove

What dust we doat on, when 'tis man we love.

Then too, when fate shall thy fair frame destroy, (That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy) In trance ecstatic may the pangs be drown'd, Bright clouds descend, and Angels watch thee round, From op'ning skies may streaming 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 shall beat no more;
If ever chance two wand'ring 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,

Oh may we never love as these have lov'd!'
From the full choir when loud Hosannas rise,
And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
Amid that scene if some relenting eye
Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
Devotion's self shall steal a thought from heav'n,
One human tear shall drop, and be forgiv'n.
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 sooth my pensive ghost;
He best can paint 'em who shall feel 'em most.

EXTRACTS

FROM MISS SEWARD'S POETICAL NOVEL OF

LOUISA.*

LOUISA TO EMMA.

Soon then did cheerfulness the morn illume,
And peace descend with evening's grateful gloom;
They saw my breast in that clear spirit gay,
Which speeds the social hour so fast away.

Now expectation's fervour rose, to hail
The youthful master of this quiet vale,
My blooming brother-from Oxonia's towers,
Who sought, with tender haste, his native bowers.

* The Poem, from which these Extracts are taken, 'resulted from an idea of it being possible to unite the impassioned fondness of Pope's ELOISA, with the chaster tenderness of Prior's EMMA; avoiding the voluptuousness of the first, and the too conceding softness of the second. The LOUISA of the following pages has all that enthusiasm which springs from an heart warmly affectionate, joined to a glowing and picturesque imagination. Her sensibilities, heightened, and refined in the bosom of retirement, know no bounds, except those which the dignity of conscious worth, and a strong sense of religion, prescribe.'— Preface to Louisa.