« ZurückWeiter »
Ah, ng! instruct me other joys to prize,
Ah! think at least thy flock deserves thy care,
Black melancholy sits, and round her throws
Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;
Ah, wretch ! believ'd the spouse of God in vain, Confess'd within the slave of love and man. Assist me, Heaven! 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; I view my crime, but kindle at the view, Repent old pleasures, and solicit new; Now turn'd to heaven, I weep iny past offence, 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 For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine! Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state, How often niust it love, how often hate! How often hope, despair, resent, regret, Conceal, disdain--do all things but forget! Butlet heaven seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd: Not touch’d, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd ! Oh, come, o teach me nature to subdue, Renounce my love, my life, myself--and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot;
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, 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 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 wandering go Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe, Where round some mouldering tow'r pale ivy creeps,' And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
Sudden you mount, you beekop from the skies;
For thee the Fates, severely kind, ordain
Come, Abelard ! for what hast thou to dread? The torch of Venus burns not for the dead. Nature stands check’d; religion disapproves ; Ev'n thou art cold- yet Eloïsa loves.. Ah, hopeless, lasting 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 fiy, 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 fame 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, fiy 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 lov’d, ador'd ideas, all adieu ! 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 amiable 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 though, 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 bowers 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;