be disgusted at the length of the quotation, one might pronounce, has no taste either for painting or poetry:

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.

The effect and influence of MELANCHOLY, who is beautifully personified, on every object that occurs, and on every part of the convent, cannot be too much applauded, or too often read, as it is founded on nature and experience. That temper of mind casts a gloom on all things.

But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
Long-sounding iles, and intermingled graves,

Black

* V. 155.

+ Read with this passage, Mr. Gray's account of his journey to the Grande Chartreuse. Works 4to. p. 67.

* Ver. 163.

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.

The figurative expressions, throws, and breathes, and browner horror, are, I verily believe, some of the strongest and boldest in the English language. The IMAGE of the Goddess MELANCHOLY sitting over the convent, and, as it were, expanding her dreadful wings over its whole circuit, and diffusing her gloom all around it, is truly sublime, and strongly conceived.

Eloisa proceeds to give an account of the opposite sentiments, that divide and disturb her soul; these are hinted in the Letters also.

Ah, wretch believ'd the spouse of God in vain,*
Confess'd within the slave of love and man!

I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;

I mourn the lover, not lament the fault.

* V. 177.

This,

This, however, is improved greatly on the original. "Castam me prædicant, qui non deprehenderunt hypocritam.”* — "*"Quomodo etiam pænitentia peccatorum dicitur, quantacunque sit corporis afflictio, si mens adhuc ipsam peccandi retinet voluntatem, & pristinis æstuat desideriis ?" She then fondly calls on Abelard for assistance:

O come! O 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!

Fired with this idea of religion, she takes occasion to dwell on the happiness of a BLAMELESS vestal, one who has no such sin on her conscience, as she has, to bemoan. The life of such an one is described at full length by such sorts of pleasure as none but a spotless nun can partake of; the climax of her happiness is finely conducted :

* Epist. p. 68.

+ Ibid. 66.

+ V. 203.

For

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 hymeneals sing;
To sounds of heavenly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day!

What a judicious and poetical use hath POPE here made of the opinions of the mystics and quietists! how would Fenelon have been delighted with these lines! True poetry, after all, cannot well subsist, at least is never so striking, without a tincture of enthusiasm. The sudden

transition has a fine effect:

Far other dreams my erring soul employ,t
Far other raptures of unholy joy.

Which raptures are painted with much sensibi

lity, and in very animating colours.

"Nec

etiam dormienti suis illusionibus parcunt."+

Again,

O curst dear horrors of all-conscious night;§

How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!

* Ver. 217.

+ V. 225.

This

+ V. 223.

§ V. 229.

This is very forcibly expressed. She proceeds to recount a dream, in which I was always heavily disappointed, because the imagined distress is such as might attend the dreams of any person whatever.*

Methinks we wand'ring go†

Thro' dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe,
Where, round some 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 interpose, &c.

These are, indisputably, picturesque lines; but what we want is a VISION of some such appropriated and peculiar distress, as could be incident to none but Eloisa; and which should be drawn from, and have reference to, her single story. What distinguishes Homer and Shakespeare from all other poets, is, that they do not give their readers GENERAL ideas; every image is the particular and unalienable property of the person who uses it; it is suited to no other; it is made for him or her alone. Even Virgil himself is not free from this fault, but is frequently general

It is partly from Dido's dream.

† V. 241.