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I wake: :- no more I hear, no more I view,
235 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. !
240 Alas, no more! methinks we
andering go Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe. Where round some mouldering tower pale ivy creeps, And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps. Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies; 245 Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise. I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find, And wake to all the griefs I left behind.
For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain; 259 Thy life a long dead calm of fix'd repose; No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows. Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow, Or moving spirit bade the waters flow, Soft as the slumbers of a faint forgiven,
255 And mild as opening gleams of promis'd heaven.
Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread ? The torch of Venus burns not for the dead. Nature stands check’d; Religion disapproves ; Ev’ņ thou art cold-yet Eloisa loves,
260 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 fly, pursue,
Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
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: 280 Come, if thou dar'ft, 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
fruitless penitence and prayers ; Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode ; Assist the fiends, and tear me from my
Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!) 295
300 Enter, each mild, each amicable guest; Receive and wrap me in eternal reft!
See in her cell sad Eloïfa fpread, Propt on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead. In each low wind methinks a Spirit calls, 305 And more than Echoes talk along the walls. Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around, From yonder shrine I heard a hollow found. “ Come, fifter, come!" (it said, or seem'd to fay)
Thy place is here, sad sister, come away! 310 “ Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd, “ Love's victim then, though now a fainted maid: “ But all is calm in this éternal Deep; “ Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep, “ Ev’n superftition loses every fear;
315 “ For God, not mán, abfolves our frailties here."
I come, I'come! prepare your rofeate bowers,
Ah no--in facred vestments may'st thou stand, 325
330 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
335 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 extatic may thy pangs be drown'd, Bright clouds descend, and Angels watch thee round, From opening 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, 345 When this rebellious heart shall be at 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 ; 350 Then sadly fay, with mutual pity mov'd, “ O may we never love as these have lov'd!" From the full choir, when loud Hosannas rise, And swell the pomp of dreadful facrifice,
Amid that scene if some relenting eye
355 Glance on the stone where our cold relicks lie, Devotion's self shall steal a thought from heaven, One human tear shall drop, and be forgiven. And sure if fate some future bard shall join In fad fimilitude 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 fad, our tender storý tell! The well-sung woes will footh my pensive ghost; 365 He best can paint them whe fall feel them moft.