Ah! think at least thy flock deserves thy care, Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r. From the false world in early youth they fled, By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led. You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desart smil'd, And Paradise was open'd in the wild. No weeping orphan saw his father's stores Our shines irradiate, or emblaze the floors: No silver saints, by dying misers given, Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited Heav'n: But such plain roofs as piety could raise, And only vocal with the maker's praise. In these lone walls (their days 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' pray'rs I try, (Oh pious fraud of am'rous 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 grotes 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 founding 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 ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry 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 remain; 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 pray'r? 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 Heav'n, I weep my 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 talk! a passion to resign, For hearts so touched, so pierc'd, so lost as mine. Ere such a soul regains its peaceful slate. 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 touched but rapt; not waken'd but inspir'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 pray'r 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 heav'n. Grace shines around her with serenest beams, And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams, For her the house prepares the bridal ring, For her white virgins _hymeneals_ sing, For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms, And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes; 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 curs'd dear horrors of all-conscious Night! How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight! Provoking daemons all restraint remove, And stir within me ev'ry source of love, I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms, And round thy phantoms 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 wand'ring go, Thro' dreary waftes, and weep each other's woe Where round some moulding 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, 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 suspence from pleasure and from pain; 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 saint forgiv'n, And mild as opening gleams of promis'd heav'n. 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 _Eloisa_ loves. Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn. To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn. What scenes appear! where e'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 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 lye 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 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 prayers; Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode; Assist the fiend, and tear me from my God!
No, fly me! fly me! far as pole from pole; Rise Alps between us, and whose 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-liv'd ador'd ideas, all adieu! O 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 _Eloisa_ 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 I (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 ev'ry fear: 'For God, not man, absolves our frailties here.'
I come, I come! prepare your roseat bow'rs, Celestial palm, and ever-blooming flow'rs. Thither, were 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 eye-balk roll, Suck my last breath, and catch the 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, the 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 ev'ry 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 dote 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 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, 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 lye, Devotion's self shall steal a thought from heav'n, One human tear shall drop, and be forgiven. And sure, if Fate some future bard shall join In sad similitude of griefs like mine, Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore, Andimage 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 smooth my pensive ghost: He best can paint e'm, who shall feel 'em most.
ABELARD to ELOISA BY MRS MADAN.
In my dark cell, low prostrate on the ground, Mourning my crimes, thy Letter entrance found; Too soon my soul the well-known name confest, My beating heart sprang fiercely in my breast, Thro' my whole frame a guilty transport glow'd, And streaming torrents from my eyes fast flow'd: O _Eloisa_! art thou still the same? Dost thou still nourish this destructive flame? Have not the gentle rules of Peace and Heav'n, From thy soft soul this fatal passion driv'n? Alas! I thought you disengaged and free; And can you still, still sigh and weep for me? What powerful Deity, what hallow'd Shrine, Can save me from a love, a faith like thine? Where shall I fly, when not this awful Cave, Whose rugged feet the surging billows lave; When not these gloomy cloister's solemn walls, O'er whose rough sides the languid ivy crawls, When my dread vews, in vain, their force oppose? Oppos'd to live--alas!--how vain are vows! In fruitless penitence I wear away Each tedious night, and sad revolving day; I fast, I pray, and, with deceitful art, Veil thy dear image in my tortur'd heart; My tortur'd heart conflicting passions move. I hope despair, repent----yet still I love: A thousand jarring thoughts my bosom tear; For, thou, not God, O _Eloise!_ art there. To the false world's deluding pleasures dead, Nor longer by its wand'ring fires misled, In learn'd disputes harsh precepts I infuse, And give the counsel I want pow'r to use. The rigid maxims of the grave and wife Have quench'd each milder sparkle of my eyes: Each lovley feature of this once lov'd face, By grief revers'd, assumes a sterner grace; O _Eloisa_! should the fates once more, Indulgent to my view, thy charms restore, How from my arms would'st thou with horror start To miss the form familiar to thy heart; Nought could thy quick, thy piercing judgment see, To speak me _Abelard_--but love to thee. Lean Abstinence, pale Grief, and haggard Care. The dire attendants of forlorn Despair, Have _Abelard_, the young, the gay, remov'd, And in the Hermit funk the man you lov'd, Wrapt in the gloom these holy mansions shed, The thorny paths of Penitence I tread; Lost to the world, from all its int'rests free, And torn from all my soul held dear in thee, Ambition with its train of frailties gone, All loves and forms forget----but thine alone, Amid the blaze of day, the dusk of night, My _Eloisa_ rises to my sight; Veil'd as in Paraclete's secluded tow'rs, The wretched mourner counts the lagging hours; I hear her sighs, see the swift falling tears, Weep all her griefs, and pant with all her cares. O vows! O convent! your stern force impart, And frown the melting phantom from my heart; Let other sighs a worthier sorrow show, Let other tears from sin repentance flow; Low to the earth my guilty eyes I roll, And humble to the dust my heaving soul, Forgiving Pow'r! thy gracious call I meet, Who first impower'd this rebel heart to heart; Who thro' this trembling, this offending frame, For nobler ends inspir'd life's active flame. O! change the temper of this laboring breast, And form anew each beating pulse to rest! Let springing grace, fair faith, and hope remove The fatal traces of destructive love! Destructive love from his warm mansions tear, And leave no traits of _Eloisa_ there!
Are these the wishes of my inmost soul? Would I its soft, its tend'rest sense controul? Would I, thus touch'd, this glowing heart refine, To the cold substance of this marble shrine? Transform'd like these pale swarms that round me move, Of blest insensibles--who know no love? Ah! rather let me keep this hapless flame; Adieu! false honour, unavailing fame! Not your harsh rules, but tender love, supplies The streams that gush from my despairing eyes; I feel the traitor melt about my heart, And thro' my veins with treacherous influence dart; Inspire me, Heav'n! assist me, Grace divine, Aid me, ye Saints! unknown to pains like mine; You, who on earth serene all griefs could prove, All but the tort'ring pangs of hopeless love; A holier rage in your pure bosoms dwelt, Nor can you pity what you never felt: A sympathising grief alone can lure, The hand that heals, must feel what I endure. Thou, _Eloise_ alone canst give me ease, And bid my struggling soul subside to peace; Restore me to my long lost heav'n of rest, And take thyself from my reluctant breast; If crimes like mine could an allay receive, That blest allay thy wond'rons charms might give. Thy form, that first to love my heart inclin'd, Still wanders in my lost, my guilty mind. I saw thee as the new blown blossoms fair, Sprightly as light, more soft than summer's air, Bright as their beams thy eyes a mind disclose, Whilst on thy lips gay blush'd the fragrant rose; Wit, youth, and love, in each dear feature shone; Prest by my fate, I gaz'd--and was undone. There dy'd the gen'rous fire, whose vig'rous flame Enlarged my soul, and urg'd me on to same; Nor fame, nor wealth, my soften'd heart could move, Dully insensible to all but love. Snatch'd from myself, my learning tasteless grew; Vain my philosophy, oppos'd to you; A train of woes succeed, nor should we mourn, The hours that cannot, ought not to return.
As once to love I sway'd your yielding mind, Too fond, alas! too fatally inclin'd, To virtue now let me your breast inspire, And fan, with zeal divine, the heav'nly fire; Teach you to injur'd Heav'n all chang'd to turn, And bid the soul with sacred rapture burn. O! that my own example might impart This noble warmth to your soft trembling heart! That mine, with pious undissembled care, Could aid the latent virtue struggling there; Alas! I rave--nor grace, nor zeal divine, Burn in a heart oppress'd with crimes like mine, Too sure I find, while I the tortures prove Of feeble piety, conflicting love, On black despair my forc'd devotion's built; Absence for me has sharper pangs than guilt. Yet, yet, my _Eloisa_, thy charms I view, Yet my sighs breath, my tears pour forth for you; Each weak resistance stronger knits my chain, I sigh, weep, love, despair, repent----in vain, Haste, _Eloisa_, haste, your lover free, Amidst your warmest pray'r----O think on me! Wing with your rising zeal my grov'ling mind, And let me mine from your repentance find! Ah! labour, strife, your love, your self control! The change will sure affect my kindred soul; In blest consent our purer sighs shall breath, And Heav'n assisting, shall our crimes forgive, But if unhappy, wretched, lost in vain, Faintly th' unequal combat you sustain; If not to Heav'n you feel your bosom rise, Nor tears refin'd fall contrite from your eyes; If still, your heart its wonted passions move, If still, to speak all pains in one--you love; Deaf to the weak essays of living breath, Attend the stronger eloquence of Death. When that kind pow'r this captive soul shall free, Which only then can cease to doat on thee; When gently sunk to my eternal sleep, The Paraclete my peaceful urn shall keep! Then, _Eloisa_, then your lover view, See his quench'd eyes no longer gaze on you; From their dead orbs that tender utt'rance flown, Which first to thine my heart's soft fate made known, This breast no more, at length to ease consign'd, Pant like the waving aspin in the wind; See all my wild, tumultuous passion o'er, And thou, amazing change! belov'd no more; Behold the destin'd end of human love-- But let the fight your zeal alone improve; Let not your conscious soul, to sorrow mov'd, Recall how much, how tenderly I lov'd: With pious care your fruitless griefs restrain, Nor let a tear your sacred veil profane; Not ev'n a sigh on my cold urn bestow; But let your breast with new-born raptures glow; Let love divine, frail mortal love dethrone, And to your mind immortal joys make known; Let Heav'n relenting strike your ravish'd view, And still the bright, the blest pursuit renew! So with your crimes shall your misfortune cease, And your rack'd soul be calmly hush'd to peace.
THE END