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Nature ftands 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 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 fighs 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 foul,
One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight,
Priests, tapers, temples, fwim before my fight:
In feas of flame my plunging foul is drown'd,
While Altars blaze, and Angels tremble round.
While proitrate 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 foul :
Come, if thou dar'ft, all charming as thou art !
Oppose thyfelf to Heav'n ; difpute my heart;
Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes
Blot out each bright idea of the fries;
Take back that grace, those forrows, and those tears;
Take back my fruitless penitence and pray’rs ;
Snatch me, juft mounting, from the bleft abode;
Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God!

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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 refign; 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! 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 fad 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 faid, or seem'd to say) Thy place is here, sad sister, come away! Once, like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray’d, Love's vi&tim 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 fuperftition loses ev'ry fear : For God, not man, abfolves our.frailtics here."

I come, I come ! prepare your roseate bow'rs, Celestial palms, and ever-blooming dow'rs.

F5

Thither,

Thither, where finners may have reft, I go,
Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow :
Thou, Abelard ! the last fad 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 Aying foul !
Ah no-in facred 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 fee ;
It will be, then, no crime to gaze on me.
See from my cheek the tranfient roses fly!
See the last sparkle languish in my eye!
'Till ev'ry motion, pulse, and breath be o'er;
And e'en my Abelard be lov'd no more.
O Death all-eloquent! you only prove
What duft 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 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

O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads,
And drink the falling tears each other sheds ;
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
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 oar sad, our tender story tell !
The well-fung woes will footh my penfive ghoit;
He belt can paint 'em who shall fee! 'em .mo:t.

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AN

E P I S T L E,

FROM

Mr. PHILIPS to the Earl of DORSET.

F

The opening of this poem is incomparably fine.
The latter part is tedious and trifling.

Copenhagen, March y, 1709.
ROM frozen climes, and endless tracts of snow,

From streams that northern winds forbid to flow;
What present shall the Muse to Dorset bring,
Or how, fo near the Pole, attempt to sing ?
The hoary winter here conceals from fight
· All pleasing objects that to verse invite.
'The hills and dales, and the delightful woods,
The flow'ry plains, and silver streaming floods,
By snow disguis'd, in bright confufion lie,
And, with one dazzling waste, fatigue the eye.

No gentle breathing breeze prepares the spring,
No birds within the desart region sing.
The ships, unmov'd, the boist'rous winds defy,
While rattling chariots o’er the ocean fly.
The vast Leviathan wants room to play,
And spout his waters in the face of dày,
The starving wolves along the main sea prowl,
And to the moon in icy vallies howl.

For

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