give all thou canst---and let me dream the rest. 125 130 135 140 Ah! think at least thy flock deserves thy care, plants of thy band, 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 desert smil'd, and paradise was open'd in the wild. No weeping orphan saw his father's stores our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors; no silver saints, by dying misers giv'n, 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 day's 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, 't is all blank sadness, or continual tears. See how the force of others' pray'rs I try, ́ (O pious fraud of am'rous charity!) but why should I on others' pray'rs 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, 'No. 79. 5 145 150 155 the grots that echo to the tinkling rills, 160 165 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; 170 175 180 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, 185 now think of thee, and curse my innocence. Of all affliction taught a lover yet, 't is sure the hardest science to forget! 190 SNIN 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 it's peaceful state, 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 touch'd, 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; 195 200 205 210 tears that delight, and sighs that waft to heav'n: 215 220 Far other dreams my erring soul employ, far other raptures of unholy joy: when at the close of each sad, sorrowing day, 225 fancy restores what Vengeance snatch'd away, 230 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. 235 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; 240 through 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; 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 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 seas e'er winds were taught to blow, or moving spirits bid the waters flow; soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiv'n, and mild as open'ing 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; 250 255 ev'n thou art cold---yet Eloïsa loves. While prostrate 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 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 : 260 265 270 275 280 take back that grace, those sorrows and those tears; take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs: 286. snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode: 290 |