Thus kings, by grasping more than they could hold
First made their subjects, by oppreffion, bold:
And popular fway, by forcing kings to give
More than was fit for subjects to receive,
Ran to the fame extremes; and one excess
Made both, by ftriving to be greater, lefs.
When a calm river, rais'd with fudden rains,
Or fnows diffolv'd, o'erflows th' adjoining plains,
The husbandmen with high-rais'd banks fecure
Their greedy hopes, and this he can endure.
But if with bays and dams they strive to force
His channel to a new, or narrow,
course;

No longer, then, within his banks he dwells,
First to a torrent, then a deluge, fwells:

Stronger and fiercer by restraint he roars,

And knows no bound, but makes his pow'r his shores.

ELOISA

ELOISA TO ABELARD.

The harmony of numbers in this poem is very fine.

It is rather drawn out to too tedious a length, altho' the paffions vary with great judgement. It may be confidered as fuperior to any thing in the epiftolary way; and the many tranflations which have been made of it into the modern languages, are, in fome measure, a proof of

this.

'N these deep folitudes and awful cells,

Where heav'nly-penfive contemplation dwells, And ever-mufing melancholy reigns;

What means this tumult in a veftal's veins ?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I love!-From Abelard it came,
And Eloïfa yet must kifs the name.

Dear, fatal name! reft ever unreveal'd,
Nor pass these lips in holy filence feal'd:
Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
Where, mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies:
O write it not, my hand-the name appears
Already written-wash it out, my tears!
In vain loft Eloïfa weeps and prays,

Her heart ftill dictates, and her hand obeys.

Relentless walls! whofe darkfome round contains

Repentant fighs, and voluntary pains:

Ye

Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn ;
Ye grots and caverns, shagg'd with horrid thorn!
Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep,
And pitying faints, whose statues learn to weep!
Tho' cold like you, unmov'd and filent grown,
I have not yet forgot myself to stone.

All is not Heav'n's, while Abelard has part,
Still rebel Nature holds out half my heart;
Nor pray'rs, nor fafts, its ftubborn pulse restrain,
Nor tears, for ages taught to flow in vain.

Soon as thy letters, trembling, I unclofe,
That well-known name awakens all my woes.
Oh name for ever fad! for ever dear!

Still breath'd in fighs, still usher'd with a tear.
I tremble, too, where-e'er my own I find,
Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
Line after line my gufhing eyes o'erflow,
Led thro' a fad variety of woe;

Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom,
Loft in a convent's folitary gloom!

There ftern Religion quench'd th' unwilling flame,
There dy'd the best of paffions, Love and Fame.
Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo fighs to thine.
Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away;
And is my Abelard less kind than they?
Tears ftill are mine, and those I need not fpare,
Love but demands what else were shed in pray'r;
No happier task these faded eyes pursue ;
To read and weep is all they now can do.

Then

Then share thy pain, allow that fad relief; Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief. Heav'n firft taught letters for fome wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover, or fome captive maid; They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires, Warm from the foul, and faithful to its fires, The virgin's wish without her fears impart, Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart, Speed the foft intercourfe from foul to foul, And waft a figh from Indus to the Pole. Thou know'ft how guiltless first I met thy flame, When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name; My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind,

Some emanation of th' All-beauteous Mind. Thofe fmiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry ray, Shone fweetly lambent with celestial day. Guiltless I gaz'd; Heav'n liften'd while you fung; And truths divine came mended from that tongue. From lips like thofe what precept fail'd to move? Too foon they taught me 'twas no fin to love: Back thro' the paths of pleafing sense I ran, • Nor wish'd an Angel, whom I lov'd a Man. Dim and remote the joys of faints I fee; Nor envy them that Heav'n I lofe for thee.

How oft, when prefs'd to marriage, have I faid, Curfe on all laws but those which love has made ! Love, free as air, at fight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies. Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame, Auguft her deed, and facred be her fame;

VOL. I.

F

Before