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On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe,
Wrapt in a gown, for sickness, and for show.
The fair ones feel such maladies as these,
When each new night-dress gives a new disease.
A constant vapour o'er the palace flies;
Strange phantoms rising as the mists arise;
Dreadful, as hermits' dreams in haunted shades,
Or bright, as visions of expiring maids.
Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires,
Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires:
Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes,
And crystal domes, and angels in machines.
Unnumber'd throngs on every side are seen,
Of bodies chang'd to various forms by spleen.
Here living tea-pots stand, one arm held out,
One bent; the handle this, and that the spout:
A pipkin there, like Homer's tripod, walks;
Here sighs a jar, and there a goose-pye talks;
Men prove with child, as powerful fancy works,
And maids, turn'd bottles, call aloud for corks.
Safe past the gnome through this fantastic band,
A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand,
Then thus address'd the pow'r—Hail, wayward
Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen: [queen!
Parent of vapours, and of female wit,
Who give th’ hysteric or poetic fit,
On various tempers act by various ways,
Make some take physic, others scribble plays;
Who cause the proud their visits to delay,
And send the godly in a pet to pray.
A nymph there is, that all thy power disdains,
And thousands more in equal mirth maintains.
But oh! if eer thy gnome could spoil a grace,
Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face,
Like citron-waters matrons' cheeks inflame,
Or change complexions at a losing game;
Ife'er with airy horns I planted heads,
Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds,
Or caus'd suspicion where no soul was rude,
Or discompos'd the head-dress of a prude,
Ore'er to costive lap-dog gave disease,
Which not the tears of brightest eyes could ease:
Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin ;
That single act gives half the world the spleen.
The goddess with a discontented air,
Seems to reject him, though she grants his prayer.
A wondrous bag with both her hands she binds,
Like that where once Ulysses held the winds;
There she collects the force of female lungs,
Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of tongues.
A vial next she fills with fainting fears,
Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears.
The gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away,
Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to day.
Sunk in Thalestris' arms the nymph he found,
Her eyes dejected, and her hair unbound.
Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he rent,
And all the furies issued at the vent.
Belinda burns with more than mortal ire,
And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire.
Owretched maid: she spread her hands, and cry'd,
(While Hampton's echoes wretched maid! reply'd)

Was it for this you took such constant care
The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare :
For this your locks in paper durance bound,
For this with torturing irons wreath'd around?
For this with fillets strain'd your tender head,
And bravely bore the double loads of lead?
Gods! shall the ravisher display your hair,
While the fops envy, and the ladies stares
Honour forbid! at whose unrival’d shrine
Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign.
Methinks already I your tears survey,
Already hear the horrid things they say,
Already see you a degraded toast,
And all your honour in a whisper lost!
How shall I then your helpless fame defend?
"Twill then be infamy to seem your friend!
And shall this prize, th’inestimable prize,
Expos'd through crystal to the gazing eyes,
And heighten’d by the diamond's circling rays,
On that rapacious hand for ever blaze?
Sooner shall grass in Hyde-park circus grow,
And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow;
Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall,
Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all !
She said; then raging to Sir Plume repairs,
And bids her beau demand the precious hairs!
(Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain,
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane)
With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face,
He first the snuff-box open'd, then the case,
And thus broke out—“My Lord, why what the
devil [civil
Z—ds! damn the Lock! 'fore Gad, you must be
Plague on't! 'tis past a jest—nay prythee, pox!
Give her the hair”—he spoke, and rapp'd his box.
It grieves me much (reply'd the Peer again)
Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain;
But by this Lock, this sacred Lock, I swear,
(Which never more shall join its parted hair;
Which never more its honours shall renew,
Clipp'd from the lovely head where late it grew)
That while my nostrils draw the vital air,
This hand which won it, shall for ever wear.
He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph spread
The long-contended honours of her head.
But Umbriel, hateful gnome ! forbears not so;
He breaks the vial whence the sorrows flow.
Then see! the nymph in beauteous grief appears,
Her eyes half languishing, half drown'd in tears;
On her heav'd bosom hung her drooping head,
Which, with a sigh, she rais'd; and thus she said:
For ever curs'd be this detested day,
Which snatch'd my best, my favourite curl away!
Happy! ah ten times happy had I been,
If Hampton-court these eyes had never seen!
Yet am not I the first mistaken maid
By love of courts to num'rous ills betray'd.
Oh, had Î rather unadmir’d remain'd
In some lone isle, or distant northern land;
Where the gilt chariot never marks the way,
where none learn Ombre, none e'er taste bohea!
There kept my charms conceal’d from mortal eye,
Like roses, that in deserts bloom and die.
What mov'd my mind with youthful lords to roam
Oh had I stay’d, and said my prayers at home :
'Twas this, the morning omens seem'd to tell,
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell;
The tottering china shook without a wind,
Nay Poll sat mute, and Shock was most unkind!
A sylph too warn'd me of the threats of fate,
In mystic visions, now believ'd too late:
See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs!
My hand shall rend, what ev'n thy rapine spares:
These in two sable ringlets taught to break,
Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck;
The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone,
And in its fellow's fate foresees its own;
Uncurl’d it hangs, the fatal shears demands,
And tempts, once more, thy sacrilegious hands.
Oh, hadst thou, cruel! been content to seize
Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these!

CANTo W.

She said: the pitying audience melt in tears;
But sate and Jove had stopp'd the Baron's ears.
In vain Thalestris with reproach assails,
For who can move when fair Belinda fails?
Not half so fix'd the Trojan could remain,
While Anna begg'd and Dido rag'd in vain.
Then grave Clarissa graceful wav'd her fan;
Silence ensued, and thus the nymph began. [most,
Say, why are not beauties prais'd and honour’d
The wise man's passion, and the vain man's toast
Why deck'd with all that land and sea afford,
Why angels call'd, and angel-like ador'd?
Why round our coaches crowd the white-glov’d
beaux *
Why bows the side-box from its inmost rows?
How vain are all these glories, all our pains,
Unless good sense preserve what beauty gains:
That men may say, when we the front-box grace,
Behold the first in virtue as in face!
Oh! if to dance all night and dress all day,
Charm'd the small pox, or chas'd old age away;
Who would not scorn what housewife; cares pro-
Or who would learn one earthly thing to use : [duce,
To patch, nay ogle, might become a saint;
Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint.
But since, alas! frail beauty must decay;
Curl’d or uncurl’d, since Locks will turn to grey;
Since painted, or not painted, all shall fade,
And she who scorns a man must die a maid;
What then remains, but well our power to use,
And keep good-humour still, whate'er we lose?
And trust me, dear! good-humour can prevail,
When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding
Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; [fail
Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
So spoke the dame, but no applause ensued
Belinda frown'd, Thalestris call'd her prude.
To arms, to arms! the fierce virago cries,
And swift as lightning to the combat flies.
All side in parties, and begin th' attack;
Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whalebones crack;

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Heroes' and heroines' shouts confus'dly rise,
And bass and treble voices strike the skies.
No common weapons in their hands are found;
Like gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound.
So when bold Homer makes the gods engage,
And heavenly breasts with human passions rage;
'Gainst Pallas, Mars; Latona Hermes arms;
And all Olympus rings with loud alarms;
Jove's thunder roars, heaven trembles all around,
Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps resound:
Earth shakes her nodding towers, the ground gives
And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day! [way,
Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce's height
Clapp'd his glad wings, and sat to view the fight:
Propp'd on their bodkin spears, the sprites survey
The growing combat, or assist the fray.
While through the press enrag’d Thalestris flies,
And scatters death around from both her eyes;
A beau and withing perish’d in the throng,
One dy'd in metaphor, and one in song.
“O cruel nymph: a living death I bear,”
Cry’d Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair.
A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards cast,
“Those eyes are made so killing”—was his last.
Thus on Maeander's flowery margin lies
Th’ expiring swan, and as he sings he dies.
When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down,
Chloe stepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown;
She smil'd to see the doughty hero slain,
But, at her smile, the beau reviv'd again.
Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air,
Weighs the men's wits against the lady's hair;
The doubtful beam long nods from side to side;
At length the wits mount up, the hairs subside.
See, fierce Belinda on the Baron flies,
With more than usual lightning in her eyes:
Nor fear'd the chief th' unequal fight to try,
Who sought no more than on his foe to die.
But this bold lord, with manly strength endued,
She with one finger and a thumb subdued:
Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew,
A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw;
The gnomes direct, to every atom just,
The pungent grains of titillating dust.
Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows,
And the high dome re-echoes to his nose.
Now meet thy fate, incens'd Belinda cry'd,
And drew a deadly bodkin from her side.
(The same, his ancient personage to deck,
Her great-great-grandsire wore about his neck,
In three seal-rings; which after, melted down,
Form'd a vast buckle for his widow’s gown:
Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew,
The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew;
Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs,
Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.)
Boast not my fall (he cry’d), insulting foe!
Thou by some other shalt be laid as low.
Northink, to die dejects my lofty mind:
All that I dread is leaving you behind
Rather than so, ahl let me still survive,
And burn in Cupid's flames—but burn alive.

Restore the Lock! she cries; and all around Restore the Lock! the vaulted roofs rebound. Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain. But see how oft ambitious aims are cross'd, And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost! The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain, In every place is sought, but sought in vain: With such a prize no mortal must be blest, So heaven decrees with heaven who can contest? Some thought it mounted to the lunar sphere, Since all things lost on earth are treasur'd there. There heroes' wits are kept in ponderous vases, And beaux in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases: There broken vows and death-bed alms are found, And lovers' hearts with ends of ribband bound; The courtier's promises, and sick man's prayers, The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea, Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuistry. But trust the Muse—she saw it upward rise, Though mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes: (So Rome's great founder to the heavens withdrew, To Proculus alone confess'd in view) A sudden star, it shot through liquid air, And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. Not Berenice's locks first rose so bright, The heaven bespangling with dishevell'd light. The sylphs behold it kindling as it flies, And pleas'd, pursue its progress through the skies. This the beau-monde shall from the Mall survey, And hail with music its propitious ray. This the blest lover shall for Venus take, And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake. This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless skies, When next he looks through Galilaeo's eyes; And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome. [hair, Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy ravish'd Which adds new glory to the shining sphere! Not all the tresses that fair head can boast, Shall draw such envy as the Lock you lost. For, after all the murders of your eye, When, after millions slain, yourself shall die; When those fair suns shall set, as set they must, And all those tresses shall be laid in dust, This Lock, the Muse shall consecrate to fame, And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name.

ELEGF

To the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady. What beck'ning ghost, along the moonlight shade, Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade 2 Tis she —but why that bleeding bosom gor'd, Why dimly gleams the visionary sword Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly tell, |- it, in heaven, a crime to love too well ? To bear too tender, or too firm a heart, To act a lover's or a Roman's part ls there no bright reversion in the sky For those who greatly think, or bravely die?

Why bade ye else, ye powers! her soul aspire Above the vulgar flight of low desire? Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes; The glorious fault of angels and of gods: Thence to their images on earth it flows, And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows. Most souls, ’tis true, but peep out once an age, Dull sullen prisoners in the body's cage: Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years, Useless, unseen, as lamps in sepulchres; Like eastern kings, a lazy state they keep, And close confin'd to their own palace sleep. From these perhaps (ere nature bade her die) Fate snatch'd her early to the pitying sky. As into air the purer spirits flow, And separate from their kindred dregs below; So flew the soul to its congenial place, Nor left one virtue to redeem her race. But thou, false guardian of a charge too good, Thou, mean deserter of thy brother's blood! See on these ruby lips the trembling breath, These cheeks now fading at the blast of death; Cold is that breast which warm'd the world before, And those love-darting eyes must roll no more. Thus, if eternal justice rules the ball, Thus shall your wives, and thus your children fall: On all the line a sudden vengeance waits, And frequent hearses shall besiege your gates: There passengers shall stand, and pointing say, (While the long funerals blacken all the way) Lo! these were they, whose souls the furies steel'd, And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield. Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day ! So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow For others' good, or melt at others' woe. What can atone (oh, ever injur'd shade 1) Thy fate unpity'd, and thy rites unpaid No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear Pleas'd thy pale ghost, or grac'd thy mournful bier: By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd, By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd, By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd, By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd : What though no friends in sable weeds appear Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year, And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances, and the public shbw What though no weeping loves thy ashes grace, Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face What though no sacred earth allow thee room, Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be dress'd, And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast: There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow, There the first roses of the year shall blow ; While angels with their silver wings o'ershade The ground now sacred by thy relics made. So, peaceful rests, without a stone, a name, What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame. How lov’d, how honour'd once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot;

A heap of dust alone remains of thee,
'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be
Poets themselves must fall, like those they sun
Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful ton o:
Ev’n he, whose soul now melts in mournful . -
Shall shortly want the generous tear he pays g-
Then from his closing eyes thy form shall ion
And the last pang shall tear thee from his ions
Life's idle business at one gasp be o'er, •
The Muse forgot, and thou belov'd no more!

ELOISA TO ABELARD.

In these deep solitudes and awful cells,
Where heavenly-pensive contemplation dwells,
And ever-musing melancholy reins;
What means this tumult in a vestal'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 Eloisa yet must kiss the name.
Dear, fatal name rest ever unreveal’d,
Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal’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 lost Eloisa weeps and prays,
Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.
Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains
Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:
Yerugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;
Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn 1
Shrines! where their vigils pale-eyed virgins keep;
And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep'
Though cold like you, unmov’d and silent grown,
I have not yet forgot myself to *.
All is not heaven's while Abelard has part,
still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
Nor prayers, nor fasts, its stubborn pulse restrain,
Nortears for ages taught to flow in vain.
soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
That well-known name awakens all my woes.
Oh, name for ever sad for ever dear!
Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear.
I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
Led through a sad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now withering in my bloom,
Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
There stern religion quench'd th’ unwilling flame,
There dy'd the best of passions, love and fame.
Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine!
Nor foes nor fortune take this power away;
And is my Abelard less kind than they
Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,
Love but demands who else were shed in prayer;
No happier task these faded eyes pursue;
To read and weep is all they now can do.
Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief;

Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief.
Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid; [spires,
They live, they speak, they breathe what love in.
Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires,
The virgin's wish without her fears impart,
Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
And waft a sigh from Indus to the pole.
wo. how guiltless first met tly flame,
pproach'd me under friendship'sname;
My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind, y
Some emanation of th' all-beauteous mind.
Those smiling eyes, attempering every ray,
Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.
Guiltless I gaz'd : heaven listen’d while you sung;
And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like those what precept fail'd to move?
Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love:
Back through the paths of pleasing sensel ran,
Nor wish'd an angel whom I lov'd a man.
Dim and remote the joys of saints I see,
Nor envy them that heaven I lose for thee.
How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said,
Curse on all laws but those which love has made!
Love, free as air, at sight of human ties,
Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.
Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame,
August her deed, and sacred be her fame;
Before true passion all those views remove;
Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to love?
The jealous God, when we profane his fires,
Those restless passions in revenge inspires,
And bids them make mistaken mortals groan,
who seek in love for aught but love alone.
Should at my feet the world's great master fall,
Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn them all;
Not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove ;
No, make me mistress to the man I love:
If there be yet another name, more free,
More fond than mistress, make me """ thee!
Oh, happy state! when souls each other draw:
When love is liberty, and nature law:
All then is full, possessing * possess'd,
No craving void left aching in the breast; it part
Ev’n thought meets thought,ere from the o". o
And each warm wish springs mutual from the *
This sure is bliss (if bliss" earth there be).
And once the lot of Abelard and me.
Alas, how chang'd who sudden ho
A naked lover bound and bleeding lies! d
where, where was Eloise' her voice, her hand,
Barbarian, stay! that bloody stro in
The crime was common, common be the pa. -
I can no more; by “hao” by rage suppress"
• . - k the rest.
Let tears and burning blushes spe” day,
Gans, thou forget that *". that o
When victims at yon altar's foot wo . fell,
Canst thou forget what “o that ". farewel"
when, warm in youth, I bade the wo".
As with cold lips I kiss

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o Panton thy lip, and to thy heart be press'd; Give all thou canst—and let me dream the rest.

****

no Ah, no! instruct me other joys to prize, * With other beauties charm my partial eyes; * Full in my view set all the bright abode, *** And make my soul quit Abelard for God. * Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy care, now Plants of thy hand, and children of thy prayer. * From the false world in earthly youth they fled, * By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led.

te, You rais'd these hallow’d walls; the desert smil'd, to And paradise was open'd in the wild. * No weeping orphan saw his father's stores

** Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
s No silver saints, by dying misers given,
as Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heaven;
... But such plain roofs as piety could raise,
. . And only vocal with the Maker's praise.

o: In these lone walls (their day's eternal bound)
... Thesemoss-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,
*"gleams of glory brighten’d all the day.
* now no face divine contentment wears,
"all blank sadness, or continual tears.
*how the force of others' prayers I try,
(0Pious fraud of amorous charity 1)
But why should I on others' prayers depend?
*thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!

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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, heaven! but whence arose that prayer? 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 heaven, 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 task a passion to resign, For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine! Ere such a soul regains its 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 heaven 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 prayer 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 was to heaven.

Ah, let thy handmaid, sister, daughter, move, Andall 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; Thewand'ringstreams that shine between the hills, * The grots 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, 9 lull to rest the visionary maid. **'er the twilight groves and dusky caves, Long sounding aisles, and intermingled graves, Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws Adeath-like silence, and a dread repose; Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene, Shades every flower, and darkens every green, Dopens 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;

Grace shines around her with serenest beams, And whisp'ring angels Prompt her golden dreams For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms And wings of seraphs shed divine perime. For her the spouse prepares the bridal in.' For her white virgins hymenaeals sing: § 3 To sounds of heavenly harps she dies awa And melts in visions of eternal day. y, Far other dreams my erring soul emplo Far other raptures of unholy joy: ploy, When at the close of each sad, Sorrowing d Fancy restore. what Vengeance mo, ay, Then conscience sleeps, and leaving no ; All my loose soul "bounded springs to j ree, O curst, dear horrors of all-conscion, nigh o How glowing guilt exalts the keen o Provoking demons all restraint remove gnt: And stir within me every source oflov. I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all th ly charms,

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