Line after line my gufhing eyes o'erflow,
Led thro' a fad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now with'ring in thy 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 spare,
Love but demands what else were fhed in pray'r;
No happier task these faded eyes pursue,
To read and weep is all they now can do.
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 wretched maid,
Some banish'd lover, or fome captive aid;
They live, they speak, they breathe what love infpires,
Warm from the foul, and faithful to its fires,
The virgins wish without her fears impart,
Excufe the blufh, 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 angelick kind,
Some emanation of th' all beauteous mind.
Thofe fmiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry ray,
Shone fweetly lambent with celestial day:
Guiltless Igaz'd; heav'n liften'd while you fung;
And truths* divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like those what precepts fail'd to move?
Too foon they taught me 'twas no fin to love.
Back thro' the paths of pleasing fenfe 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 lose for thee.
How oft', when prefs'd to marriage, have I said,
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;
Before true paffion all thofe views remove,
Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to love?
•He was her preceptor in philosophy and divinity.
The jealous God, when we prophane his fires,
Those restless paffions in revenge infpires;
And bids them make miftaken mortals groan,
Who feek in love for ought but love alone.
Should at my feet the world's great mafter fall,
Himself, his throne, his world, I'd fcorn them all:
Not Cafar's emprefs wou'd 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 that to thee!
Oh happy ftate! when fouls each other draw,
When love is liberty, and nature, law:
All then is full, poffeffing, and poffeft,
No craving void left aking in the breaft:
Ev'n thought meets thought e'er from the lips it part,
And each warm with fprings mutual from the heart.
This fure is blifs (if bliss on earth there be)
And once the lot of Abelard and me.
Alas how chang'd! what fudden horrors rife? A naked lover bound and bleeding lies! Where, where was Eloife! her voice, her hand, Her ponyard, had oppos'd the dire command. Barbarian ftay! that bloody hand restrain; The crime was common, common be the pain.
I can no more; by fhame, by rage supprest,
Let tears, and burning blushes speak the rest.
Canft thou forget that fad, that folemn day,.
When victims at yon' altar's foot we lay?
Canft thou forget what tears that moment fell,
When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewel?
As with cold lips I kifs'd the facred veil,
The fhrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale:
Heav'n fcarce believ'd the conqueft it survey'd,..
And faints with wonder heard the vows I made.
Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
Not on the cross my eyes were fix'd, but you;
Not grace, or zeal, love. only was my call,
And if I lofe thy love, I lofe my all.
Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe;
Thofe ftill at least are left thee to bestow.
Still on that breast enamour'd let me lie,
Still drink delicious poifon from thy eye,
Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be prest;
Give all thou canftand let me dream the reft..
Ah no! inftru&t me other joys to prize,
With other beauties charm my partial eyes,
Full in my view fet all the bright abode,
And make my foul quit Abelard for God.
Ah think at least thy flock deserves thy care,
Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r.
From the falfe world in early youth they fled,
By thee to mountains, wilds, and deferts led.
You *rais'd these hallow'd walls; the defert fmil'd;
And paradife was open'd in the wild.
No weeping orphan faw his father's ftores
Our fhrines irradiate, or imblaze the floors;
No filver faints, by dying mifers giv'n,
Here brib'd the rage of ill-requfted heav'n :
But fuch plain roofs as piety could raife,
And only vocal with the maker's praife.
In thefe lone walls (their days eternal bound)
Thefe mofs-grown domes with fpiry turrets crown'd,
Where awful arches make a noon-day night,
And the dim windows fhed a folemn 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 fadnefs, or continual tears.
See how the force of others pray'rs I try,
(Oh pious fraud of am'rous charity !)
He founded the Monaftery.
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