Our author fhuns hy vulgar fprings to move
The hero's glory, or the virgin's love;
In pitying Love, we but our weakness show,
And wild Ambition well deferves its woe.
Here tears thall flow from a more generous cause,
Such tears as patriots fhed for dying laws:
He bids your breafts with ancient ardour rife,
And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes.
Virtue confefs'd in human fhape he draws,
What Piato thought, and godlike Cato was:
No common object to your fight difplays,
But what with pleasure heaven itself surveys,
A brave man fruggling in the ftorms of fate,
And greatly falling with a falling state.
While Cato gives his little fenate laws,
What bofom beats not in his country's cause?
Who fees him act, but envies every deed?
Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed?
Ev'n when proud Cæfar 'midst triumphal cars,
The Spoils of nations, and the pomp of wars,
Ignobly vain, and impotently great,
Shew'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in state;
As her dead father's reverend image paft,
The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercast ;
The triumph ceas'd, tears gufh'd from every eye;
The world's great victor pass'd unheeded by ;
Her laft good man dejected Rome ador'd,
And honour'd Cæfar's lefs than Cato's fword.
Britons, attend: be worth like this approv'd,
And how you have the virtue to be mov'd.
With honeft fcorn the first fam'd Cato view'd
Rome learning arts from Greece, whom the fub-
dued;

Your fcene precariously fubfifts too long
On French tranflation, and Italian fong.
Dare to have fenfe yourselves; affert the stage,
B justly warm'd with your own native rage:
Such plays alone fhould win a British ear,
As Cato's felf had not difdain'd to hear.

There are, 'tis true, who tell another tale, That virtuous ladies envy while they rail; Such rage without betrays the fire within; In fome clofe corner of the foul, they fin; Still hoarding up, most scandalously nice, Amidft their vittues a referve of vice.

The godly dame, who fleshly failings damns, Scolds with her maid, or with her chaplain crams. Would you enjoy foft nights, and folid dinners: Faith, gallants, board with faints, and bed with finners.

Well, if our author in the wife offends,

He has a husband that will make amends:
He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving,
And fure fuch kind good creatures may be living,
In days of old they pardon'd breach of vows,
Stern Cato's felf was no relentless spouse:
Plu-Plutarch, what's his name, that writes his
life?

Tells us, that Cato dearly lov'd his wife :
Yet if a friend, a night or fo, should need her,
He'd recommend her as a special breeder.
To lend a wife, few here would fcruple make;
But, pray, which of you all would take her back?
Though with the ftoic chief our ftage may ring,
The stoic husband was the glorious thing.
The man had courage, was a fage, 'tis true,
And lov'd his country-but what's that to you?
Thofe ftrange examples ne'er were made to fit ye.
But the kind cuckold might inftruct the city:
There many an honeft man may copy Cato,
Who ne'er faw naked fword, or look'd in Plato.
If, after all, you think it a difgrace,
That Edward's mifs thus perks it in your face;
To fee a piece of failing flesh and blood,
In all the reft fo impudently good;

Faith let the modeft matrons of the town

Come here in crowds,and ftare the ftrumpet down.

EPILOGUE

ΤΟ

MR. ROWE'S JANE SHORE.

DESIGNED FOR MRS. OLDFIELD.

PRODIGIOUS this! the frail-one of our play
From her own fex should mercy find to-day!
You might have held the pretty head afide,
Peep'd in your fans, been ferious, thus, and cry'd,
The play may pafs-but that strange creature,
Shore,

can't-indeed now-I fo hate a whore '-
Jut as a blockhead rubs his thoughtless skull,
And thanks his ftars he was not born a fool;
So from a fifter finner you shall hear,
How ftrangely you expose yourself, my dear!"
But let me die, all raillery apart,
Our fex are still forgiving at their heart;
And, did not wicked custom so contrive,
We'd be the beft, good-natur'd things alive.

SAPPHO TO PHAON.

SAY, lovely youth, that doft my heart command,
Can Phaon's eyes forget his Sappho's hand?
Muft then her name the wretched writer prove,
To thy remembrance loft, as to thy love?
Afk not the cause that I new numbers choose,
The lute neglected, and the lyric mufe;
Love taught my tears in fadder notes to flow,
And tun'd my heart to elegies of woe,
I burn, I burn, as when through ripen'd corn
By driving winds the fpreading flames are borne.
Phaon to Ætna's fcorching fields retires,
While I confume with more than Ætna's fires!
No more my foul a charm in mufic finds,
Mufic has charms alone for peaceful minds.
Soft fcenes of folitude no more can please,
Love enters there, and I'm my own difeafe.
No more the Lefbian dames my paffion move,
Once the dear objects of my guilty love;
All other loves are loft in only thine,
Ah, youth ungrateful to a flame like mine!
Whom would not all thofe blooming charms fur

prife,

Those heavenly looks, and dear deluding eyes?

The harp and bow would you like Phœbus bear,
A brighter Phabus Phaon might appear;
Would you with ivy wreathe your flowing hair,
Not Bacchus' felf with Phaon could compare :
Yet Phoebus lov'd, and Bacchus felt the flame,
One Daphne warm'd, and one the Cretan dame;
Nymphs that in verse no more could rival me,
Than ev'n thole gods contend in charms with

thee.

The mufes teach me all their softest lays,
And the wide world refounds with Sappho's praife.
Though great Alcæus more fublimely fings,
And frikes with older rage the founding ftrings,
No lefs renown attends the moving lyre,
Which Venus tunes, and all her loves infpire;
To me what nature has in charms deny'd,
1s well by wit's more lasting flames fupply'd.
Though short my ftature, yet my name extends
To heaven itfelf, and earth's remoteft ends.
Brown as I am, an Ethiopian dame
Infpir'd young Perfeus with a generous flame:
Turtles and doves of differing hues unite,
And gloffy jet is pair'd with fhining white.
If to no charms thou wilt thy heart refign,
But fuch as merit, fuch as equal thine,
By none, alas! by none thou canst be mov'd!
Phaon alone by Phaon must be lov'd!
Yet once thy Sappho could thy cares employ,
Once in her arms you centr'd all your joy:
No time the dear remembrance can remove,
For, oh! how vaft a memory has love!
My mufic, then, you could for ever hear,
And all my words were mufic to your ear.
You flopp'd with kiffes my enchanting tongue,
And found my kiffes fweeter than my fong.
In all I pleas'd, but most in what was beft;
And the laft joy was dearer than the rest.
Then witheach word, each glance, each motion fir'd,
You ftill enjoy'd, and yet you still defir'd,
'Till all diffolving in the trance we lay,
And in tumultuous raptures dy'd away.
The fair Sicilians now thy foul inflame;
Why was I born, ye gods! a Lesbian dame?
But ah, beware, Sicilian nymphs! nor boast
That wandering heart which fo lately loft;
Nor be with all thofe tempting words abus'd,
Thofe tempting words were all to Sappho us'd.
And you that rule Sicilia's happy plains,
Have pity, Venus, on your poet's pains!
Shall fortune ftill in one fad tenor run,
And still increase the woes fo foon begun?
Inur'd to forrow from my tender years,
My parent's afhes drank my early tears:
My brother next, neglecting wealth and fame,
Ignobly burn'd in a destructive flame:
An infant daughter late my griefs increas'd,
And all a mother's cares diftract my breaft.
Alas, what more could fate itfelf impofe,
But thee, the laft and greatest of my woes?
No more my robes in waving purple flow,
Nor on my hand the sparkling diamonds glow;
No more my locks in ringlets curl'd diffufe
The coftly fweetnefs of Arabian dews,
Nor braids of gold the varied treffes bind,
That fly disorder'd with the wanton wing:

For whom should Sappho ufe fuch arts as these
He's gone, whom only she defir'd to please!
Cupid's light darts my tender bofom move,
Still is there caufe for Sappho ftill to love:
So from my birth the fifters fix'd my doom,
And gave to Venus all my life to come;
Or, while my mufe in melting notes complains,
My yielding heart keeps measure to my strains.
By charms like thine which all my foul have won,
Who might not-ah! who would not be undone ?
For thofe Aurora Cephalus might fcorn,
And with fresh blushes paint the conscious morn:
For those might Cynthia lengthen Phaon's fleep,
And bid Endymion nightly tend his fheep:
Venus for those had rapt thee to the skies,
But Mars on thee might look with Venus' eyes.
O scarce a youth, yet scarce a tender boy!
O useful time for lovers to employ !
Pride of thy age, and glory of thy race,
Come to thefe arms, and melt in this embrace!
The vows you never will return, receive;
And take at least the love you will not give.
See, while I write, my words are loft in tears!
The lefs my fenfe, the more my love appears.
Sure 'twas not much to bid one kind adieu;
(At least to feign was never hard to you!)
Farewell, my Lesbian love, you might have faid;
Or coldly thus, Farewell, oh Lesbian maid!
No tear did you, no parting kiss receive,
Nor knew I then how much I was to grieve.
No lover's gift your Sappho could confer,
And wrongs and woes were all you left with her.
No charge I gave you, and no charge could give,
But this, Be mindful of our loves, and live.
Now by the Nine, those powers ador'd by me,
And Love, the god that ever waits on thee,
When first I heard (from whom I hardly knew)
That you were fled, and all my joys with you,
Like fome fad ftatue, fpeechlefs, pale i ftood,
Grief chill'd my breaft, and stopp'd my freezing
blood;

No figh to rife, no tear had power to flow,
Fix'd in a ftupid lethargy of woe:
But when its way th' impetuous paffion found,
I rend my treffes, and my breast 1 wound;
I rave, then weep; I curfe, and then complain;
Now fwell to rage, now melt in tears again.
Not fiercer pangs diftract the mournful dame,
Whofe firft-born infant feeds the funeral flame.
My fcornful brother with a fmile appears,
Infults my woes, and triumphs in my tears:
His hated image ever haunts my eyes;
And why this grief? thy daughter lives, he cries
Stung with my love, and furious with despair,
All torn my garments, and my bofom bare,
My woes, thy crimes, I to the world proclaim;
Such inconfiftent things are love and shame!
'Tis thou art all my care and my delight,
My daily longing, and my dream by night:
O night, more pleafing than the brightest day,
When fancy gives what abfence takes away,
And, drefs'd in all its vifionary charins,
Reftores my fair deferter to my arms!
Then round your neck in wanton wreaths I twint
Then you, methinks, as fondly circle mine:

A thousand tender words I hear and speak;
A thousand melting kisses give, and take:
Then fiercer joys; I blush to mention these,
Yet, while I blush, confefs how much they please.
But when, with day, the sweet delufions fly,
And all things wake to life and joy, but I;
As if once more forfaken, I complain,
And close my eyes to dream of you again:
Then frantic rife, and like fome fury rove
Through lonely plains, and through the filent
grove;

As if the filent grove, and lonely plains,
That knew my pleasures, could relieve my pains.
I view the grotto, once the scene of love,
The rocks around, the hanging roofs above,
That charm'd me more, with native mofs o'er-
grown,

Than Phrygian marble, or the Parian stone.
I find the shades that veil'd our joys before;
But, Phaon gone, those shades delight no more.
Here the prefs'd herbs with bending tops betray
Where oft entwin'd in amorous folds we lay;
I kifs that earth which once was prefs'd by you,
And all with tears the withering herbs bedew.
For thee the fading trees appear to mourn,
And birds defer their fongs till thy return:
Night fhades the groves, and all in filence lie,
All but the mournful Philomel and I:
With mournful Philomel I join my ftrain,
Of Tereus fhe, of Phaon I complain.

A fpring there is, whofe filver waters thow, Clear as a glass, the shining fands below; A flowery Lotos fpreads its arms above, Shades all the banks, and seems itself a grove; Eternal greens the mofly margin grace, Watch'd by the Sylvan genius of the place. Here as I lay, and fwell'd with tears the flood, Before my fight a watery virgin flood: She food and cry'd, "O you that love in vain! "Fly hence, and feek the fair Leucadian main. "There stands a rock, from whose impending steep Apollo's fane furveys the rolling deep; "There injur'd lovers, leaping from above, "Their flames extinguish, and forget to love. "Deucalion once with hopeless fury burn'd, "In vain he lov'd, relentless Pyrrha scorn'd; "But when from hence he plung'd into the main, "Deucalion fcorn'd, and Pyrrha lov'd in vain. "Hatte, Sappho, haste, from high Leucadia throw "Thy wretched weight, nor dread the deeps below!"

She fpoke, and vanish'd with the voice—I rise,
And filent tears fall trickling from my eyes.
1 go, ye nymphs those rocks and feas to prove;
How much I fear, but ah, how much I love!
I go, ye nymphs, where furious love inspires;
Let female fears fubmit to female fires.
To rocks and feas I fly from Phaon's hate,
And hope from feas and rocks a milder fate.
Ye gentle gales, beneath my body blow,
And foftly lay me on the waves below!
And thou, kind love, my finking limbs sustain,
Spread thy foft wings, and waft me o'er the main,
Nor let a lover's death the guiltlefs flood pro-
fane!

On Phœbus' fhrine my harp I'll then bestow, And this infcription fhall be plac'd below. "Here the who fung, to him that did infpire, "Sappho to Phoebus confecrates her lyre; "What fuits with Sappho, Phoebus, fuits with thee; "The gift, the giver, and the god agree.'

By why, alas, relentless youth, ah, why
To distant feas must tender Sappho fly?
Thy charms than those may far more powerful be,
And Phoebus' felf is lefs a god to me.

Ah! can't thou doom me to the rocks and fea,
O, far more faithless, and more hard than they?
Ah! canft thou rather fee this tender breast
Dafh'd on these rocks than to thy bofom prefs'd;
This breaft, which once, in vain! you lik'd fo well;
Where the loves play'd, and where the mufesdwell?
Alas the mufes now no more inspire,
Untun'd my lute, and filent is my lyre;
My languid numbers have forgot to flow,
And fancy finks beneath a weight of woe.
Ye Lesbian virgins, and ye Lesbian dames,
Themes of my verfe, and objects of my flames,
No more your groves with my glad fongs fhall ring,
No more thefe hands fhall touch the trembling
ftring:

My Phaon's fled, and I those arts refign,
(Wretch that I am, to call that Phaon mine!)
Return, fair youth, and bring along
Joy to my foul, and vigour to my fong:
Abfent from thee, the poet's flame expires;
But ah! how fiercely burn the lover's fires?
Gods! can no prayers, no fighs, no numbers, move
One favage heart, or teach it how to love?
The winds my prayers, my fighs, my numbers bear,
The flying winds have loft them all in air!
Oh when, alas! fhall more aufpicious gales
To these fond eyes reftore thy welcome fails?
If you return-ah, why thefe long delays?
Poor Sappho dies while careless Phaon stays.
O, launch thy bark, nor fear the watery plain!
Venus for thee fhall smooth her native main.
O, launch thy bark, fecure of profperous gales!
Cupid for thee fhall spread the fwelling fails.
If you will fly-(yet ah! what cause can be,
Too cruel youth, that you should fly from me?)
If not from Phaon, I must hope for ease,
Ah, let me feek it from the raging feas!
To raging feas unpity'd I'll remove,
And either cease to live, or cease to love!

ELOISA TO ABELARD.
Argument.

ABELARD and Eloifa flourished in the twelfth century; they were two of the most distinguished perfons of their age in learning and beauty, but for nothing more famous than for their unfortunate paffion. After a long course of calamities, they retired each to a several convent, and confecrated the remainder of their days to religion. It was many years after this feparation, that a letter of Abelard's to a friend, which contained the history of his misfortunes, fell into the hands

of Eloifa. This awakening all her tenderness, occafioned thofe celebrated letters (out of which the following is partly extracted), which give fo lively a picture of the ftruggles of grace and nature, virtue and paffion.

IN thefe deep folitudes and awtul cells,
Where heavenly-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 Eloifa yet muft kifs the name.

Dear, fatal name! reft ever unreveal'd,
Nor pafs thefe 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 Eloifa weeps and prays,
Her heart ftill dictates, and her hand obeys.
Relentlefs walls! whofe darkfome round con-
tains

Repentant fighs, and voluntary pains:

Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;
Ye grots and caverns fhagg'd with horrid thorn!
Shrines where their vigils pale-eyed virgins keep;
And pitying faints, whofe ftatues learn to weep!
Though cold like you, unmov'd and filent grown,
have not yet forgot myfelf to ftone."
All is not heaven's while Abelard has part,
Still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
Nor prayers, nor fafts, its ftubborn pulse restrain,
Nor tears 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 fad! for ever dear!
Still breath'd in fighs, ftill ufher'd with a tear.
1 tremble too, where'er my own I find,
Some dire raisfortune follows close behind.
Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
1.ed through a fad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now withering 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 power away; And is my Abelard lefs kind than they? Tears ftill are mine, and those I need not spare, Love but demands what else were shed in prayer; No happier task these faded eyes pursue; To read and weep is all they now can do.

Then fhare thy pain, allow that fad relief; Ah, more than fhare it, give me all thy grief. Heav'n firft taught letters for fome wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover, or fome captive maid; [fpires, They live, they speak, they breathe what love inWarm from the foul, and faithful to its fires, The virgin's wish without her fears impart, Excufe the blufh, and pour out all the heart, Speed the foft intercourse from foul to foul, And waft a figh from Indus to the pole.

Thou know'ft how guiltlefs firft 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-beauteors mind. Thofe fmiling eyes, attempering every ray, Shone fweetly lambent with celeftial day. Guiltless I gaz'd; heaven liften'd while you fung; And truths divine came mended from that tongue. From lips like those what precept fail'd to move? Too foon they taught me 'twas no fin to love: Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran, Nor wish'd an angel whom I lov'd a man. Dim and remote the joys of faints I see, Nor envy them that heaven I lose for thee.

How oft, when prefs'd to marriage, have I said, Curfe on all laws but thofe 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? The jealous God, when we profane his fires, Thofe reflefs paffions in revenge infpires, And bids them make miftaken mortals groan, Who feck in love for aught but love alone. Should at my feet the world's great mafter fall, Hindelf, his throne, his world, I'd fcorn them all Not Cæfar's emprefs 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 miftrefs, make me that to thee!
Oh, happy ftate! when fouls each other draw,
When love is liberty, and nature law:
All then is full, poffefling and poffefs'd,
No craving void left aching in the breast:
Ev'n thought meets thought, e'er from the lips it
part,

Andeach warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
This fure is blifs (if blifs 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 poniard had oppos'd the dire command.
Barbarian, ftay! that bloody ftroke reftrain;
The crime was common, common be the pain.
I can no more; by shame, by rage suppress'd,
Let tears and burning blufles 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 farewell? As with cold lips I kifs'd the facred veil, The fhrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale; Heaven fcarce believ'd the conqueft it furvey'd, And faints with wonder heard the vows I made. Yet then, to thofe 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 leaft are left thee to bestow. Still on that breaft enamour'd let me lie, Still drink delicious poifon from thy eye,

Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be prefs'd;
Give all thou canst and let me dream the reft.
Ah, no inftruct 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 deferves thy care!
Plants of thy hand, and children of thy prayer.
From the falfe world in early youth they fled,
By thee to mountains, wilds, and deferts led.
You rais'd thefe hallow'd walls; the defert fmil'd,
And paradise was open'd in the wild.
No weeping orphan faw his father's ftores
Our fhrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
No filver faints, by dying misers given,
Here bribe the rage of ill-requited heaven;
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 fadness, or continual tears.
See how the force of others prayers I try,
(0 pious fraud of amorous charity!)
But why fhould I on others prayers depend?
Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!
Ah, let thy handmaid, fifter, daughter, move,
And all thofe tender names in one, thy love!
The dark fome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
The wandering ftreams 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,
Or lull to reft the visionary maid.

But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
Long founding aifles, and intermingled graves,
Black melancholy fits, and round her throws
A death-like filence, and a dread repose;
Her gloomy prefence faddens all the scene,
Shades every flower, and darkens every green,
Deepens 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 lafting chain;
And here, ev'n then, shall my cold duft remain;
Here all its frailties, all its flames refign,
And wait till 'tis no fin to mix with thine.

I view my crime, but kindle at the view,
Repent old pleasures, and folicit new;
Now turn'd to heaven, I weep my paft offence,
Now think of thee, and curfe my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
'Tis fure the hardest science to forget!
How fhall I lofe the fin, yet keep the sense,
And love th' offender, yet deteft th' offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
Or how distinguish penitence from love?
Unequal tafk! a paflion to refign,

For hearts fo touch'd, fo pierc'd, fo loft as mine!
E'er fuch a foul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, defpair, refent, regret,
Conceal, difdain-do all things but forget!
But let heaven feize it, all at once 'tis fir'd:
Not touch'd, but rapt; not weaken'd, but infpir'd!
Oh, come! oh, teach me nature to fubdue,
Renounce my love, my life, myself-and you!
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
Alone can rival, can fucceed to thee.

How happy is the blameless veftal's lot;
The world forgetting, by the world forgot!
Eternal fun-fhine of the fpotlefs mind!
Each prayer accepted, and each with resign'd;
Labour and reft that equal periods keep;
"Obedient flumbers that can wake and weep;"
Defires compos'd, affections ever even ;
Tears that delight, and fighs that waft to heaven,
Grace fhines around her with ferenest beans,
And whispering angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th' unfading rofe of Eden blooms,
And wings of feraphs fhed divine perfumes;
For her the fpoufe prepares the bridal ring;
For her white virgins hymenæals fing:
To founds of heavenly harps fhe dies away,
And melts in vifions of eternal day.

Far other dreams my erring foul employ,
Far other raptures of unholy joy:
When at the clofe of each fad, forrowing day,
Fancy reftores what vengeance (natch'd away,
Then confcience fleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loose foul unbounded fprings to thee.
O, curst, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking demons all refraint remove,
And stir within me every source of love.

I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,
And round thy phantom glue my clafping arms.
I wake :-no more I hear, no more I view,
The phantom flies me, as unkind as you.

I call aloud; it hears not what I fay:

I ftretch my empty arms; it glides away.
To dream once more I clofe my willing eyes;
Ye foft illufions, dear deceits, arife!

Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe, Where round fome mouldering tower pale ivy

creeps,

And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
Clouds interpofe, waves roar, and winds arise.
I fhriek, ftart up, the fame fad prospect find
And wake to all the griefs I left behind.