Black Melancholy fits, and round her throws
A death-like filence, and a dread repofe:
Her gloomy presence faddens all the fcene,
Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry 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 lasting chain;
And here ev❜n then, fhall my cold dust remain,
Here all its frailties, all its flames refign,
And wait, till 'tis no fin to mix with thine.
Ah wretch! believ'd the fpoufe of God in vain, Confefs'd within the flave 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; I mourn the lover, not lament the fault; I view my crime, but kindle at the view, Repent old pleasures, and follicit new:
Now turn'd to heav'n, I weep my past offence,
Now think of thee, and curfe my innocence.
Of all, affliction taught a lover yet,
'Tis fure the hardest fcience to forget!
How fhall I lose the fin, yet keep the fense,
And love th' offender, yet deteft th' offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
Or how distinguish penitence from love?
Unequal task! a paffion to resign,
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 heav'n feize 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 fubdue,
Renounce my love, my life, my self----and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
Alone can rival, can fucceed to thee.
How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot?
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal fun-fhine of the fpotlefs mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each with refign'd;
Labour and rest, 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 heav'n. Grace fhines around her with fereheft: beams,
And whisp'ring Angels prompt her golden dreams.}
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring, tho!
For her white virgins Hymenæals fing;
For her th' unfading rofe of Eden blooms,
And wings of Seraphs shed divine perfumes;
To founds of heav'nly harps, the 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 restores what vengeance snatch'd away,
Then confcience fleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loose foul unbounded fprings to thee.
O curst, dear horrors of all-confcious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Kkkkk
Provoking Dæmons all restraint remove,
And stir within me ev'ry fource 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, arise!
Alas no more!----methinks we wandring go
Thro' dreary waftes, and weep each other's woe;
Where round fome mould'ring tow'r pale ivy creeps,
And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
Sudden you mount you
5 becken from the skies;
Clouds interpofe, waves roar, and winds arise.
I fhriek, ftart up, the fame fad profpect find,
And wake to all the griefs I left behind.
For thee the fates, feverely kind, ordain
A cool fufpenfe from pleasure and from pain;
Thy life a long, dead calm of fix'd repose;
No pulfe that riots, and no blood that glows.
Still as the fea, e'er winds were taught to blow,
Or moving fpirit bade the waters flow;
Soft as the flumbers of a faint forgiv❜n,
And mild as opening gleams of promis'd heav'n.
Come Abelard! for what haft thou to dread?
The torch of Venus burns not for the dead;
Cut from the root my perifh'd joys I see,
And love's warm tyde for ever ftopt in thee.
Nature stands check'd; Religion disapproves ;
Ev'n thou art cold----yet Eloifa loves.
Ah hopeless, lafting flames! like thofe that burn
To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn.
What scenes appear where-e'er I turn my view,
The dear Ideas, where I fly, pursue,
Rife in the grove, before the altar rise,
Stain all my foul, and wanton in my eyes!
I waste the Matin lamp in fighs for thee,
Thy image steals between my God and me,
Thy voice I feem in ev'ry hymn to hear,
With ev'ry bead I drop too foft a tear.
When from the Cenfer clouds of fragrance roll,
And swelling organs lift the rifing foul;
|