One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight, Priests, Tapers, Temples, swim before my fight: In feas of flame my plunging foul is drown'd, While Altars blaze, and Angels tremble round. While proftrate here in humble grief I lie, Kind, virtuous drops just gath'ring in my eye, While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll, And dawning grace is opening on my foul.

Come, if thou dar'ft, all charming as thou art! Oppose thy felf to heav'n; difpute my heart; Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes, Blot out each bright Idea of the skies.

Take back that grace, thofe forrows, and those tears, Take back my fruitless penitence and pray❜rs, Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode, Affift the Fiends and tear me from my God!

No, fly me, fly me! far as Pole from Pole; Rife Alps between us! and whole oceans roll! Ah come not, write not, think not once of me, Nor fhare one pang of all I felt for thee. Thy oaths I quit, thy memory refign, Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.

Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!)
Long lov'd, ador'd ideas! all adieu!

O grace ferene! oh virtue heav'nly fair!
Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!

Fresh blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky!
And faith, our early immortality!

Enter each mild, each amicable guest ;
Receive, and wrap me in eternal reft!

See in her Cell fad Eloifa fpread,

H

Propt in fome tomb, a neighbour of the dead!
In each low wind methinks a Spirit calls,
And more than Echoes talk along the walls.
Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around,
From yonder fhrine I heard a hollow found.
Come, fister come! (it faid, or seem'd to fay)
Thy place is here, fad fifter come away!
Once like thy felf, I trembled, wept, and pray'd,
Love's victim then, tho' now a fainted maid:
But all is calm in this eternal fleep;

Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep,
Ev'n fuperftition lofes ev'ry fear:

For God, not man, abfolves our frailties here.

I come, ye ghosts! prepare your rofeate bow'rs, Celestial palms, and ever blooming flow'rs Thither, where finners may have, reft, Ingo, 0 Ligen Where flames refin'd in breasts feraphic glow. Thou, Abelard! the laft fad office pay,cold it And smooth my paffage to the realms of day: See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll, Suck my last breath, and catch the flying foul! Ah no----in facred vestments may't thou stand, The hallow'd taper, trembling in thy hand, Prefent the Crofs before my lifted eye, me

Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
Ah then, thy once-loved Eloisa fee I g!!

It will be then no crime to gaze on me.
See from my cheek the tranfient rofes fly!
See the last sparkle languifh in my eye! sonl
Till ev'ry motion, pulfe, and breath, be o'er;
And ev❜n my Abelard beloy'd no more.
O death all-eloquent! you only prove

27

What duft we doat on, when 'tis man we love. Then too, when fate fhall thy fair frame destroy, (That cause of all my guilt and all my joy)

LA

In trance extatic may thy pangs be drown'd,
Bright clouds defcend, and Angels watch the round, I
From opening skies, may freaming glories shinebo
And Saints embrace thee with a love like mine. LeA

May's one kind grave unitercach chaplefs name,
And graft my love immotab on thybfameo mito. I
Then lages hence, when all my woes areldler; or!T
When this rebellious heard shall beating more; d H
If ever chance two wandring lovers brings
To Paraclete's white walls, and filver fprings,
O'er the pale marble fhall they join their heads,
And drink the falling tears each other sheds,
Then fadly fay, with mutual pity mov'd,
Oh may we never love as these have lov'd!
From the full quire when loud Hofanna's rise,
And fwell the pomp of dreadful facrifice,
Amid that fcene, if fome relenting eye
Glance on the stone where our cold reliques lie,
Devotion's felf fhall steal a thought from heav'n,
One human tear fhall drop, and be forgiv❜n.

* Abelard and Eloifa were interr'd in the fame grave, or in monuments adjoining, in the Monaftery of the Paraclete: He died in the year 1142, fhe in 1163.

And fure if fate fome future Bard fhall join
In fad fimilitude of griefs to mine,
Condemn'd whole years in abfence to deplore,
And image charms he must behold no more,
Such if there be, who loves fo long, fo well;
Let him our fad, our tender story tell;

The well-fung woes fhall footh my penfive ghoft;
He best can paint 'em, who fhall feel 'em most.