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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!
Alas, no more! methinks we wand'ring go
Through 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 beckon from the skies; 245
Clouds interpofe, waves roar, and winds arife.
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 fufpence 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, ere winds were taught to blow,
Or moving fpirits bid the waters flow
Soft as the flumbers of a faint forgiv'n,
And mild as open'ing gleams of promis'd heav'n.
Come, Abelard! for what haft thou to dread?
The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.
Nature ftands check'd; Religion disapproves ;
Ev'n thou art cold-yet Eloïfa loves.
Ah hopeless, lafting flames! like those that burn
To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn.
What scenes appear where'er I turn my view?
The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue,
Rife in the grove, before the altar rife,
Stain all my foul, and wanton in my eyes.
I waste the matin lamp in fighs for thee;
Thy image fteals between my God and me;
Thy voice I feem in ev'ry hymn to hear,
With every bead I drop too foft a tear.
When from the cenfer clouds of fragrance roll,
And fwelling organs lift the rifing foul,
One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight;
Priefts, tapers, temples, fwim before my fight:

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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 juft gath'ring in my eye;
While praying, trembling, in the duft I roll,
And dawning grace is op'ning on my foul;
Come, if thou dar'ft, all charming as thou art!
Oppofe thyself to Heav'n; difpute my heart;
Come, with one glance of thofe deluding eyes
Blot out each bright idea of the skies;

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Take back that grace, those forrows and those tears;
Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs;

Snatch me, juft mounting, from the bleft abode;
Affift the fiends, and tear me from iny 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 resign ;

Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.
and tempting looks, (which yet I view,)

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Fair eyes

Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu!

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O Grace ferene! O Virtue heav'nly fair!

Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!

Fresh blooming Hope, gay daughter of the sky!

And Faith, our early immortality!

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Enter each mild, each amicable gueft;

Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest !
See in her cell fad Eloïfa spread,

Propt on fome tomb, a neighbour of the dead,
In each low wind methinks a fpirit calls,

And more than Echoes talk along the walls.

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Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around, From yonder fhrine, I heard a hollow found. "Come, fifter, come! (it faid, or feem'd to fay ;) "Thy place is here, fad fifter, come away. "Once, like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd; "Love's victim then, though now a fainted maid: “But all is calm in this eternal sleep ;

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"Here Grief forgets to groan, and Love to weep;

"Ev'n fuperftition lofes every fear:

"For God, not man, abfolves our frailties here."
I come, I come! prepare your rofeate bow'rs,
Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs.
Thither, where finners may have reft, I go,
Where flames refin'd in breasts feraphic glow.
Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay,
And fmooth my paffage to the realms of day:
See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll,
Suck my laft breath, and catch my flying foul!
Ah, no---in facred vestments mayst thou stand,
The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand,
Prefent the Crofs before my lifted eye,
Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
Ah then, thy once lov'd Eloïsa fee ;
It will be then no crime to gaze on me;
See from my cheek the tranfient roses fly!
See the last sparkle languish in my eye!
'Till ev'ry motion, pulfe, and breath be o'er ;
And ev'n my Abelard be lov'd no more.
Oh Death, all-eloquent! you only prove
What duft we dote on, when 'tis man we love.

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Then too, when Fate fhall thy fair frame destroy,
(That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy,)
In trance ecftatic may thy pangs be drown'd,
Bright clouds defcend, and angels watch thee round;
From op'ning fkies may ftreaming glories fhine, 341
And faints embrace thee with a love like mine.

May one kind grave unite each haplefs name,
And graft my love immortal on thy fame!
Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er,
When this rebellious heart fhall beat no more;
If ever Chance two wand'ring 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 choir when loud hofannas rife,
And fwell the pomp of dreadful facrifice,

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Amid that fcene if fome relenting eye

Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
Devotion's felf shall steal a thought from Heav'n,
One human tear fhall drop, and be forgiv'n.
And fure if Fate fome future bard shall 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 ftory tell;

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The well-fung woes will footh my pensive ghost;
He best can paint 'em who shall feel 'em moft;

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TO THE TRAGEDY OF BRUTUS.

CHORUS OF ATHENIANS.

STROPHE I.

YE fhades, where facred truth is fought,;
Groves, where immortal fages taught;

Where heav'nly vifions Plato fir'd,

And Epicurus lay infpir'd!

In vain your guiltless laurels ftood

Unfpotted long with human blood.

War, horrid war, your thoughtful walks invades,
And steel now glitters in the Mufes' shades,

ANTISTROPHE I.

O heav'n-born Sifters! fource of art!
Who charm the fenfe, or mend the heart;
Who lead fair Virtue's train along,
Moral Truth and myftic Song !
To what new clime, what diftant fky,
Forfaken, friendless, shall ye fly?

Say, will

ye blefs the bleak Atlantic fhore? Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more?

STROPHE II.

When Athens finks by fates unjust,
When wild Barbarians fpurn her duft;
Perhaps ev'n Britain's utmost shore
Shall ceafe to blush with ftrangers' gore:
See Arts her favage fons control,
And Athens rifing near the pole !
"Till fome new tyrant lifts his purple hand,
And civil madnefs tears them from the land.

ANTISTROPHE,