Why bade ye elfe, ye Powers! her foul aspire Above the vulgar flight of low defire? Ambition first fprung from your bleft abodes; The glorious fault of Angels and of Gods: Thence to their images on earth it flows, And in the breafts of Kings and Heroes glows. Moft fouls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age, Dull fullen prifoners in the body's cage: Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years, Ufelefs, unfeen, as lamps in fepulchres;

25

But thou, falfe guardian of a charge too good, Thou, mean deferter of thy brother's blood! 30 See on these ruby lips the trembling breath, Thefe checks now fading at the blaft of death; Cold is that breaft which warm'd the world be forc,

And thofe love-darting eyes muft roll no more. Thus, if eternal Juftice rules the ball,

Thus fhall your wives, and thus your children

fall:

On all the line a fudden vengeance waits,

And frequent herfes fhall befiege your gates;
There paffengers fhall ftand, and pointing fay,
(While the long funerals blacken all the way) 40
Lo! these were they, whofe fouls the Furies
fteel'd,

And curft with hearts unknowing how to yield.
Thus unlamented pafs the proud away,
The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day!
So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow
For others good, or melt at others woe.

What can atone (oh ever-injur'd shade!)
Thy fate unpity'd, and thy rites unpaid?
No friend's complaint, no kind domeftic tear
Pleas'd thy pale ghoft, or grac'd thy mournful

By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd,
By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd,
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd,
By ftrangers honour'd, and by ftrangers mourn'd!
What though no friends in fable weeds appear, 55
Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year,
And bear about the mockery of woe
To midnight dances, and the public show?
What though no weeping Loves thy afhes grace,
Nor polifh'd marble emulate thy face?
60
What though no facred earth allow thee room,
Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb?
Yet fall thy grave with rifing flowers be drefs'd,
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast:
There 'fhall the morn her earlieft tears befow, 65
There the frft rofes of the year shall blow;
While Angels with their filver wings o'ershade
The ground now facred by thy reliques made.

So, peaceful refts, without a ftone, a name,
What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame,
How lov'd, how honour'd once, avails thee not,
To whom related, or by whom begot;
A heap of duft alone remains of thee,
'Tis all thou art, and all the proud fhall be!

Poets themfelves muft fall, like thofe they fung, Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue. Ev'n he, whofe foul new melts in mournful lays, Shall shortly want the generous tear he pays; Then from his clofing eyes thy form fhall part, And the last pang fhall tear thee from his heart, 80 Life's idle bufinefs at one gafp be o'er, The Muse forgot, and thou belov'd no more!

20

To make mankind in confcious virtue bold,
Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold:/
For this the Tragic Mufe firft trod the ftage,5
Commanding tears to ftream through every age';
Tyrants no more their favage nature kept,
And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept.
Our author fhuns by 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 fhall How from a more generous caufe,
Such tears as Patriots fhed for dying Laws:
He bids your breafts with ancient ardour rife, 15
And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes.
Virtue confefs'd in human fhape he draws,
What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was :
No common object to your fight displays,
But what with pleasure Heaven itself furveys,
A brave man ftruggling in the ftorms of fate,
And greatly falling with a falling ftate.
While Cato gives his little Senate laws,
What bofom beats not in his Country's caufe?
Who fees him act, but envies every deed?
Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed?
Ev'n when proud Cæfar midft triumphal cars,
The fpoils of nations, and the pomp of wars,
Ignobly vain, and impotently great,
Show'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in ftate; 30
As her dead father's reverend image paft,
The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ereaft;
The triumph ceas'd, tears gufh'd from every eye;
The world's great Victor pafs'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 fhew you have the virtue to be mov'd.
With honeft fcorn the first fam'd Cato view'd
Rome learning arts from Greece, whom she sub-
dued;

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

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35

45

The Play may pass-but that strange creature,

Shore,

I can't-indeed now-I fo hate a whore !
Juft as a blockhead rubs his thoughtless skull,
And thanks his ftars he was not born a fool;
So from a fifter finner you fhall hear,

"How ftrangely you expofe yourself, my dear !" But let me die, all raillery apart,

Our fex are still forgiving at their heart;
And, did not wicked cuftom fo contrive,
We'd be the beft, 'good-natur'd things alive.
There are, 'tis true, who tell another tale, 15
That virtuous ladies envy while they rail;
Such rage without betrays the fire within;
In fome close corner of their foul, they fin;
Still hoarding up, moft fcandalously nice,
Amidft their virtues a referve of vice.
The godly dame, who fiefhly failings damns,
Scolds with her maid, or with her chaplain crans.
Would you enjoy foft nights, and folid dioners?
Faith, gallants, board with faints, and bed with

finners

20

Tell us, that Cato dearly lov'd his wife
Yet if a friend, a night or fo, fhould need her,
He'd recommend her as a special breeder,
To lend a wife, few here would feruple make; 35
But, pray which of you all would take her back?
Though with the Stoic Chief our Stage may ring,
The Stoic Hufband 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 honest 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 Hefh 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.

50

No more my foul a charm in mufic finds,
Mufic has charms alone for peaceful minds,
Sort scenes of folitude no more can please,
Love enters there, and I'm my own disease.
No more the Lefbian dames my pallion movej
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 those blooming charins fur-
prife,

20

Thofe heavenly looks, and dear deluding eyes?
The harp and bow would you like Phoebus bear,
A brighter Phoebus Phaon might appear;
Would you with ivy wreathe your Sowing hair,
Not Bacchus' felf, with Phaon could compare; 25
Yet Ph bus 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'a thote Gods contend in charms with
thee.
30

The Mu es teach me all their fofteft lays,
And the wide world refounds with Sappho's
praife,

40

45

Though great Alceus more fublimely fings,
And itrikes with bolder rage the founding strings,
No lefs renown attends the moving lyre,
35
Which Venus tunes, and all her Loves infpire ;
To me what nature has in charms deny'd,
Is well by wit's more lasting flames fupply'd,
Though hort my ftature, yet my name extends
To heaven itself, and earth's reinotest ends,
Brown as I am, an Ethiopian dame
Infpir'd young Perfeus with a generous flame ;
Turtles and doves of differing hues unite,
And glofly 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; r
Phaon alone by Phaon must be loy'd!
Yet once thy Sappho could thy cares employ,
Once in her arins you center'd all your joy;
No time the dear remembrance can remove,
Tor, oh! how vaft a memory has love!
My Mufc, then, you could for ever hear,
And all my words were mufic to your ear.
You ftopp'd with kiffes my enchanting tongue,
And found my kifles fweeter than my fong.
In all I pleas'd, but most in what was beft;
And the last joy was dearer than the reft.
Then with each word, each glance, cach motion
fir'd,

You still 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 bora, ye Gods! a Lesbian dame?
But ah, beware, Sicilian nymphs! nor boaft
That wandering heart which I so lately loft;

50

56

60

won,

70

76

$<

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, Hlave pity, Venus, on your Poet's pains! Shall fortune ftill in one fad tenor run, And itill increase the woes to foon begun? Inur'd to forrow from my tender years, My parent's afhes drank my carly 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 dittract my breast. Alas, what more could fate itfelt impofe, But thee, the last and greatest of my woes? No more my robes in waving purple flow, Nor on my hand the fparkling diamonds glow; No more my locks in ringlets curl'd diffuse The costly sweetness of Arabian dowɛ, Nor braids of gold the varied trefies bind, That fly disorder'd with the wanton wind: For whom should Sappho ufe fuch arts as these? He's gone, whom only the defir'd to please! Cupid's light darts my tender befom move, Still is there caufe for Sappho ftill to love: So from my birth the Sitters fix'd my doom, And gave to Venus all my life to come; Or, while my Muse in melting notes complains, My yielding heart keeps meature to my ftrains. By charms like thine which all my foul have LJ 95 Who migh noth!: who would not be undone? For thefe Aurora Cephalus might scorn, And with fresh blushes paint the confcious morn: For thofe might Cynthia lengthen Phaon's fleep, And bid Endymion nightly tend his sheep t 100 Venus for thofe had rapt thee to the skies, But Mars on thee might look with Venus' eyes. O fcarce a youth, yet scarce a tender boy! Oufetul 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, 110 Sure 'twas not much to bid one kind adieu; (At least to feign was never hard to you!) Farewell, my Leftian love, you might have faid; Or coldly thus, Farewell, oh Lesbian maid! No tear did you, no parting kifs 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. 120 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 fied, and all my joys with you, Like fome fad ftatue, fpeechlefs, pale I ftood, 125 Grief chill'd my breaft, and topp'd my freezing

blood;

65

195

But when its way th' impetuous paffion found,
I rend my treffes, and my breaft I wound; 135

135

146

I rave, then weep; I curfe, and then complain; Now fwell to rage, now melt in tears agaia. Not fiercer pangs diftra& the mournful dame, Whole frit-born infant feeds the funeral fame. My fcornful brother with a fimile 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 bosom bare, 140 My woes, thy crimes, I to the world proclaim; Such inconfiftent things are love and fhame! '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 visionary charms, Redores my fair deferter to my arms! Then round your neckin wanton wreaths I twine; Then you, methinks, as fondly circle mine: 150 A thoufand tender words bear and speak ; A thousand melting killes give, and take: Then fercer joys; blufh to mention thefe, Yet, while I bluth, confefs how much they please. But when, with day, the fweet delusions fly, 155 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 trove Through lonely plains, and through the £lentgrove; As if the filent grove,and lonely plains. That knew my pleasures, could relieve my pains I view the Grotto, once the feene 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 fhades that veild our jøys before;
But, Phaon gone, thofe fhades 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 flence lie, 175
All but the mournful Philomel and I :
With mournful Philomel I join my ftrain,
Of Tereus fhe, of Phaon I complain.

180

A fpring there is, whofe filver waters show, Clear as a glafs, the fhining fands below; A flowery Lotus fpreads its arms above, Shades all the banks, and feems itself a grove; Eternal greens the moffy margin grace, Watch'd by the fylvan Genius of the place. Here as I lay, and swell'd with tears the flood, 185 Before my fight a watery Virgin food: She food and cry'd, "Ó you that love in vain! "Fly hence, and feek the fair Leucadian maiu, "There ftands a rock, from whofe 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;

190

prove;

205

How much I fear, but ah, how much I love!
Igo, ye Nymphs, where furious love inspires;
Let female fears fubmit to female fires.
To rocks and leas I fly from Phaon's hate,
And hope from feas and rocks a milder fate.
Ye gentle gales, beneath my body blow,
And fortly lay me on the waves below!
And thou, kind Love, my f.nking limbs sustain,
Spread thy foft wings, and waft me o'er the
main,

Nor let a lover's death the guiltless flood pro-
phane!

On Phoebus' fhrine my harp Ill then bestow, And this Infcription fhall be plac❜d below. "Here the who fung, to him that did inspire, "Sappho to Phoebus confecrates her Lyre; 215 "What fuits with Sappho, Phochus, fuits with thee;

"The gift, the giver, and the God agree."

But why, alas, relentless youth, ah why To distant feas muft tender Sappho fy? Thy charms than thofe may far more powerful be,

220

And Phoebus' felf is lefs a God to me.
Ah ! canit thou doom me to the rocks and fea,
O far more faithlefs, and more hard than they?
Ah! canft thou rather fee this tender breaft
Dafh'd on these rocks than to thy bofom prefs'd;
This breaft, which once, in vain! you lik'd fo
well;

226 Where the Loves play'd, and where the Mufes dwell?

230

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 verle, 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; 240 But ah! how fiercely burn the Lover's fires? Gods! can no prayers, no fighs, no numbers,

If you return-ah why thefe long delays?'
Poor Sappho dies while carelefs Phaon stays.
O launch thy bark, nor fear the watery plain;
Venus for thee fall fmooth her native main.
launch thy bark, fecure of profperous gales;
Cupid for thee fhall fpread 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 ceafe to live, or cease to love!

ELOISA

ΤΟ

ABELARD.

256

6

N thefe deep folitudes and awful cells, Where heavenly-penfive contemplation dwells, And ever-mufing melancholy reigns; What means this tumult in a Vestal'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 Eloïfa yet muft kifs the name. Dear fatal name! reft ever unreveal'd, Nor pafs thefe lips in holy filence feal'd; Hideis, my heart, within that clofe difguife, 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 Eloïfa weeps and prays, Her heart still dictates and her hand obeys. Relentless walls! whofe darkfome round contains

Repentant fighs and voluntary pains:

10

15

Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn; Ye grets 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, I have not yet forgot myfelf to stone.

|

Nor foes nor fortune take this power 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 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. 50
Heaven first taught letters for fome wretch's aid,
Some banish'd lover, or fome captive maid;
They live, they speak, they breathe what love
infpires,

Warm to the foul, and faithful to its fires,
The virgin's with without her fears impart, 55
Exoufe the blush, and pour out all the heart,
Speed the foft intercourfe from foul to soul,
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 angelic kind,
Some emaɛation of th' All-beauteous Mind.
Thofe fmiling eyes, attempering every ray,
Shone fweetly lambent with celeftial day.
Guiltless I gaz'd; heaven listen'd while you fung;
And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like thofe what precept fail'd to move?
Too foon they taught me 'twas no fin to love:
Back through the paths of pleafing sense I ran,
Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'da Man.
Dim and remote the joys of faints I fee,
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, 75 Spreads his light wings and in a moment files. Let wealth, let honour wait the wedded dame, August her deed, and facred be her fane; Before true paffion all hofe views remove; Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love? The jealous God, when we prophane his fires, Thofe reftlefs paffions in revenge infpires, And bids them make mistaken mortals groan, Who feek in love for aught but love alone. Should at my feet the world's great mafter fall, Himfelf, his throne, his world, I'd fcorn them all: