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INTENDED FOR SIR ISAAC NEWTON,
TESTANTUR TEMPUS, NATURA, COELUM:
HOC MARMOR FATETUR.
NATURE and Nature's laws lay hid in night:
ON DR. FRANCIS ATTERBURY,
WHO DIED IN EXILE AT PARIS, 1732.
[His only daughter having expired in his arms, immediately after she arrived in France to see him.]
She. YES, we have liv'd-One pang, and then we
May Heav'n, dear father! now have all thy heart.
Dear shade! I will:
Then mix this dust with thine-O spotless ghost! 5
Save my country, Heav'n!-he said, and
ON EDMUND, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM,
WHO DIED IN THE NINETEENTH YEAR OF
Ir modest youth, with cool reflection crown'd,
Could save a parent's justest pride from fate,
FOR ONE WHO WOULD NOT BE BURIED
HEROES and kings! your distance keep ;
ANOTHER ON THE SAME,
UNDER this marble, or under this sill,
ELOISA TO ABELARD.
Abelard and Eloisa flourished in the twelfth century; they were two of the most distinguished persons of their age in learning and beauty, but for nothing more famous than for their unfortunate passion. After a long course of calamities, they retired each to a separate convent, and consecrated the remainder of their days to religion. It was many years after this separation that a letter of Abelard's to a friend, which contained the history of his misfortune, fell into the hands of Eloisa, This awakening all her tenderness, occasioned those celebrated letters (out of which the following is partly extracted), which give so lively a picture of the struggles of grace and nature, virtue and passion. P.
In these deep solitudes and awful cells,
What means this tumult in a vestal's veins?
Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd,
Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:
Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;
Nor pray'rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain,
Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear.
Now warm in love, now withering in my bloom,
There stern religion quench'd th' unwilling flame;
Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,
Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief; Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief. Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid: They live, they speak, they breathe what love in
Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires;
Thou know'st 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 emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind. Those smiling eyes, attempering every ray, Shone sweetly lambient with celestial day.
Guiltless I gaz'd; Heav'n listen'd while you sung; 65
How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said, Curse on all laws but those which Love has made! Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies. Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame, August her deed, and sacred be her fame; Before true passion all those views remove; Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to love? 80 The jealous god, when we profane his fires, Those restless passions in revenge inspires, And bids them make mistaken mortals groan, Who seek in love for aught but love alone. Should at my feet the world's great master fall, Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn 'em all: Not Cæsar's empress 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 mistress, make me that to thee! 90
All then is full, possessing and posesss'd,
Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it
And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
Alas, how chang'd! what sudden horrors rise!