But why should I on others pray'rs depend?
Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!
Ah let thy handmaid, fifter, daughter move,
And, all those tender names in one, thy love!
The darkfom pines that o'er yon' rocks reclin'd
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
The wand'ring ftreams that shine between the hills,
The grots that echo to the tinkling rills,
The dying gales that pant upon the trees,
The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze;
No more these scenes my meditation aid,
Or lull to reft the visionary maid:
But o'er the twilight groves, and dufky caves,
Long-founding ifles, and intermingled graves,
Black melancholy fits, and round her throws
A death-like filence, and a dread repose:
Her gloomy prefence 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 muft I ftay;
Sad proof how well a lover can obey!
Death, only death, can break the lafting chain; And here ev'n then, fhall my cold duft remain;
Here all its frailties, all its flames refign,
And wait, till 'tis no fin to mix with thine.
Ah wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in vain,
Confefs'd within the flave of love and man.
Affist me heav'n! but whence arose that pray'r?
Sprung it from piety, or from defpair?
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 folicit new:
Now turn'd to heav'n, I weep my paft offence,
Now think of thee, and curfe my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
'Tis fure the hardest science to forget!
How fhall I lofe the fin, yet keep the fenfe,
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 refign,
For hearts fo touch'd, fo pierc'd, fo loft as mine.
E'er fuch a foul regains its peaceful state,
How often muft it love, how often hate!
How often, hope, defpair, refent, regret,
Conceal, difdaindo 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 veftal's lot?
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal fun-fhine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each with refign'd;
Labour and reft, 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'in
Grace fhines around her with fereneft beams,
And whifp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her the spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins Hymenaals fing;
For her th' unfading rofe of Eden blooms,
And wings of feraphs fhed divine perfumes;
To founds of heav'nly harps fhe 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 close of each fad, forrowing day,
Fancy reftores what vengeance fnatch'd away,
Then confcience fleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loose foul unbounded springs to thee.
O curft, dear horrors of all conscious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking dæmons all reftraint remove,
And ftir 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 close my willing eyes;
Ye foft illufions, dear deceits, arife!
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 becken from the skies,
Clouds interpofe, waves roar, and winds arife.
I fhriek, flart 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 repofe;
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 fee,
And love's warm tyde for ever stopt in thee.
Nature ftands check'd; religion difapproves;
Ev'n thou art cold-yet Eloifa loves.
Ah hopelefs, lafting flames! like thofe that burn
To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn.
What fcenes appear wheree'er I turn my view,
The dear ideas where Lfly, 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,
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