From lips like those what precept fail'd to move?
Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love:
Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man.
Dim and remote the joys of saints I see;
Nor envy them that heav'n I lose for thee.

70

75

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? The jealous God, when we profane his fires, Those restless passions in revenge inspires,

81

NOTES.

style, which is blemished, as might be expected, by many phrases unknown to the pure ages of the Roman language, and by many Hebraisms, borrowed from the translation of the Bible.

Ver. 66. And truths divine, &c.] He was her Preceptor in Philosophy and Divinity. W.

Ver. 73. How oft,] These extraordinary sentiments are plainly from the Letters: Nihil unquam, Deus scit, in te, nisi te requisivi; te pure, non tua concupiscens. Non matrimonii fœdera, non dotes aliquas expectavi. Et si uxoris nomen sanctius videtur, dulcius mihi semper extitit amicæ vocabulum, aut, si non indigneris, concubinæ vel scorti. Pope has added an injudicious thought about Cupid; mythology is here much out of its place.

IMITATIONS.

Ver. 75. Love will not be confin'd by Maisterie;

When Maisterie comes, the Lord of Love anon
Flutters his wings, and forthwith is he gone."

Chaucer. P.

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, 85 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 Oh! happy state! when souls each other draw, When love is liberty, and nature, law:

All then is full, possessing and possest,
No craving void left aching in the breast:

94

Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be),
And once the lot of Abelard and me.

Alas how chang'd! what sudden horrors rise!
A naked Lover bound and bleeding lies! 100
Where, where was Eloïse? her voice, her hand!
Her poniard had oppos'd the dire command.
Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain!
The crime was common, common be the pain,
I can no more, by shame, by rage suppress'd, 105
Let tears, and burning blushes, speak the rest.

Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day, When victims at yon altar's foot we lay?

NOTES.

Ver. 88. make me mistress] A great inaccuracy!-She was his wife.

Ver. 100. A naked Lover] One cannot forbear wishing, that, notwithstanding all the dexterity and management our poet has exerted on the occasion, these six lines had been omitted.

Ver. 108. yon altar's] The altar of Paraclete, says Mr. Ber

111

Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell,
When, warm in youth I bade the world farewell?
As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil,
The shrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale:
Heav'n scarce believ'd the conquest it survey'd,
And saints with wonder heard the vows I made.
Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you:
Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call,
And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.

115

Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe; Those still at least are left thee to bestow.

Still on that breast enamour'd let me lie,

120

Still drink delicious poison from thy eye,

Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press'd;
Give all thou canst-and let me dream the rest.
Ah no! instruct me other joys to prize,
With other beauties charm my partial eyes,

Full in my view set all the bright abode,

125

And make my soul quit Abelard for God.

Ah think at least thy flock deserves thy care, Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r, 130 From the false world in early youth they fled,

By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts, led.

NOTES.

rington, did not then exist; they were not professed at the same time or place; one was at Argentieul, the others at St. Denys.

Ver. 111. As with cold lips] This description of the solemnity of her taking the veil, the prognostics that attended it, her passion intruding itself in the midst of her devotion, Ver. 115; the sudden check to her passion, Ver. 125; need not be pointed out to any reader of sensibility, and lover of true poetry.

You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desert smil'd,

And Paradise was open'd in the Wild.

No weeping orphan saw his father's stores

135

Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n,
Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n:
But such plain roofs as piety could raise,
And only vocal with the Maker's praise.

140

In these lone walls (their days eternal bound) These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown'd,

NOTES.

Ver. 133. You rais'd these hallow'd walls;] He founded the Monastery. P.

Ver. 136. Our shrines irradiate,] Non magis auro fulgentia atque ebore, simulacra, quam lucos, et in iis silentia ipsa adoramus, says Pliny very finely of places of worship.

Ver. 141. In these lone] All the images drawn from the Convent, from this line down to line 170, and particularly the personification of Melancholy expanding her dreadful wings over its whole circuit, cannot be sufficiently applauded. The fine epithet, browner horror, is from Dryden. It is amusing to read with this passage Mr. Gray's excellent Account of his Visit to the Grande Chartreuse. Works, 4to. p. 67.

These exquisite lines will be highly relished by all those,
Who never fail

To walk the studious cloisters pale,
And love the high-embowed roof,
With antic pillars massy-proof;
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light;
Then let the pealing organ blow
In the full-voic'd quire below;
In service high and anthem clear,

As may with sweetness through mine ear
Dissolve me into ecstasies,

And bring all heav'n before mine eyes.

Il Penseroso, v. 155.

Where awful arches make a noon-day night,
And the dim windows shed a solemn light;
Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray,
And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day.
But now no face divine contentment wears,
'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears.
See how the force of others' pray'rs I try,
(O pious fraud of am'rous charity!)

145

150

But why should I on others' pray'rs depend?
Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!
Ah let thy handmaid, sister, daughter, move,
And all those tender names in one, thy love!
The darksome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
The wand'ring streams that shine between the hills,

156

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 rest the visionary maid.

160

But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
Long sounding aisles, and intermingled graves,
Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws
A death-like silence, and a dread repose:
Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,
Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry green,
Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,

165

And breathes a browner horror on the woods. 170 Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;

Sad proof how well a lover can obey!

Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;

And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain,