The harp and bow would you like Phœbus bear,
A brighter Phoebus Phaon might appear;
Would you with ivy wreathe your flowing hair,
Not Bacchus' felf with Phaon could compare :
Yet Phoebus lov'd, and Bacchus felt the flame,
One Daphne warm'd, and one the Cretan dame;
Nymphs that in verfe no more could rival me,
Than ev'n thofe gods contend in charms with
thee.

The mufes teach me all their foftest lays,
And the wide world refounds with Sappho's praife.
Though great Alcæus more fublimely fings,
And trikes with bolder rage the founding ftrings,
No leis renown attends the moving lyre,
Which Venus tunes, and all her loves infpire;
To me what nature has in charms deny'd,
Is well by wit's more lafting flames fupply'd.
Though fhort my ftature, yet my name extends
To heaven itfelf, and earth's remoteft ends.
Brown as I am, an Ethiopian dame
Infpir'd young Perfeus with a generous flame:
Turtles and doves of differing hues unite,
And gloffy 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!
Phaon alone by Phaon must be lov'd!
Yet once thy Sappho could thy cares employ,
Once in her arms you centr'd all your joy:
No time the dear remembrance can remove,
For, oh! how vaft a memory has love!
My mufic, then, you could for ever hear,
And all my words were mufic to your ear.
You ftopp'd with kifles my enchanting tongue,
And found my kiffes 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 witheach werd, each glance, each motion fir'd,
You ftill enjoy'd, and yet you ftil! 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 born, ye gods! a Lefbian dame?
But ah, beware, Sicilian nymphs nor boast
That wandering heart which I fo lately loft;
Nor he with all thofe tempting words abus'd,
Thofe tempting words were all to Sappho us'd.
And you that rule Sicilia's happy plains,
Have pity, Venus, on your poet's pains!
Shall fortune ftill in one fad tenor run,
And ftill increase the woes fo foon begun?
Inur'd to forrow from my tender years,
My parent's afhes drank my early 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 diftract my breast.
Alas, what more could fate itself impofe,
But thee, the laft 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 diffufe
The coftly fweetnefs of Arabian dews,
Nor braids of gold the varied tresses bind,

For whom should Sappho use such arts as these?
He's gone, whom only fhe defir'd to please!
Cupid's light darts my tender bosom move,
Still is there caufe for Sappho ftill to love:
So from my birth the fifters fix'd my doom,
And gave to Venus all my life to come;
Or, while my mufe in melting notes complains,
My yielding heart keeps meafure to my strains.
By charms like thine which all my foul have won,
Who might not-ah! who would not be undone?
For thofe Aurora Cephalus might scorn,
And with fresh blushes paint the conscious morn:
For thofe might Cynthia lengthen Phaon's fleep,
And bid Endymion nightly tend his sheep:
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!
O useful time for lovers to employ !
Pride of thy age, and glory of thy race,
Come to these 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.
Sure 'twas not much to bid one kind adieu;
(At least to feign was never hard to you!)
Farewell, my Lesbian love, you might have faid;
Or coldly thus, Farewell, oh Lesbian maid!
No tear did you, no parting kiss 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.
Now by the Nine, thofe 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 fled, and all my joys with you,
Like fome fad ftatue, fpeechlefs, pale i ftood,
Grief chill'd my breaft, and ftopp'd my freezing
blood;

No figh to rife, no tear had power to flow,
Fix'd in a ftupid lethargy of woe:

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

I rave, then weep; I curfe, and then complain;
Now fwell to rage, now melt in tears again.
Not fiercer pangs diftract the mournful dame,
Whofe firft-born infant feeds the funeral flame.
My fcornful brother with a smile 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 bofom bare,
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 pleasing than the brightest day,
When fancy gives what abfence takes away,
And, drefs'd in all its vifionary charms,
Reftores my fair deferter to my arms!
Then round your neck in wanton wreaths I twine;

On Phœbus' fhrine my harp I'll then bestow, And this infcription fhall be plac'd below. "Here the who fung, to him that did inspire,

A thousand tender words I hear and speak; A thousand melting kisses give, and take: Then fiercer joys; I blush to mention these,

But when, with day, the sweet delufions fly, 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 rove

grove;

As if the filent grove, and lonely plains,

That knew my pleasures, could relieve my pains.
I view the grotto, once the scene 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 veil'd our joys before;
But, Phaon gone, those shades 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 shades the groves, and all in filence lie,
All but the mournful Philomel and I :
With mournful Philomel I join my strain,
Of Tereus fhe, of Phaon I complain.

A fpring there is, whose silver waters show, Clear as a glass, the shining sands below; A flowery Lotos fpreads its arms above, Shades all the banks, and feems itself a grove; Eternal greens the moffy margin grace, Watch'd by the Sylvan genius of the place. Here as I lay, and fwell'd with tears the flood, Before my fight a watery virgin stood: She ftood and cry'd, "O you that love in vain! "Fly hence, and seek the fair Leucadian main. "There stands a rock, from whose 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 hopclefs fury burn'd, "In vain he lov'd, relentless Pyrrha fcorn'd: "But when from hence he plung'd into the nain, "Deucalion fcorn'd, and Pyrrha lov'd in vain. "Hafte, Sappho, hafte, from high Leucadia throw Thy wretched weight, nor dread the deeps below!"

She fpoke, and vanifh'd with the voice--I rife,
And filent tears fall trickling from my eyes.
I go, ye nymphs! those rocks and feas to prove;
How much I fear, but ah, how much I love!
I go, ye nymphs, where furious love infpires;
Let female fears fubmit to female fires.
To rocks and feas I fly from Phaon's hate,
And hope from feas and rocks a milder fate.
Ye gentle gales, beneath my body blow,
And foftly lay me on the waves below!
And thou, kind love, my firking limbs sustain,
Spread thy foft wings, and waft me o'er the main, (
Nor let a lover's death the guiltless food pro-
fane!

Ah! canft thou doom me to the rocks and fea,
O, far more faithlefs, and more hard than they?
Ah! canft thou rather fee this tender breast
Dash'd on these rocks than to thy bofom prefs'd;
This breast, which once, in vain! you lik'd fo well;
Where the loves play'd, and where the mufes dwell?
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 verfe, 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 song:
Abfent from thee, the poet's flame expires;
But ah! how fiercely burn the lover's fires?
Gods! can no prayers, no fighs, no numbers, move
One favage heart, or teach it how to love?
The winds my prayers, my fighs, my numbers bear,
The flying winds have loft them all in air!
Oh when, alas! fhall more aufpicious gales
To these fond eyes reftore thy welcome fails?
If you return-ah, why thefe long delays?
Poor Sappho dies while careless Phaon ftays.
O, launch thy bark, nor fear the watery plain !
Venus for thee fhall fmooth her native main.
O, launch thy bark, fecure of profperous gales!
Cupid for thee fhall spread the fwelling fails.
If you will fly-(yet ah! what caufe can be,
Too cruel youth, that you should fly from me?)
If not from Phaon, I must hope for ease,
Ah, let me feck it from the raging feas!
To raging feas unpity'd I'll remove,
And either ceafe to live, or cease to love!

ELOISA TO ABELARD.

Argument.

ABELARD and Eloifa flourished in the twelfth century; they were two of the most distinguished perfons of their age in learning and beauty, but for nothing more famous than for their unfortunate paflion. After a long courfe of calamities, they retired each to a feveral convent, and confecrated the remainder of their days to religion. It was many years after this feparation, that a letter of Abelard's to a friend, which contained the hiftory of his misfortunes, fell into the hands

of Eloifa. This awakening all her tenderness, occafioned thofe celebrated letters (out of which the following is partly extracted), which give fo lively a picture of the struggles of grace and nature, virtue and paffion,

IN thefe deep folitudes and awful cells,
Where heavenly-penfive contemplation dwells,
And ever-mufing melancholy reigns;
What means this tumult in a veftal'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 Eloifa yet must kifs the name.

Dear, fatal name! reft ever unreveal'd,
Nor pafs thefe lips in holy filence feal'd;
Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
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 Eloifa weeps and prays,
Her heart ftill dictates, and her hand obeys.
Relentlefs walls! whofe darkfome round con-
tains

Repentant fighs, and voluntary pains:

Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;
Ye grots 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 myself to ftone.
All is not heaven's while Abelard has part,
Still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
Nor prayers, nor fafts, its stubborn pulse restrain,
Nor tears for ages taught to flow in vain.

Soon as thy letters trembling I unclofe,
That well-known name awakens all my woes.
Oh, name for ever fad! for ever dear!
Still breath'd in fighs, ftill ufher'd with a tear.
I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
Some dire misfortune follows clofe behind.
1ine after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
Led through a fad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now withering in my bloom,
Left in a convent's folitary gloom!
There stern religion quench'd th’unwilling flame,
There dy'd the beit of paffions, love and fame.

Yet write, oh, write me all, that I may join Griefs to thy griefs, and echo fighs to thine! Nor foes nor fortune take this power away; And is my Abelard lefs kind than they? Tears till are mine, and thofe I, need not fpare, Love but demands what else were shed in prayer; No happier task thefe faded eyes purtue; 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. Heav'n first taught letters for fome wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid; [fpires, They live, they speak, they breathe what love inWarm from the foul, and faithful to its fires, The virgin's wish without her tears impart, Excufe the blush, and pour out all the heart, Speed the foft intercourie from foul to foul,

Thou know'st how guiltless firft 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. Thofe fmiling eyes, attempering every ray, Shone fweetly lambent with celeftial day. Guiltlefs i gaz'd; heaven liften'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'd a man. Dim and remote the joys of faints I fee, Nor envy them that heaven I lofe for thee.

How oft, when prefs'd to marriage, have I said, Curfe on all laws but those which love has made! Love, free as air, at fight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies. Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame, Auguft her deed, and facred be her fame; Before true paflion all thofe views remove; Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to love? The jealous God, when we profane his fires, Thofe reflefs paffions in revenge infpires, And bids them make miftaken mortals groan, Who feek in love for aught but love alone. Should at my feet the world's great master fall, Himfelf, his throne, his world, I'd fcorn them all; Not Cæfar's emprefs 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 miftrefs, make me that to thee! Oh, happy ftate! when fouls each other draw, When love is liberty, and nature law: All then is full, poffefling and poffefs'd, No craving void left aching in the breast: Ev'n thought meets thought, e'er from the lips it

part,

And each warm with fprings mutual from the heart.
This fure is blifs (if blifs on earth there be),
And once the lot of Abelard and me.

Alas, how chang'd! what fudden horrors rife !
A naked lover bound and bleeding lies!
Where, where was Eloife? her voice, her hand,
Her poniard had oppos'd the dire command.
Barbarian, ftay! that bloody stroke restrain;
The crime was common, common be the pain.
I can no more; by shame, by rage fupprefs'd,
Let tears and burning blufhes fpeak the reft.

Canft thou forget that fad, that folemn day,
When victims at yon altar's foot we lay?
Canft thou forget what tears that moment fell,
When, Warm in youth, I bade the world farewell?
As with cold lips I kifs'd the facred veil,
The fhrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale:
Heaven fcarce believ'd the conqueft it furvey'd,
And faints with wonder heard the vows I made.
Yet then, to thofe 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 lofe thy love, I lofe my all.

Come with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe;
Thofe ftill at least are left thee to bestow.
Still on that breast enamour'd let me lie,

Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be prefs'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 fet all the bright abode,
And make my foul quit Abelard for God.

Ah, think at least thy flock deferves thy care!
Plants of thy hand, and children of thy prayer.
From the falfe world in early youth they fled,
By thee to mountains, wilds, and deferts led.
You rais'd thefe hallow'd walls; the defert fmil'd,
And paradife was open'd in the wild.
No weeping orphan faw his father's ftores
Our fhrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
No filver faints, by dying mifers given,

Here bribe the rage of ill-requited heaven;
But fuch plain roofs as piety could raise,
And only vocal with the Maker's praife.
In thefe lone walls (their days eternal bound)
Thefe mofs-grown domes with fpiry turrets
crown'd,

Where awful arches make a noon-day night,
And the dim windows fhed a folemn 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 fadnefs, or continual tears.
See how the force of others prayers I try,
(0 pious fraud of amorous charity!)
But why fhould I on others prayers depend?
Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!
Ah, let thy handmaid, fifter, daughter, move,
And all thofe tender names in one, thy love!
The darkfome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
The wandering 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 thefe fcenes my meditation aid,
Or lull to reft the vifionary maid.

But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
Long-founding ailles, and intermingled graves,
Black melancholy fits, and round her throws
A death-like filence, and a dread repofe;
Her gloomy prefence faddens all the scene,
Shades every flower, and darkens every green,
Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,
And breathes a browner horror on the woods.
Yet here for ever, ever muft I stay;
Sad proof how well a lover can obey!
Death, only death, can break the lasting 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 fpoufe of God in
vain,

Confefs'd within the flave of love and man.
Affift me, heaven! but whence arofe that prayer?
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 heaven, I weep my past 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 diftinguish 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, despair, refent, regret,
Conceal, difdain-do all things but forget!
But let heaven feize it, all at once 'tis fir'd:
Not touch'd, but rapt; not weaken'd, but inspir'd!
Oh, come! oh, teach me nature to fubdue,
Renounce my love, my life, myself-and you!
Fill my fond heart with God alene, 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 spotlefs mind!
Each prayer 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 wast to heaven.
Grace fhines around her with ferenest beams,
And whispering angels prompt her golden dreams,
For her th' unfading rofe of Eden blooms,
And wings of feraphs fhed divine perfumes;
For her the spouse prepares the bridal ring;
For her white virgins hymenaals fing:
To founds of heavenly harps the 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 clofe of each fad, forrowing day,
Fancy reftores what vengeance snatch'd away,
Then confcience fleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loofe foul unbounded springs to thee.
O, curft, dear horrors of all-confcious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking demons all reftraint remove,
And ftir within me every 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 clofe my willing eyes;
Ye foft illufions, dear deceits, arife!
Alas, no more! methinks we wandering go
Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woc,
Where round fome mouldering tower pale ivy

creeps,

And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the fkies;
Clouds interpofe, waves roar, and winds arife.
I fhriek, start up, the fame fad profpe&t 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 repose; No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows. Still as the feas, e'er winds were taught to blow, Or moving fpirit bade the waters flow; Soft as the flumbers of a faint forgiven, And mild as opening gleams of promis'd heaven. Come, Abelard! for what haft thou to dread? The torch of Venus burns not for the dead. Nature ftands check'd; religion difapproves; Ev'n thou art cold-yet Eloifa loves. Ah, hopeless, lafting flames! like thofe that burn To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn. What fcenes appear where'er I turn my view! The dear ideas, where I fly, purfue, 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 fleals between my God and me, Thy voice I feem in every 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, Priests, tapers, temples, fwim before my fight: 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 gathering in my eye, While, praying, trembling, in the duft I roll, And dawning grace is opening on my foul: Come, if thou dar'ft, all charming as thou art! Oppofe thyself to heaven; dispute my heart; Come, with one glance of thofe deluding eyes Blot out each bright idea of the skies; [tears; Take back that grace, those forrows, and those Take back my fruitless penitence and prayers; Snatch me, juft mounting, from the bleft abode; Aflift the fiends, and tear me from my 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 refign;
Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.
Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet bview!)
Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu!
O, grace ferene! O virtue heavenly fair!
Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!
Fresh-blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky!
And faith, our early immortality!
Enter, each mild, each amicable guest;
Receive and wrap me in eternal reft!

See in her cell fad Eloifa fpread,
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.
Here, as I watch'd the dying lamp around,
From yonder fhiine I heard a hollow found.

"Come, fifter, come !" (it faid, or seem'd to say>
"Thy place is here, fad fifter, come away!
"Once like thyfelf, I trembled, wept, and pray'd,
"Love's victim then, though now a fainted maid :
"But all is calm in this eternal fleep;

"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 bowers,
Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flowers.
Thither, where finners may have reft, I go,
Where flames refin'd in breafts feraphic glow:
Thou, Abelard! the last fad 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 Eloifa 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 every motion, pulse, and breath be o'er;
And ev'n my Abelard be lov'd no more.
O, death all cloquent! you only prove
What duft we doat on, when 'tis man we love.

Then too, when fate fhall thy fair frame destroy, (That caufe of all my guilt, and all my joy), In trance ecftatic may the pangs be drown'd, Bright clouds defcend, and angels watch thee round,

From opening skies may ftreaming glories fhine, And faints embrace thee with a love like mine!

May one kind grave unite each hapless 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 wandering 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, "O, may we never love as thefe have lov'd!" From the full choir, when loud hofannahs rise, And fwell the pomp of dreadful facrifice, Amid that fcene of fome relenting eye Glance on the ftone where our cold relics lie, Devotion's felf fhall fteal a thought from heaven, One human tear fhall drop, and be forgiven. And fure if fate fome future bard shall join In fad fimilitude of griefs to mine, Condemin'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 story tell! The well-fung woes will foothe my pensive ghost; He beft can paint them who fhall feel them mof.