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Her gloomy prefence faddens all the scene,
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 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.
Affist me, heav'n! but whence arofe that pray'r?
Sprung it from piety, or from despair?
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 past offence,
Now think of thee, and curfe my innocence.



VER. 177. Ab wretch!] From the Letters; as also v. 133; and alfo v. 251; from the Letters. Epift. ii. p. 67. WARTON. VER 182. An altar for forbidden fires,] Dr. Warton asks whether we ought to neglect the pathetic Tale of Rouffeau's Eloife, because many of his other writings are fo objectionable? Is not that Pathetic Tale," highly objectionable? yes, for the very reason that, like this poem, it is interesting and pathetic, and conveys the moft fallacious and dangerous fentiments in the most captivating language,

Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
"Tis fure the hardest science to forget?

How fhall I lose the fin, yet keep the fenfe,
And love th' offender, yet detest 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, so lost as mine.
Ere fuch a foul regains its peaceful state,

How often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, defpair, refent, regret,
Conceal, difdain,-do 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 infpir'd!
Oh come! oh teach me nature to fubdue,
Renounce my love, my life, myfelf-and you.
Fill my

fond heart with God alone, for he

Alone can rival, can fucceed to thee.

How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot? The world forgetting, by the world forgot: Eternal fun-shine of the spotless mind!

Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;







VER. 201. But let heav'n feize it,] Here is the true doctrine of the Myftics. There are many fuch strains in Crafhaw, particularly in a poem called The Flaming Heart, and in the Seraphical Saint Terefa in Crafhaw. WARTON.

But how beautiful an use has Pope here made of this doctrine, at the fame time nothing is introduced that here offends our ferious ideas.

Labour and rest, 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'n.


Grace fhines around her with ferenest beams,
And whifp'ring Angels prompt her golden dreams.



VER 212. Obedient flumbers, &c.] Taken from Crafhaw. POPE. Milton alfo honoured Crashaw by borrowing fome lines from his translation of Marino's Slaughter of the Innocents. See Crashaw in the Letters, vol. vii. WARTON.

VER. 215. Grace fhines around her] Here follow fome of the maxims and reflections of Fenelon :-" God, in the beginning, difengages our hearts from impure pleasures by the taste he gives us of a heavenly delectation. Animated by the tender fentiments of a new-born love, we exercise ourselves with a noble and maf. culine vigour in all the labours of an active virtue. The foul, ravished with the divine amiablenefs, is no longer to be touched with the feducing charms of a profane fenfuality.

"God then proceeds to another operation in us, in order to deftroy the mistaken love of ourselves; and this not by pleasures, but by sufferings. After having weaned us from earthly objects, he shuts us up within the folitary prison of our own being, to the end that we may experience the darknefs, the weaknefs, and the emptiness of it. He fets before our eyes all the fecret abominations of our self-love, the impurity of those virtues that flow from it, and its ufurpations upon the rights of the Divinity. What a fource of torments muft this be to a creature idolatrous of itself and of its own virtue! The foul finds nothing in itself that is worthy of its love; and being no longer able to endure its own fociety, flies away and forfakes itself, to plunge and be fwallowed up in the love of that object who alone is lovely.

"Then it is that the importunate noise of the fenfes and the imagination becomes hushed, the tumultuous hurry of our thoughts and paffions ceafes, and the whole foul being brought into a profound filence, adores him in fpirit and in truth, whofe perfections

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For her th' unfading rofe of Eden blooms,
And wings of Seraphs fhed divine perfumes,
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins Hymeneals fing,
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:




are beyond all expreffion, and above all conception. But this fi lence is fuch as excludes only useless reflections, fuperfluous reafonings, and barren fpeculations, which interrupt the action of the heart. In loving God purely, we believe every thing he teaches, we observe every thing he commands, we hope for every thing he promifes. For this predominant charity produces, animates, and perfects in us all the virtues, human and divine."- For fuch opinions as these was the mild and amiable Fenelon condemned, at the inftigation and by the intrigues of Boffuet, a violent and artful high-churchman, by the court of Rome; and, with an unexampled tone of modefty and fubmiffion, publickly confeffed his errors in his own Cathedral Church. Read fome delicate ftrokes

of fatire on the Myftics and Quietifts in the 12th Epistle of Boileau Sur l'Amour de Dieu, and in his 10th Satire. WARTON. VER. 218. Wings of Seraphs] A late poet, (T. Warton,) fpeaking of a Hermit at his evening prayers, fays beautifully: Then, as my taper waxes dim,

Chant ere I fleep my measur'd hymn;
And, at the close, the gleams behold,
Of parting wings bedropt with gold.


VER. 219. For her] Copied exactly from the opinions and ideas of the Mytics and Quietifts. There were but fix Veftal Virgins at Rome; and it was with great difficulty the number was kept up, from the dread of the punishment for violating the vow, which was to be interred alive. WARTON.

When at the clofe of each fad, forrowing day, 225
Fancy reftores what vengeance fnatch'd away,
Then confcience fleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loofe foul unbounded fprings to thee.
Oh curst, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking Demons all restraint remove,
And stir 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 say:
I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
To dream once more I clofe my willing eyes;
Ye foft illufions, dear deceits, arise;


Alas, no more! methinks we wand'ring go
Through dreary waftes, and weep each other's woe,


VER. 241. Methinks we wand'ring] I have been fometimes inclined to think, that some vision more appropriated, and drawn from her peculiar distress, would have been more striking. Virgil adds to Dido's dream a circumftance beautifully drawn from her own ftory:

And feeks her Tyrians o'er the waste in vain.


VER, 237. I call aloud;] So Sandys:

He was gone

In vain I fought my foul's belov'd,


I call'd him, O too far remov'd.


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