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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 beckon from the skies; 245
Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
I shriek, stari 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 ; 250
Thy life a long dead calm of fix'd repofe;

No pulfe that riots, and no blood that glows.
Still as the fea, ere winds were taught to blow,
Or moving spirit bade the waters flow ;
Soft as the flumbers of a faint forgiv'n,
And mild as op'ning gleams of promis'd heav'n.
Come, Abelard! for what haft thou to dread?
The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.
Nature stands check'd; Religion disapproves ;
Ev'n thou art cold—yet Eloïfa loves.
Ah hopeless, lafting flames; like thofe that burn
To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn.
What scenes appear where'er I turn my view?
The dear Ideas, where I fly, pursue,

Rife in the grove, before the altar rife,

Stain all my foul, and wanton in my eyes.





I waste

VER. 261. Ah hopeless, &c.] The fame image ufed in Verfes to the memory of an unfortunate Lady.

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I waste the Matin lamp in fighs for thee,

Thy image steals between my God and me,
Thy voice I feem in ev'ry hymn to hear,
With ev'ry 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 just gath'ring in my eye,
While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll,
And dawning grace is op'ning on my foul:
Come, if thou dar'ft, all charming as thou art!
Oppose thyself to heav'n; difpute my heart;






VER. 274. Priefs, tapers, temples,] Equal to any part of Sappho's Ode, fo celebrated by Longinus for an affemblage of ftriking circumftances. WARTON.

VER. 275. In feas of flame, &c.] How finely does this glowing imagery introduce the tranfition,

While proftrate here in humble grief I lie,

Kind, virtuous drops, &c.


VER. 274. Priefs, tapers, &c.]

"Priests, tapers, temples, fwam before my fight,

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Come, with one glance of thofe deluding eyes
Blot out each bright Idea of the skies;


Take back that grace, thofe forrows, and those tears;
Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs;
Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode;
Affift 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 I view!) 295
Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu!

Oh Grace ferene! oh virtue heav'nly fair!
Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!
Fresh-blooming hope, gay daughter of the fky!
And Faith, our early immortality!
Enter, each mild, each amicable guest ;
Receive, and wrap me, in eternal rest!

See in her cell fad Eloïfa fpread,

Propt on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead.




VER. 298. Low-thoughted care!] An epithet from Milton's Comus. WARTON. VER. 303. See in her cell] It certainly should be near, not in her cell. The doors of all cells open into the common cloister, where are often many tombs. Defcription of Paraclete. VER. 304. Propt on fome tomb,] The image here, though beautiful, is not correct. "The cell of a Nun," which is ex

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In each low wind methinks a Spirit calls,


And more than Echoes talk along the walls. Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around, From yonder shrine I heard a hollow found. "Come, fister, come! (it faid, or seem'd to say) "Thy place is here, fad fifter, come away; 310 "Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd, "Love's victim then, tho' now a fainted maid: "But all is calm in this eternal sleep;

"Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep, "Ev'n fuperftition loses every fear :


"For God, not man, abfolves our frailties here."
I come, I come! prepare your roseate bow'rs,
Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs.
Thither, where finners may have rest, I go,
Where flames refin'd in breasts feraphic glow: 320
Thou, Abelard! the last fad office pay,

And smooth my paffage to the realms of day :
See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll,
Suck my last breath, and catch my flying foul!

Ah no-in facred veftments may'ft thou ftand, 325
The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand,



tremely narrow, could not poffibly admit of any tomb to lean upon; and though the door might have opened into the cloifter, Paraclete had been too recently founded for monuments of the dead to be expected there. STEVENS.

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VER. 308 a hollow found.] Though Virgil evidently gave the hint (Hinc exaudiri voces & verba vocantis vifa viri, 1. 4• p. 460. ;) yet this call of fome fifter, that had been involved in a fimilar distress, appears more folemn and interefting. WARTON.

Prefent the Crofs before my lifted eye,
Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
Ah then, thy once-lov'd Eloïfa 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, pulfe, and breath be o'er;
And ev❜n my Abelard be lov'd no more.
Oh Death all-eloquent! you only prove
What duft we doat on, when 'tis man we love.
Then too, when fate fhall thy fair frame destroy,
(That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy)
In trance extatic may thy pangs be drown'd,
Bright clouds defcend, and Angels watch thee round,
From op'ning skies may ftreaming glories fhine, 341
And Saints embrace thee with a love like mine.

May one kind grave unite each hapless name,
And graft my love immortal on thy fame!



VER. 339.] Thefe circumstances are conformable to the notions of mystic devotion. The death of St Jerome is finely and forcibly painted by Dominichino, with fuch attendant particulars.


VER. 343. May one kind grave] This with was fulfilled The body of Abelard, who died twenty years before Eloifa, was fent to Eloifa, who interred it in the monaftery of the Paraclete; and it


accompanied with a very extraordinary form of abfolution, from the famous Peter de Clugny: "Ego Petrus Cluniacenfis ab. bas, qui Petrum Abelardum in monachum Cluniacenfem recepi,


corpus ejus furtim delatum Heloiffæ Abbatiffæ & monialibus Paracleti conceffi, auctoritate omnipotentis Dei, & omnium fanctorum, abfolvo eum, pro officio, ab omnibus peccatis fuis." (Epift.

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