IN these deep solitudes and awful cells, | |
| Where heav’nly-pensive Contemplation dwells, | |
| And ever-musing Melancholy reigns, | |
| What means this tumult in a vestal’s veins? | |
| Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat? | 5 |
| Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat? | |
| Yet, yet I love!—From Abelard it came, | |
| And Eloisa yet must kiss the name. | |
| Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal’d, | |
| Nor pass these lips, in holy silence seal’d: | 10 |
| 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 lost Eloisa weeps and prays, | 15 |
| Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys. | |
| Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains | |
| Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains: | |
| Ye rugged rocks, which holy knees have worn; | |
| Ye grots and caverns shagg’d with horrid thorn! | 20 |
| Shrines! where their vigils pale-eyed virgins keep, | |
| And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep! | |
| Tho’ cold like you, unmov’d and silent grown, | |
| I have not yet forgot myself to stone. | |
| All is not Heav’n’s while Abelard has part, | 25 |
| Still rebel Nature holds out half my heart; | |
| Nor prayers nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain, | |
| Nor tears, for ages taught to flow in vain. | |
| Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose, | |
| That well-known name awakens all my woes. | 30 |
| Oh name for ever sad! for ever dear! | |
| Still breathed in sighs, still usher’d with a tear. | |
| I tremble too, where’er my own I find, | |
| Some dire misfortune follows close behind. | |
| Line after line my gushing eyes o’erflow, | 35 |
| Led thro’a safe variety of woe: | |
| Now warm in love, now with’ring in my bloom, | |
| Lost in a convent’s solitary gloom! | |
| There stern religion quench’d th’ unwilling flame, | |
| There died the best of passions, Love and Fame. | 40 |
| Yet write, O write me all, that I may join | |
| Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine. | |
| Nor foes nor fortune take this power away; | |
| And is my Abelard less kind than they? | |
| Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare; | 45 |
| Love but demands what else were shed in prayer. | |
| No happier task these faded eyes pursue; | |
| To read and weep is all they now can do. | |
| Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief; | |
| Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief. | 50 |
| Heav’n first taught letters for some wretch’s aid, | |
| Some banish’d lover, or some captive maid; | |
| They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires, | |
| Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires; | |
| The virgin’s wish without her fears impart, | 55 |
| Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart, | |
| Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, | |
| And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole. | |
| Thou know’st how guiltless first I met thy flame, | |
| When Love approach’d me under Friendship’s name; | 60 |
| My fancy form’d thee of angelic kind, | |
| Some emanation of th’ all-beauteous Mind. | |
| Those smiling eyes, attemp’ring every ray, | |
| Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day, | |
| Guiltless I gazed; Heav’n listen’d while you sung; | 65 |
| And truths divine came mended from that tongue. | |
| From lips like those what precept fail’d to move? | |
| Too soon they taught me ’t was no sin to love: | |
| Back thro’ the paths of pleasing sense I ran, | |
| Nor wish’d an angel whom I loved a man. | 70 |
| Dim and remote the joys of saints I see; | |
| Nor envy them that Heav’n I lose for thee. | |
| 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, | 75 |
| 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? | 80 |
| The jealous God, when we profane his fires, | |
| Those restless passions in revenge inspires, | |
| 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 |
| O happy state! when souls each other draw, | |
| When Love is liberty, and Nature law: | |
| All then is full, possessing and possess’d, | |
| No craving void left aching in the breast: | |
| Ev’n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part, | 95 |
| 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 changed! what sudden horrors rise! | |
| A naked lover bound and bleeding lies! | 100 |
| Where, where was Eloise? her voice, her hand, | |
| Her poniard had opposed 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? | |
| Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell, | |
| When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell? | 110 |
| 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, | 115 |
| 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. | |
| Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe; | |
| Those still at least are left thee to bestow. | 120 |
| Still on that breast enamour’d let me lie, | |
| 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, | 125 |
| With other beauties charm my partial eyes! | |
| Full in my view set all the bright abode, | |
| 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 prayer. | 130 |
| From the false world in early youth they fled, | |
| By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led. | |
| You raised 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 bribed 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 day’s eternal bound), | |
| These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown’d, | |
| Where awful arches make a noonday night, | |
| And the dim windows shed a solemn light, | |
| Thy eyes diffused a reconciling ray, | 145 |
| And gleams of glory brighten’d all the day. | |
| But now no face divine contentment wears, | |
| ’T is all blank sadness, or continual tears. | |
| See how the force of others’ prayers I try, | |
| (O pious fraud of am’rous charity!) | 150 |
| But why should I on others’ prayers 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, | 155 |
| Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind, | |
| The wand’ring streams 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— | 160 |
| No more these scenes my meditation aid, | |
| Or lull to rest the visionary maid: | |
| But o’er the twilight groves and dusky caves, | |
| Long-sounding aisles and intermingled graves, | |
| Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws | 165 |
| A death-like silence, and a dread repose: | |
| Her gloomy presence saddens 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. | 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; | |
| Here all its frailties, all its flames resign, | 175 |
| And wait till ’t is no sin to mix with thine. | |
| Ah, wretch! believ’d the spouse of God in vain, | |
| Confess’d within the slave of Love and man. | |
| Assist me, Heav’n! but whence arose that prayer? | |
| Sprung it from piety or from despair? | 180 |
| 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, | 185 |
| Repent old pleasures, and solicit new; | |
| Now turn’d to Heav’n, I weep my past offence, | |
| Now think of thee, and curse my innocence. | |
| Of all affliction taught a lover yet, | |
| ’T is sure the hardest science to forget! | 190 |
| How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense, | |
| 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 passion to resign, | 195 |
| For hearts so touch’d, so pierced, so lost as mine: | |
| Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state, | |
| How often must it love, how often hate! | |
| How often hope, despair, resent, regret, | |
| Conceal, disdain—do all things but forget! | 200 |
| But let Heav’n seize it, all at once ’t is fired; | |
| Not touch’d, but rapt; not waken’d, but inspired! | |
| O come! O teach me Nature to subdue, | |
| Renounce my love, my life, myself—and You: | |
| Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he | 205 |
| Alone can rival, can succeed to thee. | |
| How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot! | |
| The world forgetting, by the world forgot; | |
| Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, | |
| Each prayer accepted, and each wish resign’d; | 210 |
| Labour and rest, that equal periods keep; | |
| Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep; | |
| Desires composed, affections ever ev’n; | |
| Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav’n. | |
| Grace shines around her with serenest beams, | 215 |
| And whisp’ring angels prompt her golden dreams. | |
| For her th’ unfading rose of Eden blooms, | |
| And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes; | |
| For her the spouse prepares the bridal ring; | |
| For her white virgins hymeneals sing; | 220 |
| To sounds of heav’nly harps she dies away, | |
| And melts in visions of eternal day. | |
| Far other dreams my erring soul employ, | |
| Far other raptures of unholy joy. | |
| When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day, | 225 |
| Fancy restores what vengeance snatch’d away, | |
| Then conscience sleeps, and leaving Nature free, | |
| All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee! | |
| Oh curst, dear horrors of all-conscious night! | |
| How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight! | 230 |
| Provoking demons all restraint remove, | |
| And stir within me every source of love. | |
| I hear thee, view thee, gaze o’er all thy charms, | |
| And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms. | |
| I wake:—no more I hear, no more I view, | 235 |
| 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 close my willing eyes; | |
| Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise! | 240 |
| Alas, no more! methinks we wand’ring go | |
| Thro’ dreary wastes, and weep each other’s woe, | |
| Where round some mould’ring tower 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, start up, the same sad prospect find, | |
| And wake to all the griefs I left behind. | |
| For thee the Fates, severely kind, ordain | |
| A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain; | 250 |
| Thy life a long dead calm of fix’d repose; | |
| No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows. | |
| Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow, | |
| Or moving spirit bade the waters flow; | |
| Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiv’n, | 255 |
| And mild as opening gleams of promised Heav’n. | |
| Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread? | |
| The torch of Venus burns not for the dead. | |
| Nature stands check’d; Religion disapproves; | |
| Ev’n thou art cold—yet Eloisa loves. | 260 |
| Ah, hopeless, lasting flames; like those 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; | |
| Rise in the grove, before the altar rise, | 265 |
| Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes. | |
| I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee, | |
| Thy image steals between my God and me: | |
| Thy voice I seem in every hymn to hear, | |
| With every bead I drop too soft a tear. | 270 |
| When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll, | |
| And swelling organs lift the rising soul, | |
| One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight, | |
| Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight: | |
| In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown’d, | 275 |
| While altars blaze, and angels tremble round. | |
| While prostrate 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 opening on my soul: | 280 |
| Come, if thou dar’st, all charming as thou art! | |
| Oppose thyself to Heav’n; dispute my heart; | |
| Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes | |
| Blot out each bright idea of the skies; | |
| Take back that grace, those sorrows and those tears, | 285 |
| Take back my fruitless penitence and prayers; | |
| Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode: | |
| Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God! | |
| No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole; | |
| Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll! | 290 |
| Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me, | |
| Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee. | |
| Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign; | |
| 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! | |
| O Grace serene! O Virtue heav’nly fair! | |
| Divine Oblivion of low-thoughted care! | |
| Fresh blooming Hope, gay daughter of the sky! | |
| And Faith, our early immortality! | 300 |
| Enter each mild, each amicable guest; | |
| Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest! | |
| See in her cell sad Eloisa spread, | |
| Propt on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead. | |
| In each low wind methinks a spirit calls, | 305 |
| And more than echoes talk along the walls. | |
| Here, as I watch’d the dying lamps around, | |
| From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound: | |
| ‘Come, sister, come! (it said, or seem’d to say) | |
| Thy place is here, sad sister, come away; | 310 |
| Once, like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray’d, | |
| Love’s victim then, tho’ now a sainted maid: | |
| But all is calm in this eternal sleep; | |
| Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep; | |
| Ev’n superstition loses ev’ry fear: | 315 |
| For God, not man, absolves our frailties here.’ | |
| I come, I come! prepare your roseate bowers, | |
| Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flowers. | |
| Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go, | |
| Where flames refin’d in breasts seraphic glow; | 320 |
| Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay, | |
| And smooth my passage to the realms of day: | |
| See my lips tremble, and my eyeballs roll, | |
| Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul! | |
| Ah, no—in sacred vestments mayst thou stand, | 325 |
| The hallow’d taper trembling in thy hand, | |
| Present the cross before my lifted eye, | |
| Teach me at once, and learn of me, to die. | |
| Ah then, thy once lov’d Eloisa see! | |
| It will be then no crime to gaze on me. | 330 |
| See from my cheek the transient roses fly! | |
| See the last sparkle languish in my eye! | |
| Till ev’ry motion, pulse, and breath be o’er, | |
| And ev’n my Abelard be lov’d no more. | |
| O Death, all-eloquent! you only prove | 335 |
| What dust we doat on, when ’t is man we love. | |
| Then too, when Fate shall thy fair frame destroy | |
| (That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy), | |
| In trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drown’d, | |
| Bright clouds descend, and angels watch thee round; | 340 |
| From opening skies may streaming glories shine, | |
| 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! | |
| Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o’er, | 345 |
| When this rebellious heart shall beat no more; | |
| If ever chance two wand’ring lovers brings, | |
| To Paraclete’s white walls and silver springs, | |
| O’er the pale marble shall they join their heads, | |
| And drink the falling tears each other sheds; | 350 |
| Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov’d, | |
| ‘O may we never love as these have lov’d!’ | |
| From the full choir, when loud hosannas rise, | |
| And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice, | |
| Amid that scene if some relenting eye | 355 |
| Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie, | |
| Devotion’s self shall steal a thought from Heav’n, | |
| One human tear shall drop, and be forgiv’n. | |
| And sure if Fate some future bard shall join | |
| In sad similitude of griefs to mine, | 360 |
| Condemn’d whole years in absence to deplore, | |
| And image charms he must behold no more,— | |
| Such if there be, who loves so long, so well, | |
| Let him our sad, our tender story tell; | |
| The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost; | 365 |
| He best can paint them who shall feel them most. | |
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