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And, did not wicked custom so contrive,
PROLOGUE

We'd be the best, good-natur'd things alive.

There are, 'tis true, who tell another tale, TO MR. ADDISON'S TRAGEDY OF CATO.

That virtuous ladies enty while they rail; To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, Such rage without betrays the fire within ; To raise the genins, and to mend the heart ; In some close corner of the soul, they sin; To make mankind in conscious virtue bold, Still hoarding up, most scandalously nice, Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold: Amidst their virtues a reserve of vice. For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage, The godly dame, who fleshly failings damns, Cominanding tears to stream through every age; Scolds with her maid, or with her chaplain crams. Tyrants no more their savage nature kept, Would you enjoy soft nights, and solid dinners ? And foes to Virtue wonder'd how they wept. Faith, gallants, board with saints, and bed with Our author shuns by vulgar springs to move Well, if our author in the wife offends, (sinners. The bero's glory, or the virgin's love;

He has a husband that will make amends : In pitying Love, we but our weakness show, He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving, And wild Ambition well deserves its woe.

And sure such kind good creatures may be living. Here tears shall now from a more generous cause, In days of old they pardon'd breach of vows, Such tears as patriots shed for dying laws : Stern Cato's self was no relentless spouse : He bids your breasts with ancient ardour rise, Plu_Plutarch, what's his name, that writes his And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes. Tells us, that Cato dearly lov'd his wife : [life? Virtue confess'd in human shape he draws, Yet if a friend, a night or so, should need her, What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was : He'd recommend her as a special breeder. No common object to your sight displays,

To lend a wife, few here would scruple make; But what with pleasure Heaven itself surveys, But, pray, which of you all would take her back! A brave man struggling in the storms of fate, Though with the stoic chief our stage may rins, And greatly falling with a falling state.

The stoic husband was the glorious thing. While Cato gives his little senate laws,

The man had courage, was a sage, 'tis true, What bosom beats not in bis conntry's cause? And lov'd his country-but what's that to you? Who sees him act, but envies every deed ? Those strange examples ne'er were made to fit ye, Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed? But the kind cuckold might instruct the city : Ev'n when proud Caesar ’midst triumphal cars, There many an honest man may copy Cato, The spoils of nations, and the pomp of wars, Who ne'er saw naked sword, or look'd in Plato. Ignobly vain, aud impotently great,

If, after all, you think it a disgrace, Show'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in state; That Edward's miss thus perks it in your face ; As her dead father's reverend image past,

To see a piece of fajling flesh and blood, The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercast; In all the rest so impudently good ; The triumph ceas'd, tears gush'd from every eye; Faith let the modest matrons of the town The world's great victor pass'd unheeded by; Come here in crowds, and stare the strumpet down Her last good man dejected Rome ador'd, And honour'd Cæsar's less than Cato's sword.

Britons, attend : be worth like this approv'd,
And show, you have the virtue to he mov'd.

SAPPHO TO PHAON.
With honest scorn the first fam'd Cato view'd
Rome learning

arts froin Greece, whom she subdued; Sar, lovely youth, that dost my heart command Your scene precariously subsists too long

Can Phaon's eyes forget his Sappho's hand ? On French translation, and Italian soug.

Must then her name the wretched writer prove, Dare to have sense yourselyes ; assert the stage,

To thy remembrance lost, as to thy love? Be justly warmd with your own native rage :

Ask not the cause that I new numbers chuse, Such plays alone should win a British ear,

The lute neglected, and the lyric Muse;
As Cato's self had not disdain'd to hear,

Love taught my tears in sadder notes to flow,
And tund my heart to elegies of woe.
I burn, I burn, as when through ripen'd com

By driving winds the spreading flames are borne.
EPILOGUE

Phaon to Etna's scorching fields retires,

While I consume with more than Etna's fires ! TO MR. ROWE's JANE SHORE,

DESIGNED FOR MRS. OLDFIELD.

PRUDICIOUS this! the frail-one of our play
From her own sex should mercy find to-day! ECQUID, ut inspecta est studiosæ litera dextræ,
You might have held the pretty head aside,

Protinus est oculis cognita nostra tuis? Peep'd in your fans, been serious, thus, and cry'd, An, nisi legisses auctoris nomina Sapphûs, “ The play may pass--but that strange creature

Hoc breve nescires unde movetur opus ?
Shore,

Forsitan et quare mea sint alterna requiras
I can't-indeed now so hate a whore !

Carmina, cum lyricis sim magis apta modis, Just as a blockhead rubs his thoughtless skull, Flendus amor meus est: elegeïa flebile carmen ; And thanks his stars he was not born a fool;

Non facit ad lacrymas barbitos ulla meas. So from a sister sinner you shall hear,

Uror, ut, indomitis ignem exercentibus Euris, “ How strangely you expose yourself, my dear !" Fertilis accensis messibus ardet ager. But let me die, all raillery apart,

Arva Phaon celebrat diversa Typhoïdos Ætne, Qyr sex are still forgiving at their heart;

Me calor Ætnæo non minor igne coquit.

No more my soul a charm in music finds,

Yet once thy Sappho could thy cares employ, Music has charms alone for peaceful minds. Once in her arms you center'd all your joy: Soft scenes of solitude no more can please,

No time the dear reinembrance can renove,
Love enters there, and I'm my own disease. Por, oh! how vast a memory bas Love!
No more the Lesbian dames my passion move, My music, then, you could for ever hear,
Once the dear objects of my guilty love;

And all my words were music to your ear.
All other loves are lost in only thine,

You stopp'd with kisses my enchanting tongue, Ah, youth ungrateful to a flame like mine! And found my kisses sweeter than my song. Whom would not all those blooming charins surprise, In all I pleas'd, but most in what was best; Those heavenly looks, and dear deluding eves ? And the last joy was dearer than the rest. The harp and bow would you like Phæbus bear, Then with each word, each glance, each motion A brighter Phæbus Phaon might appear;

fir’d, Would you with ivy wreathe your nowing hair, You still enjoy'd, and yet you still desir’d, No: Bacchus' self with Phaon could compare :

Till all dissolving in the trance we lay, Yet Phæbus lov'd, and Bacchus felt the flame,

And in tumultuous raptures dy'd away. One Daphne warm'd, and one the Cretan dame : The fair Sicilians now thy soul inflaine ; Nymphs that in verse no more could rival me, Why was I born, ye gods! a Lesbian dame ? Than ev'n those gods contend in charms with thee. But ah, beware, Sicilian nymphs! nor boast The Muses teach me all their softest lays,

That wandering heart which I so lately lost ; And the wide world resounds with Sappho's praise. Nor be with all those tempting words abus'd. Though great Alcaus more sublinely sings, Those tempting words were all to Sappho us'd. And strikes with bolder rage the sounding strings, And you that rule Sicilia's happy plains, No less renown attends the moving lyre,

Have pity, Venus, on your poet's pains ! Which Venus tunes, and all her Loves inspire ;

Shall fortune still in one sad tenour run, To me what Nature has in charms deny'd,

And still increase the woe's so soon begun? Is well by Wit's more lasting fames supply'd. Inur'd to sorrow from my tender years, Though short my stature, yet my name extends My parent's ashes drank my early tears : To Heaven itself, and Earth's remotest ends. My brother next, neglecting wealth and fame, Brown as I am, an Ethiopian dame

Ignobly burn'd in a destructive fame: Inspir'd young Persous with a generous flame; An infant daughter late uy griefs increas'd, Turtles and doves of differing hues unite,

And all a mother's cares distract my breast. And glossy jet is pair'd with shining wiiite. Alas, what more could Fate itself impose, If to no charms thou wilt thy heart resign, But thee, the last and greatest of my woes? But such as mcrit, such as equal thine,

No more my robes in waving purple flow, By none, alas! by none thou canst be mov'd : Nor on my hand the sparkling diamonds glow; Phaon alone by Phaon must be lov'd !

Hæc quoque laudabas; omnique à parte placeNec mihi, dispositis quæ jungam carmina nervis,

bam, Proveniunt; vacvæ carmina mentis opus.

Sed tum præcipuè, cum fit amoris opus. Nec me Pyrrhiades Methymniadesve puellæ, Tunc te plus solito lascivia nostra juvabat, Nec me Lesbiadum cætera turba juvant.

Crebraque mobilitas, aptaque verba joco ; Vilis Anactorie, vilis mihi candida Cydno : Quique, ubi jam amborum fuerat confusa voluptas,

Non oculis grata est Atthis, ut ante, meis ; Plurimus in lasso corporc languor erat. Atque aliæ centum, quas non sine crimine amavi: Nunc tibi Sicelides veniunt nova prada puellæ ;

Inprobe, multarum quod fuit, unus habes. Quid mihi cum Lesbo? Sicelis esse volo. Est in te facies, sunt apti lusibus anni.

At vos erronem tellure remittite nostrum,
O facies oculis insidiosa ineis!

Nisiades matres, Nisiadesque nurus.
Sume fidem et pharetram; fies manifestus Apollo: Neu vos decipiant blandæ mendacia linguæ :
Accedant capiti cornua ; Bacchus eris.

Quæ dicit vobis, dixerat ante mibj.
Et Phæbus Daphnen, et Gnosida Bacchus amavit; Tu quoque quæ montes celebras, Erycina, Sicanos,
Nec nôrat lyricos illa, vel illa modos.

(Nam tua sum) vati consule, dira, tuæ. At mihi Pegasides blandissima carinina dictant ; An gravis inceptum peragit fortuna tenorem? Jam canitur toto nomen in orbe ineum.

Et manet in cursu semper acerba suo? Nec plus Alcæus, consors patriæque lyræque, Sex mihi natales ierant, cum lecta parentis

Laudis habet, quamvis grandius ille sonet. Ante diem lacrymas ossa bibere meas, Si mihi difficilis formam natura negavit ;

Arsit inops frater, victus meretricis amore; Ingenio forma damna rependo me?'.

Mistaque cum turpi damna pudore tulit. Sum brevis; at nomen, quod terras impleat omnes, Factus inops agili peragit freta carula reino: Fst mihi; mensuram nominis ipsa fero.

Quasque malè amisit, nunc male quærit opes : Candida si non sum, placuit Cephesa Perseo Me quoque, quod monui bene multa fideliter, odit. Andromede, patriæ fusca colore suæ :

Hoc mihi libertas, hoc pia lingua dedit. Et variis albæ junguntur sæpe columbæ,

Et tanquam desint, quæ me sine fine fatigent, Et niger à viridi turtur amatur ave.

Accumulat curas filia parva incas. Si, nisi quæ facies poterit te digna videri,

Ultima tu nostris accedis causa querelis :
Nulla fritura tua est ; nulla futura tua cst.

Non agitur tento nostra carina suo.
At me cum leceres, etiam formosa vidcbar; Ecce, jacent collo sparsi sine lege capilli ;
Unain jurabas usque dccere loqui.

Nec premit articulos luciag mina mcos. Çantabam, memini (meminerunt omnia aroantes) Veste togor vili: mullum est in crinibus aurum : Oscula cantanti tu muilu rapta dabas.

Non Arabo noster rore capillus olet.

No more my locks in ringlets curld diffuse Now by the Nine, those powers ador'd by me, The costly sweetness of Arabian dews,

And Love, the god that ever waits on thee, Nor braids of gold the varied tresses bind,

When first I heard (from whom I hardly knew) That fly disorder'd with the wanton wind :

That you were fied, and all my joys with you, For whom should Sappho use such arts as these? Like some sad statue, speechless, pale I stood, He's gone, whom only she desir'd to please! Grief chill'd my breast, and stopp'd my freezing Cupid's light darts my tender bosom move, No sigh to rise, no tear had power to flow, [blood; Still is there cause for Sappho still to love: Fix'd in a stupid lethargy of woe: So from my birth the Sisters fix'd my doom, But when its way th' impetuous passion found, And gave to Venus all my life to come;

I rend my tresses, and my breast I wound; Or, while my Muse in melting notes complains, I rave, then weep; I curse, and then complain ; My yielding heart keeps measure to my strains. Now swell to rage, now melt to tears again. By charms like thine, which all my soul have won, Not fiercer pangs distract the mournful dame, Who might not-ah! who would not be undone ? Whose first-born infant feeds the funeral flame For those Aurora Cephalus might scorn,

My scornful brother with a smile appears, And with fresh blushes paint the conscious morn: Insults my woes, and triumphs in my tears : For those might Cynthia lengthen Phaon's sleep,

His hated image ever haunts my eyes; And bid Endymion nightly tend his sheep: “ And why this grief? thy daughter lives," he cries. Venus for those had rapt thee to the skies,

Stung with my love, and furious with despair, But Mars on thee might look with Venus' eyes. All torn my garments, and my bosom bare, Oscarce a youth, vet scarce a tender boy! My woes, thy crimes, I to the world proclaim ; O useful time for lovers to employ !

Such inconsistent things are love and shame! Pride of thy age, and glory of thy race,

'Tis thou art all my care and my delight, Come to these arins, and melt in this embrace! My claily longing, and my dream by night: The vows you never will return, receive;

( night, more pleasing than the brightest day, And take at least the love you will not give. When Fancy gives what absence takes away, See, while I write, my words are lost in tears! And, dress'd in all its visionary charms, The less my sense, the more my love appears.

Restores my fair deserter to my arms ! Sure 'twas not much to bid one kind adien; Then round your neck in wanton wreaths I twines (At least to feign was never hard to you !) [said; Then you, methinks, as fondly circle mine : “ Farewell, my Lesbian love," you might have

A thousand tender words I hear and speak; Or coldly thus, “ Farewell, oh Lesbian maid !" A thousand melting kisses give, and take : No tear did you, no parting kiss receive,

Then fiercer joys; I blush to mention these,
Nor knew I then how much I was to grieve. Yet, while I blush, confess how much they please
No lover's gift your Sappho could confer,

But when, with day, the sweet delusions fly,
And wrongs and woes were all you left with her. And all things wake to life and joy, but I;
No charge I gave you, and no charge could give, As if once more forsaken, I complain,
“ Be inindful of our loves, and live” And close my eyes to dream of you again :

Per tibi, qui nunquam longe discedat, Amorem.
Cui colar infelix? aut cui placuisse laborem? Perque novem juro, numina nostra, Deas;
Ille mihi cultus unicus auctor abest.

Cum mibi nescio quis, fugiunt tua gaudia, dixit Molle meum levibus cor est violabile telis;

Nec me flere diu, nec potuisse loqui : Et semper causa est, cur ego seinper amem. Et lacrymæ deerant oculis, et lingua palato: Sive ita nascenti legem dixére sorores,

Astrictum gelido frigore pectus erat. Nec data sunt vita fila severa meæ;

Postquam se dolor invenit; nec pectora plangi, Sive abennt studia in inores, artesque magistræ, Nec puduit scissis exululare comis : Ingenium nobis molle Thalia facit.

Non aliter quam si nati pia mater adempti Quid mirum, si me primæ lanuginis ætas

Portet ad extructos corpus inane rogne. Abstulit, atque anni, quos vir annare potest? Gaudet, et e nostro crescit moerore Charaxus Hunc ne pro Cephalo raperes, Aurora, timebam: Frater; et ante oculos itque reditque meos Et faceres; si te prima rapina tenet.

Utque pudenda mei videatur causa doloris : Hunc si conspiciat, quæ conspicit omnia, Phoebe; Quid dolet hæc? certe filia vivit, ait. Jussils crit somnos continuare Phaon.

Non veniunt in idem pudor atque amor : omnę Hunc Venus in cælumn curru vexisset eburno;

videbat Sed videt et Marti posse placere suo.

Vulgus; eram lacero pectus aperta sinu.
Onec adhuc juvenis, nec jam pner! utilis ætas! Tu mihi cura, Phaon ; te somnia nostra reducunt;
O decus, atque ævi gloria magna tui !

Somnia formoso candidiora die.
Huc ades, inque sinus, formose, relabere nostros : Illic te invenio, quanquam regionibus absis ;
Non ut ames oro, verum ut amare sinas.

Sed non longa satis guadia somnus habet,
Scribimus, et lacrymis oculi rorantur obortis : Szepe tuos nostra cervice onerare lacertos,

Aspice, quam sit in bộc multa litura loco. Sæpe tuæ videor supposuisse meos.
Si tais certus eras hinc ire, modestius isses, Blandior interduin, verisque simillima verba
Et modo dixisses : “ Lesbi puella, vale."

Eloquor ; et vigilant sensibus ora meis.
Non tecuin lacrymas, non oscula summa tulisti; Oscula cognosco; quæ tn committere lingua,
Denique non timui, quod dolitura fui.

Aptagne consyêras accipere, apta dare Nil de te mecum est, nisi tantum injuria : nec tu, Ulteriora pudet narrare; sed omnia fiunt.

Admoneat quod te, pignus amantis habes. Et juvat, et sine te non libet esse mihi. Non mandata dedi; neque enim mandata dedissem At cum se Titan ostendit, et omnia secum; Ulla, nisi ut pollos imunor esse mich

Tem ciw we SOWDOS destituisse queros

But this,

Then frantic rise, and like some fury rove But when from hence he plung'd into the main,
Thro' lonely plains, and thro' the silent grove ; Deucalion scorn'd, and Pyrrha lov'd in vain.
As if the silent grove, and lonely plains,

llaste, Sappho, haste, froin high Leucadia throw That knew my pleasures, could relieve my pains. Thy wretched weight, nor dread the deeps below !” I view the grotto, once the scene of love,

She spoke, and vanish'd with the voice-I rise, The rocks around, the hanging roofs above, And silent tears fall trickling from my eyes. That charm'd me more, with native moss o'er- I go, ye nymphs ! those rocks and seas to prove ; grown,

How much I fear, but ah, how much I love! Than Phrygian marble, or the Parián stone. I go, ye nymphs, where furious love inspires; I find the shades that teild our joys before ; Let female fears submit to female fires. But, Phaon gone, those shades delight no more. To rocks and seas I ny from Phaon's hate, Here the press'd herbs with bending tops betray And hope from seas and rocks a milder fate. Where oft entwin'd in amorous folds we lay; Ye gentle gales, beneath my body blow, I kiss that earth which once was press'd by you, And softly lay me on the waves below! And all with tears the withering herbs bedew. And thou, kind Love, my sinking limbs sustain, For thee the fading trees appear to mourn,

Spread thy soft wings, and waft me o'er the main, And birds defer their songs till thy return;

Nor let a lover's death the guiltless vlood prophane! Night shades the groves, and all in silence lie, On Phæbus' shrine my harp I'll then bestow, All but the mournful Philomel and I:

And this inscription shall be plac'd below. With mournful Philomel I join my strain,

“ Here she who sung, to him that did inspire, Of Tereus she, of Phaon I complain.

Sappho to Phæbus consecrates her lyre; A spring there is, whose silver waters show, What suits with Sappho, Phæbus, suits with thee; Clear as a glass, the shining sands below;

The gift, the giver, and the god agree." A flowery lotos spreads its arms above,

But whý, alas, relentless youth, ah, why Shades all its banks, and seems itself a grove;

To distant seas must tender Sappho flý? Eternal greens the mossy margin grace,

Thy charms than those inay far more powerful be, Watch'd by the sylvan Genius of the place. And Phæbus' self is less a god to me. Here as I lay, and swell’d with tears the fiood, Ah! canst thon doom me to the rocks and sea, Before my sight a watery virgin stood:

O far more faithless, and more hard than they? She stood and cry'd, “O you that love in rain! Al! canst thou rather see this tender breast Fly bence, and seek the fair Leucadian main. Dash'd on these rocks, than to thy bosom pressid ; There stands a rock, from whose impending steep This breast, which once, in vain! yon lik'd so well ; Apollo's fane surveys the rolling deep;

Where the Loves play'd, and where the Muses There injur'd lovers, leaping from above,

Alas! the Muses now no more inspire, [dwell? Their fiames extinguish, and forget to love. Untun'd my lute, and silent is my lyre; Deucalion once with hopeless fury burn'd,

My languid numbers have forgot to fow, In vain he lov'd, relentless Pyrrha scorn'd : And fancy sinks beneath a weight of woe.

Hinc se Deucalion Pyrrhæ succensus amore Antra nemusque peto, tanquain nemus antraque Misit, et illæso corpore pressit aquas. prosint.

Nec mora : versus amor tetigit lentissima Pyrrhce Conscia deliciis illa fuere tuis.

Pectora; Deucalion igne levatus erat. Illuc mentis inops, ut quam furialis Erichtho Hanc legem locus ille tenet, pete protinus altam Impulit, in collo crine jacente feror.

Leucada ; nec saxo desiluisse time.” Antra vident oculi scabro pendentia topho,

Ut monuit, cum voce abiit. Ego frigida surgo: Quæ mihi Mygdonii marmoris instar erant. Nec gravidæ lacrymas continuere genæ. Invenio sylvam, quæ sæpe cubilia nobis

Ibimus, ô nymphz, monstrataque saxa petemus. Præbuit, et inulta texit opaca coma.

Sit procul insano victus amore timor. [bito. At non invenio dominum sylvæque, meumque. Quicquid erit, melius quam nunc erit: aura, suVile solum locus est: dos erat ille loci.

Et mea non magnum corpora pondus habent. Agnovi pressas noti mihi cespitis herbas :

Tu quoque, mollis amor, pennas suppone cadenti : De nostro curvum pondere gramen erat.

Ne sim Leucadiæ mortua crimen aquæ. Incubui, tetigique locum qua parte fuisti; Inde chelyn Phæbo communia munera ponam :

Grata prius lacrymas combibit herba meas. Et sub ea versus unus et alter erunt. Quinetiam rami positis lugere videntur

“ Grata lyram posui tibi, Phæbe, poëtria Sappho : Frondibus ; et nullæ dulce queruntur aves. Convenit illa inihi, convenit illa tibi." Sola virum non ulta pie mæstissima mater Cur tamen Actiacas miseram me mittis ad oras, Concinit Ismarium Daulias ales Ityn.

Cum profugum possis ipse referre pedem? Ales Ityn, Sappho desertos cantat amores : Tu mihi Leucadiâ potes esse salubrior unda : Hactenus, ut media cætera nocte silent,

Et forma et meritis tu mihi Phæbus eris. Est nitidus, vitroque magis perlucidus omni, An potes, ô scopulis undaque ferocior illa,

Fons sacer; hunc multi numen habere putant. Si moriar, titulum mortis habere meæ ? Quem supra ramos expandit aquatica lotos, At quanto melius jungi mea pectora tecum, Una nemus; tenero cespite terra viret.

Quam poterant saxis præcipitanda dari ! Hic ego cum lassos posuissem fletibus artus, Hæc sunt illa, Phaon, quæ tu laudare solebas; Constitit ante oculos Naïas una meos.

Visaque sunt toties ingeniosa tibi. Constitit, et dixit, “ Quoniam non ignibus æquis Nunc vellem facunda forent : dolor artibus obstat; Uteris, Ambracias terra petenda tibi.

Ingeniumque meis substitit omne malis. Phæbus ab excelso, quantum patet, aspicit æquor : Non mihi respondent veteres in carmina vires. Actiacum populi Leucadiumque vocant.

Plectra dolore tacent: muta dolore lyra este

Ye Lesbian virgins, and ve Lesbian dames,

those celebrated letters (out of which the folThémes of my verse, and objects of my fames, lowing is partly extracted) which give so lively No more your groves with my glad songs shall ring, a picture of the struggles of grace and nature, No more these hands shall touch the trembling virtue and passion. My Phaon's fled, and I those arts resign, (string: (Wretch that I am, to call that Phaon mine!) Retur, fair youth, and bring along

ELOISA TO ABELARD.
Joy to my soul, and vigour to my song:
Absent from thee, the poet's flame expires;

Is these deep solitudes and awful cells,
But ah! how fiercely burn the lover's fires?

Where heavenly-pensive Contemplation dwells, Gods! can no prayers, no sighs, no numbers move And ever musing Melancholy reigns; One savage heart, or teach it how to love?

What means this tumult in a vestal's veins ? The winds my prayers, my sighs, my numbers Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat? The Aying winds have lost them all in air! [bear, Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat ? Oh when, alas ! shall more auspicious gales

Yet, yet I lovel-From Abelard it came, To these fond eyes restore thy welcome sails?

And Eloisa yet must kiss the name. If you return-ah why these long delays?

Dear, fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd, Pour Sappho dies while careless Phaon stays.

Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd: 0, launch thy bark, nor fear the watery plain;

Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Venus for thee shall smooth her native main.

Where, mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies : O launch thy bark, secure of prosperous gales ;

0, write it not, my hand--the name appears Cupid for thee shall spread the swelling sails.

Already written-wash it out, my tears ! If you will fly—(yet ah! what cause can be,

In vain lost Eloïs.weeps and prays, Too cruel youth, that you should fly from me?)

Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys. If not from Phaon I must hope for ease,

Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains Ah let me seek it from the raging seas :

Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains: To raging seas unpity'd I'll remove,

Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have wom; And either cease to live, or cease to love!

Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn!

Shrines! where their vigils pale-eyed virgins keep i Lesbides æquoreæ, nupturaque nuptaque proles ;

And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep!, Lesbides, Æolia nomina dicta lyra;

Though cold like you, unmor'd and silent grown, Lesbides, infamem que me fecistis amatæ ;

I have not yet forgot myself to stone. Desinite ad citharas turba venire meas.

All is not Heaven's while Abelard has part, Abstulit omne Phaon, quod vobis ante placebat.

Still rebel Nature holds out half my heart; (Me miseram! dixi quam modo pene, meus !)

Nor prayers nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain, Efficite ut redeat: vates quoque vestra redibit.

Nor tears, for ages taught to flow in vain. Ingenio vires ille dat, ille rapit.

Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,

That well-known name awakens all my woes.
Ecquid ago precibus ? pectusne agreste movetur ?

Oh, name for ever sad ! for ever dear
An riget? et zephyri verba caduca ferunt
Qui mea verba ferunt, vellem tua vela referrent.

Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tean

I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
Hoc te, si saperes, lente, decebat opus.

Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
Sive redis, puppique tuæ votiva parantur
Munera ; quid laceras pectora nostra mora ?

Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
Solve ratem: Venus orta mari, mare præstat eunti. Led through a sad variety of woe:
Aura dabit cursum; tu modo solve ratem.

Now warm in lore, now withering in my bloom, Ipse gubernabit residens in puppe Cupido:

Lost in a convent's solitary gloom! Ipse dabit tenera vela legetque manu.

There stern Religion quench'd th’ unwilling flame, Sire juvat longe fugisse Pelasgida Sappho;

There dy'd the best of passions, love and fame.

Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join (Non tamen invenies, cur ego digna fuga.) (0 saltem miseræ, crudelis, epistola dicat :

Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.

Nor foes nor Fortune take this power away;
Ut mihi Leucadiæ fata petantur aquæ.]

And is my Abelard less kind than they?
Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,
Love but demands what else were shed in prayers

No happier task these faded eyes pursue;.
ELOISA TO ABELARD,

To read and weep is all they now can do.

Then share thy pain, allow that şad relief;

Ah, more than share it, give me all thy gri' f. ARGUMENT.

Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid, ABELARD and Eloïsa flourished in the twelfth cen- Some banish'd lover or some captive maid;

tury; they were two of the most distinguished per- They live, they speak, they breathe what love insons of their age in learning and beauty, but for Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires, (spires, nothing more famous than for their unfortunate The virgin's wish without her fears impart, passion. After a long course of calamities, they Fxcuse the blush, and pour out all the heart, retired each to a several convent, and conse- Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, crated the remainder of their days to religion. And waft a sigh from Indus to the pole. It was many years after this separation, that a Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy Aame, letter of Abelard's to a friend, which contained When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name; the history of his misfortune, fell into the hands My fancy form’d thee of angelic kind, of Eloisa. This awakening all her tenderness, Some emanation of th' All-beauteous Minda VOL. XII.

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