The deadly charming sorceress control,
And, spite of Nature, tear her from thy soul.
Long has that soul, in these unsocial woods,
Where Anguish muses, and where Sorrow broods,
From Love's wild visionary wishes stray'd,
And sought to lose thy beauties in the shade.
Faith dropp'd a smile, Devotion lent her fire,
Woke the keen pang, and sanctified desire;
Led me enraptur'd to the blest abode,

And taught my heart to glow with all its God.
But, O! how weak fair faith and virtue prove
When Eloisa melts away in love!
When her fond soul, impassion'd, rapt, unveil'd,
No joy forgotten, and no wish conceal'd,
Flows through her pen as infant-softness free,
And fiercely springs in ecstasies to me!
Ye Heavens! as walking in yon sacred fane,
With every seraph warm in every vein,
Just as remorse had rous'd an aching sigh,
And my torn soul hung trembling in my eye,
In that kind hour thy fatal letter came,
I saw, I gaz'd, I shiver'd at the name;
The conscious lamps at once forgot to shine,
Prophetic tremours shook the hallow'd shrine;
Priests, censers, altars, from thy genius fled,
And Heav'n itself shut on me while I read.

Dear smiling Mischief! art thou still the same,
The still pale victim of too soft a flame?
Warm as when first, with more than mortal shine,
Each melting eye-ball mix'd thy soul with mine?
Have not thy tears, for ever taught to flow,
The glooms of absence, and the pangs of woe,
The pomp of sacrifice, the whisper'd tale,
The dreadful vow yet hovering o'er thy veil,
Drove this bewitching fondness from thy breast,
Curb'd the loose wish, and form'd each pulse to rest?
And canst thou still, still bend the suppliant knee
To Love's dread shrine, and weep and sigh for me?
Then take me, take me, lock me in thy arms,
Spring to my lips, and give me all thy charms.
No-fly me, fly me, spread th' impatient sail,
Steal the lark's wing, and mount the swiftest gale;
Skim the vast ocean, freeze beneath the pole,
Renounce me, curse me, root me from thy soul;
Fly, fly, for Justice bares the arm of God,
And the grasp'd vengeance only waits his nod.

Are these thy wishes? can they thus aspire? Does phrenzy form them, or does grace inspire? Can Abelard, in hurricanes of zeal, Betray his heart, and teach thee not to feel? Teach thy enamour'd spirit to disown Each human warmth, and chill thee into stone? Ah! rather let my tenderest accents move The last wild accents of unholy love; On that dear bosom trembling let me lie, Pour out my soul, and in fierce raptures die, Rouse all my passions, act my joys anew. Farewell, ye cells! ye martyr'd saints! adieu! Sleep, conscience! sleep, each awful thought be drown'd,

And seven-fold darkness veil the scene around.
What means this pause, this agonizing start,
This glimpse of Heav'n quick rushing through my
heart?

Methinks I see a radiant cross display'd-
A wounded Saviour bleeds along the shade:
Around th' expiring God bright angels fly,
Swell the loud hymn, and open all the sky.
O save me, save me, ere the thunders roll,
And Hell's black caverns swallow up my soul.

Return, ye hours! when, guiltless of a stain,
My strong-plum'd genius throbb'd in every vein;
When, warm'd with all th' Egyptian fanes inspir'd,
All Athens boasted, and all Rome admir'd;
My merit in its full meridian shone,
Each rival blushing, and each heart my own.
Return, ye scenes!-Ah, no, from fancy fly,
On Time's stretch'd wing, till each idea die.
Eternal fly; since all that learning gave,
Too weak to conquer, and too fond to save:
To Love's soft empire every wish betray'd,
And left my laurels withering in the shade.
Let me forget that, while deceitful Fame
Grasp'd her shrill trump, and fill'd it with my name,
Thy stronger charms, impower'd by Heav'n to move
Each saint, each blest insensible to love,
At once my soul from bright Ambition won,
I hugg'd the dart, I wish'd to be undone :
No more pale Science durst my thoughts engage,
Insipid dulness hung on every page;

The midnight-lamp no more enjoy'd its blaze,
No more my spirit flew from maze to maze :
Thy glances bade Philosophy resign

Her throne to thee, and every sense was thine.
But what could all the frosts of wisdom do,
Oppos'd to beauty, when it melts in you?
Since these dark, cheerless, solitary caves,
Death-breathing woods, and daily-opening graves,
Misshapen rocks, wild images of woe,
For ever howling to the deeps below;
Ungenial deserts, where no vernal show'r
Wakes the green herb, or paints th' unfolding flow'r;
Th' embrowning glooms these holy mansions shed,
The night-born horrours brooding o'er my bed,
The dismal scenes black melancholy pours
O'er the sad visions of enanguish'd hours;
Lean Abstinence, wan Grief, low-thoughted Care,
Distracting Guilt, and, Hell's worst fiend, Despair,
Conspire in vain, with all the aids of Art,
To blot thy dear idea from my heart.

Delusive, sightless god of warm desire!
Why would'st thou wish to set a wretch on fire?
Why lives thy soft divinity where Woe
Heaves the pale sigh, and Anguish loves to glow!
Fly to the mead, the daisy-painted vale,
Breathe in its sweets, and melt along the gale;
Fly where gay scenes luxurious youths employ,
Where ev'ry moment steals the wing of joy :
There may'st thou see, low prostrate at thy throne,
Devoted slaves, and victims all thy own;
Each village-swain the turf-built shrine shall raise,
And kings command whole hecatombs to blaze.
O Memory! ingenious to revive

Each fleeting hour, and teach the past to live,
Witness what conflicts this frail bosom tore!
What griefs I suffer'd! and what pangs I bore!
How long I struggled, labour'd, strove to save
An heart that panted to be still a slave!
When youth, warmth, rapture, spirit, love and flame,
Seiz'd every sense, and burnt through all my frame;
From youth, warmth, rapture, to these wilds I fled,
My food the herbage, and the rock my bed.
There, while these venerable cloisters rise
O'er the bleak surge, and gain upon the skies,
My wounded soul indulg'd the tear to flow
O'er all her sad vicissitudes of woe;
Profuse of life, and yet afraid to die,
Guilt in my heart, and horrour in my eye,
With ceaseless pray'rs, the whole artill❜ry given
To win the mercies of offended Heav'n,

Each hill, made vocal, echoed all around,
While my torn breast knock'd bleeding on the ground.
Yet, yet, alas though all my moments fly,
Stain'd by a tear, and darken'd in a sigh,
Though meagre fasts have on my cheeks display'd
The dusk of Death, and sunk me to a shade,
Spite of myself the still-empoisoning dart
Shoots through my blood, and drinks up all my
My vows and wishes wildly disagree, [heart:
And grace itself mistakes my God for thee.
Athwart the glooms that wrap the midnight-sky,
My Eloisa steals upon my eye;
For ever rises in the solar ray,

A phantom brighter than the blaze of day.
Where'er I go, the visionary guest

Pants on my lip, or sinks upou my breast;
Unfolds her sweets, and, throbbing to destroy,
Winds round my heart in luxury of joy;
While loud Hosannas shake the shrines around,
I hear her softer accents in the sound;
Her idol-beauties on each altar glare,

And Heav'n much-injur'd has but half my pray'r:
No tears can drive her hence, no pangs control,
For every object brings her to my soul.

[pole.

Last night, reclining on yon airy steep, My busy eyes hung brooding o'er the deep; The breathless whirlwinds slept in ev'ry cave, And the soft moon-beam danc'd from wave to wave; Each former bliss in this bright mirror seen, With all my glories, dawn'd upon the scene, Recall'd the dear auspicious hour anew, When my fond soul to Eloisa flew; When, with keen speechless agonies opprest, Thy frantic lover snatch'd thee to his breast, Gaz'd on thy blushes, arm'd with every grace, And saw the goddess beaming in thy face; Saw thy wild, trembling, ardent wishes move Each pulse to rapture, and each glance to love. But, lo! the winds descend, the billows roar, Foam to the clouds, and burst upon the shore, Vast peals of thunder o'er the ocean roll, The flame-wing'd lightning gleams from pole to At once the pleasing images withdrew, And more than borrours crowded on my view: Thy uncle's form, in all his ire array'd, Serenely dreadful, stalk'd along the shade: Pierc'd by his sword I sunk upon the ground, The spectre ghastly smil'd upon the wound : A group of black infernals round me hung, And toss'd my infamy from tongue to tongue. Detested wretch! how impotent thy age! How weak thy malice! and how kind thy rage! Spite of thyself, inhuman as thou art, Thy murdering hand has left me all my heart; Left me each tender, fond affection warm, A nerve to tremble, and an eye to charm. No, cruel, cruel, exquisite in ill! Thou thought'st it dull barbarity to kill; My death had robb'd lost vengeance of her toil, And scarcely warm'd a Scythian to a smile: Sublimer furies taught thy soul to glow With all their savage mysteries of woe; Taught thy unfeeling poniard to destroy The powers of Nature, and the source of joy; To stretch me on the racks of vain desire, Each passion throbbing, and each wish on fire; Mad to enjoy, unable to be blest,

Fiends in my veins, and Hell within my breast. Aid me, fair Faith! assist me, Grace divine! Ye martyrs! bless me; and, ye saints' refine:

Ye sacred groves! ye heav'n-devoted walls!
Where Folly sickens, and where Virtue calls;
Ye vows! ye altars! from this bosom tear
Voluptuous love, and leave no anguish there:
Oblivion! be thy blackest plume display'd
O'er all my griefs, and hide me in the shade;
And thou, too fondly idoliz'd! attend
While awful Reason whispers in the friend.
Friend, did I say? Immortals! what a name !
Can dull, cold Friendship own so wild a flame?
No; let thy lover, whose enkindling eye
Shot all his soul between thee and the sky,
Whose warmth bewitch'd thee, whose unhallow'd
Call'd thy rapt ear to die upon his tongue, [song
Now strongly rouse, while Heav'n his zeal inspires,
Diviner transports, and more holy fires;
Calm all thy passions, all thy peace restore,
And teach that snowy breast to heave no more.
Torn from the world, within dark cells immur'd,
By angels guarded, and by vows secur'd,
To all that once awoke thy fondness dead,
And Hope, pale Sorrow's last sad refuge, filed;
Why wilt thou weep, and sigh, and melt in vain,
Brood o'er false joys, and hug th' ideal chain'
Say, canst thou wish that madly wild to fly
From yon bright portal opening in the sky,
Thy Abelard should bid his God adieu,
Pant at thy feet, and taste thy charms anew?
Ye Heavens! if, to this tender bosom woo'd,
Thy mere idea harrows up my blood;
If one faint glimpse of Eloise can move
The fiercest, wildest agonies of love;
What shall I be, when, dazzling as the light,
Thy whole effulgence flows upon my sight?
Look on thyself, consider who thou art,
And learn to be an abbess in thy heart.
See, while Devotion's ever melting strain
Pours the loud organ through the trembling fane,
Yon pious maids each earthly wish disown,
Kiss the dread cross, and crowd upon the throne:
O let thy soul the sacred charge attend,
Their warmths inspirit, and their virtues mend:
Teach every breast from every hymn to steal
The cherub's meekness, and the seraph's zeal;
To rise to rapture, to dissolve away
In dreams of Heav'n, and lead thyself the way;
Till all the glories of the blest abode
Blaze on the scene, and every thought is God.
While thus thy exemplary cares prevail,
And make each vestal spotless as her veil,
Th' Eternal Spirit o'er thy cell shall move
In the soft image of the mystic dove:
The longest gleams of heavenly comfort bring,
Peace in his smile, and healing on his wing;
At once remove affliction from thy breast,
Melt o'er thy soul, and hush her pangs to rest.
O that my soul, from Love's curst bondage free,
Could catch the transports that I urge to thee!
O that some angel's more than magic art
Would kindly tear the hermit from his heart!
Extinguish every guilty sense, and leave
No pulse to riot, and no sigh to heave.
Vain, fruitless wish! still, still the vig'rous flame
Bursts, like an earthquake, through my shatter'd
Spite of the joys that truth and virtue prove, [frame;
I feel but thee, and breathe not but to love;
Repent in vain, scarce wish to be forgiv'n,
Thy form my idol, and thy charms my heav'n.
Yet, yet, my fair! thy nobler efforts try,
Lift me from Earth and give me to the sky;

A crowd of rustics doom'd to daily toil,
Disarm the forest, or enrich the soil:
Not in that elegance of dress array'd
That charm'd Arcadia's hills, and Tempe's shade;
Where Thyrsis, shelter'd in some happier grove,
The lonely scene of solitude and love,
His breast all rapture, and his soul on fire,
Now wove the garland, and now swept the lyre:
No, 'tis plain Colin, Hobbinol, and Ned,
Unskill'd in numbers as in books unread,
Who scorn the winter's deadly blast to shun,
But face the storm, and drudge through ev'ry sun;
Then seek the cottage, where the homely bowl
Smooths ev'ry brow, and opens every soul;
Speeds the same social warmth from breast to breast,
And bids them laugh at Verres, and his crest.
When honest Colin sees the shining ball
That gilds the 'Change, and dignifies Whitehall;
Lost in the scenes of turbulence and strife,
The farce of grandeur and the pomp of life;
He steals impatient to his native shade,
And longs to grasp his waggon and his spade;
Heedless of ev'ry charm, of ev'ry grace,
That forms the goddess in Fitzwalter's face,
That lends to Finch her majesty of mien-
He would not change his Susan for a queen.
Believe me, sir! distinction, pomp, and noise,
Corrupt our tempers, as they cloud our joys:
And surely, when the social spirit 's broke,
A star 's a gewgaw, and a lord 's a joke.
Without those robes, those gorgeous bagatelles,
That deck our nobles, and that charm our belles;
Without a crane-neck'd chariot's smooth career,
Without the wealth of Indus in your ear;
Without a group of pictures dearly bought,
Where Titian's colours vie with Guido's thought;
Without the fruits of Spain, the wines of France,
Without an opera, and without a dance,
You may live happy, as grave doctors tell,*
At Rome, at Tunbridge, in a grot, or cell.
From sky to sky th' imperial bird of Jove [love;
Spreads his broad wing, and thund'ring grasps his
The mighty bull, by genial Zephyr sway'd,
Enraptur'd courts his heifer to the shade;
The feather'd warblers pair on every spray,
The grove re-echoing with the sprightly lay;
While the gay tribe of insects blissful share
The joys of love, and people all the air.
All, all that in the depths of ocean lie,
Graze on the plain, or skim along the sky,
Fondly pursue the end by Nature giv'n,
Life all their aim, and quiet all their heav'n.

If then no songsters grudge the bear his thigh,
The hound his nostril, or the lynx his eye;
Nor feel a pang though Afric's shaggy brood
Majestic stalk the monarchs of the wood;
Why should you think your solitude a tomb,
If Pulteney has a title and a plumb?

M-.

But soft-restrain this turbulence of war,
This mimic image of the wordy bar;
Lest you should seem to copy Henly's lore,
Who gravely kills objections by the score.

Behold that wretch, by ev'ry woe distress'd,
Want in his eye, and horrour in his breast;
A thousand nameless agonies of pain
Rack ev'ry nerve, and burn through ev'ry vein;
He lives to suffer, and but speaks to moan,
And numbers every minute by a groan.

Is he then happy? blest with every joy
That glows on Cecil's cheek or Dorset's eye?
Shall we proclaim him blest, without rebuke,
And rank a martyr'd beggar with a duke?

Believe me, sir! each mortal has his fear, Each soul an anguish, and each eye a tear; Aches, pains, and fevers every breast assail, And haunt alike the city and the vale.

What though in pomp your painted vessels roll, Fraught with the gems that glare from pole to pole,

Though health auspicious gilds your every grace,
Nerves the strong limb, and blushes o'er the face;
Though grac'd with all that dignity of wit
That charm'd in Villars, and now charms in Pitt;
Possess'd of all the eloquence that hung
On Tully's lip, and drops from Murray's tongue;
Though all the titles, coronets, and stars,
That statesmen aim at, and that Malton bears,
Enrich your 'scutcheon, dignify your crest,
Beam on your coach, and blaze upon your breast;
Can they forbid the secret ill to glow,
The pang to torture, or the tear to flow?

Confess we then that all the ills of life,
Diseases, grief, vexations, follies, strife,
Without distinction every soul perplex,
Haunt ev'ry scene, and prey on all the sex.
Yet let us own that every pleasure too
That glads the active, and that wings the slow,
Alike indulgent to the rich and poor,
Glides through the land, and knocks at ev'ry door.
Hear then, without the specious pride of art,
A truth that strikes the moral to the heart;
A truth that liv'd in Cato's patriot breast,
And bade a dying Socrates be blest:
All, all, but Virtue, is a school-boy's theme,
The air-dress'd phantom of a virgin's dream;
A gilded toy, that homebred fools desire,
That coxcombs boast of, and that mobs admire:
Her radiant graces every bliss unfold,
And turn whate'er she touches into gold.

THE

BIRTH AND EDUCATION OF GENIUS.

A TALE.

YES, Harriet! say whate'er you can,
'Tis education makes the man:
Whate'er of Genius we inherit,
Exalted sense, and lively spirit,
Must all be disciplin'd by rules,
And take their colour from the schools.
'Twas Nature gave that cheek to glow,
That breast to rise in hills of snow,
Those sweetly-temper'd eyes to shine
Above the sapphires of the mine.
But all your more majestic charms,
Where grace presides, where spirit warms;
That shape which falls by just degrees,
And flows into the pomp of ease;
That step, whose motion seems to swim,
That melting harmony of limb,
Were form'd by Glover's skilful glance,
At Chelsea, when you learnt to dance.
'Tis so with man.-His talents rest
Misshapen embrios in his breast;