Where'er she looks, her eyes like lightnings wound, | Each lovely feature of this well-known facé,
When e'er the speaks, there's music in the sound; By grief revers’d, allumes a fterner grace :
From her dear lips such melting softness flows, o Eloisa! world the fates once more
Soft as when Zephyrs kiss the filken rose: (Indulgent.co thy wish) this form restore,
But when the wondrous charmer talks of love, How wouldst thou from these arms with horror
Good gods! what raptures in our bosom move!

start,
How each discourse our soul transported warms, To miss those charms, familiar to thy heart!
And, if 'tis possible, improves her charnis. Nor could thy quick, thy piercing judgment see,
Ocver beauteous, ever lovely fair,

To speak thy Abelard, but love of thee: Príde of my verse, and object of my catc.

Lean abstinence, pale grief, and haggard care, O take me, clasp me, melting in thy arms,

The dire attendants of forlorn despair ; Unfold thy sweets, and open all thy charms.

Have Abelard the gay, the young remov'd, On those dear breasts for ever let me rove,

And in the hermit, funk the man you lov'd. Those breasts to me the true poetic grove !

Wrape in the gloom these holy manfions shed, On those soft hills for ever let me fing,

The thorny paths of penitence I tread; And lip thy Sacred Heliconiaa spring.

Loft to the world, from all its interest free, Were Paris here to judge fair beauty's prize,

And corn from all my soul held dear in thee;

Ambition, with its train of frailties, gone,
How might thefe brighter goddesses surprise ;

AU loves, all forms forgot, but thine alone.
How could his choice the doubtful favour place,
When a new Venus thines in ev'ry face?

Amidft the blaze of day, and dusk of night, But since that task, that pleasing task I claim,

My Eloisa rises to my fight; O Venus guide me to a brighter flame :

Veil'd, as in Paraclete's sea-bath'd tow'rs, To Aurenclia's charms my wishes move,

The wretched mournèr counts the lagging hours; Warm her cold heart, and tune her breast to love I hear the figh, see the swift-falling tears, There, let my soul a nobler prize impart,

Weep all her griefs, and pine with all her cares. And for aq'apple, give my bleeding heart.

O vows! O converts ' your stern force inipart,

And frown the melting phantom from my heart ; ABELARD TO ELOISA.

Let other fighs a worthier sorrow show,

Let other tears, for fin, repentant flow; Is my dark cell, low proftrate on the ground, Low to the earth, my guilty eyes I roll, Mourning my crimes, thy letter entrance found; And humble to the dust my contrite soul. Too soon my Toul the well known name confest, Forgiving pow'r! your gracious call I meet, My beating heart spruog fiercely in my breast; Who first empower'd this rebel heart to beat! Through my whole frame a guilcy transport who through this trembling, this offendiug frame, glow'a

For nobler ends diffus'd life's active flame : And streaming corrents from thiy eyes fast Aow'd. O change the temper of this throbbing breast, Ò Eloisa ! art thou fill the same?

And form anew each beating pulse to reft! Dott thou still nourish this destructive flame?

Let (pringing grace, fair faith and hope remove,

The fatal traces of voluptuous love ; Have not the gentle rules of peace, and heav'n

Voluptuous love from his soft mansion tear,
From thy soft soul this fatal pasfion driven?

And leave no cracks of Eloisa there.
Alas! I thought you disengag'd, and free,
And can you fill, fill figh, and weep for me?

Are these the wishes of thy inmost soul ?
What powerful deity, what hallow'à fhrine,

Would I its softest tend'rest peace controul ? Can fare me from a love, a faith like thine ? Would I, thus couch'd, this gloomy heart resign Where shall I fly, when not this awful cave,

To the cold substance of the marble shrine ? Whose rugged feet the surging billows lave;

Transform'd like these pale saints that round me When not these gloomy cloister's fólemn walls,

move, O'er whose rough fides the langula ivy crawls;

o blesa'd insensibles ! that knew not love!
When my dread vows, in vain, their force oppose, Ah! rather let ine keep this hapless flame,
Ppposing love, alas! how vain are vows ! Adieu, false honour, unavailing fame!
In fruitless penance here. I wear away

Not your harsh rules, but tender love, supplies Each tedious night, each sad revolving day:

The Etreams that gush from my despairing eyes : I fast, I pray; and with deceitful art

I feel the traitor melt around my heart, (dart ! Veil thy dear image from my tortur'd heart. And through my veins with treach'rous influence My tortur'd heart conflicting paflions move, Inspire me heav'n! aflift me, grace divine ! I hope, despair, repent, but itill I love.

Aid me ye faints! unknown to crimes like mine! A thousand jarring thoughts my bofom cear, You, while on earth, all pangs severe could prove For thou, not God, my Eloisè art there.

All but the tort'ring pangs of hopeless love. To the falfe world's deluding pleasures dead, An holier rage in your pure bosoms dwelt, No longer by its wand'ring fires misled;

Nor can you pity what you never felt; in learn'd disputes, harsh precepts I infuse, A sympathizing grief alone can cure, And give that counsel, I want power to use. The hand that heals, must feel, what I endure. The rigid maxims of the grave, and wise, Thou Eloise ! alone, canst give me ease, Have queoch'd cach milder sparkle in my eyes; And bid my Aruggling foul subside in peace;

Naij

TO THE

Restore me to my long lost heav'n of reft, From their dead orbs that tender ute'rance filowa, And take thyself from my relu&ant brealt: Which first on yours my heare's soft tales made If crimes, like mine, could an allay receive,

known. That bless'd allay, thy wond'rous charms must This breath no more, at length, to eafe confign'd, give.

Pant, like light afpines quiv'ring with the wind; Thy form, which first my heart to love inclin'd, See, all my wild tumultuous paffions o'er, Still wanders in my loft, my guilty mind :

And thou, amazing scene : belov'd no more : I saw thee as the new-blown blossoms fair, Behold the destin'd end of human love, Sprightly as light, and soft as summer air ; But let the sight thy zeal alone improve; Wit, youth, and beauty, in each feature shone, Let not thy conscious soul, with sorrow mor'd, Bless'd by my fate, I gaz'd, and was undone ! Recal how much, how tenderly you lov'd! There dy'd the gen'rous fire, whose vig'rous flame, With pious care thy fruitless grief restrain, Enlarg’d my soup, and led me on to fame; Nor let a tear thy sacred veil profane; Nor fame, nor wealth, my foften'd heart could Nor e'en a sigh on my cold urn bestow, move,

But let thy breath with facred rapture glow; My heart, insensible to all but love!

Let love divine, srail mortal love, dethrone, Snatch'd from myself, my learning tasteless grew, And to thy mind immortal joys make known; And vain philosophy oppos'd to you.

Let Heav'n, relenting, strike thy ravifh'd view, A train of woeswe mourn; nor shouldwe mourn,

And still the bright, the blest pursuit, renew : The hours that cannot, ought not to return;

So, with thy crimes, shall thy misfortunes cease, As once to love, I fway'd thy yielding mind,

And thy wreck'd soul be calmly hush'd to peace Too fond, alas ! too fatally inclin'd ! To virtue now let me thy breast inspire, And fan, with zeal divine, the holy fire;

LAST (KING GEORGE'S) GUINEA. Teach you to injur'd heav'n, all chang'd, to turn, Inferibed to the Right Hunourable Sir Robert Walpoleo And bid thy soul with sacred raptures burn. O that my own example could impart

Wat call, bright monarch! can engage this This noble warmth to thy soft trembling heart !

breast, That mine, with pious undissembled care,

To leave thy loyal subject thus distret? [gone, Might aid the latent virtue struggling there!

Who knows, my guardian-aid, when thou art Alas, I rave ! nor grace, nor zeal divine,

What foreign tyrant will usurp thy throne? Burns in a breast o'erwhelm'd with crimes, like

When want, rebellious, arrugates thy reiga, mine:

What equal power shall faclion's rage refrain ! Too sure I find (whilft I the fortune prove

Too well, alas! my future state I see, Of feeble piety, conflicting love)

I can but figh, and only think of thee! On black despair, my forc'd devotion built,

So, when thy bright original repairs Absence, to me, has greater pangs than guilt. To foreign rcalms, with equal griefs and cares :

Britannia mourns; and anxious for her fate, Ah! yet my Eloisè, thy charme I view, Yet my fighs break, and my tears flow for you;

Implores fome favourite to prote& the State ; Each weak refiftance stronger knits my chain,

Wisely, as still, the monarch makes his choice, I sigh, weep, love, despair, repent in vain!

And for his Walpole joins the general voice. Haite Eliosa, hafte, thy lover free,

O couldlt thou there advance an equal claim, Amidst thy warmer pray’rs, O think of me! Repos’d in him, our safety were the fame! Wing with thy rising zeal my grov'ling mind : Aufpicious thought! and with what case may be, And let me mine, from thy repentance find :

Who has secur'd three nations, succour mc. Ah! labour, strive, thy love, thyself controul,

The change will sure affect my kindred soul : TO A NEEDLE THAT PRICK'D HIS MISIn blest concert our purer fighs shall grieve,

TRESS'S FINGER, And, Heav'n aflifting, shall our crimes forgive.

From Bonefonius *
But if unhappy, wretched, loft in vain,

MIRACLE of cruelty !
Faintly th' uncqual combat you sustain :
If not to heaven you feel your bofom rise,

Must my Laura bleed by thee!
Nor tears, refin'd, fall contrite from your eyes :

Her finger too, endure the smart? if kill thy heart thy wonted passions move,

That tender, inoffensive part!

What could the sweet offender do,
And thy tongue prompts thy tender soul so love;
Deaf to the weak essays of living breath,

Soft, and fair, as falling snow;

To suffer innocently too ! Attend the stronger eloquence of death.

Was it not envy caus'd this hate, When that kind pow'er this captive soul shall Because thyself were found less strait ? free,

Did not this thy fury move
(Which, only then, can cease to doat on thee) To wound the brighter queen of love?
When gently funk to my eternal sleep,
The Paraclete my peaceful urn fhall keep;

* All the love poems of this celebrated autbor, er Then Eloisa, then, thy lover view, See, these quench'd eyes, no longer fix'd on you,

tranfated by several bands. Printed for H. Carll

, te the Strand.

}

But, ah! then dreadful foe, forbear

His nice creating fancy could impart,
To execute thy fury here;

Fire to each charnı, and flames to ev'ry heart;
Yet, if you ftill to rage incline,

Yet all this skill could but at best command
Revenge at once, your cause, and mine :

A fancy'd goddess at the second hand.
Let her obdurate bofum feel

You brighter nymph, can greater wonders fiowi
The angry fury of thy steel.

And all this fuperficial art out-do ;
Her bosom, soft as turtle's down,

What if his hand a seeming life couid give,
Yet harder than the hardest stone !

Your greater wonder more than feems to live! Her bosoni: colder than the frow,

His nymph, at beft, could only raise our fire,
Burning at once, and freezing too,

But you create, and satisfy delire.
Will brave thy fiercett, deadlicít blow.
Here infix thy piercing dart,

TO ONE WHO BLAMED ME
Deep as love has pierc'd my heart :
Then, if thou gain't the victory,

For writing in praise of a very undeserving Lady.
How wond'rous will the conquet be?
To win a fortress that withstood

lown, my friend, Olivia is not fair,
The utmost fury of a god;

An awkward creature, with a flattern air;

She's nature's error, I confess indeed,
At once thy small, yet glorious dart

What then the fick alone the decor need :
Shall conquer love's, and Laura's heart.

Thus cunning tradesmen praise their paltry ware, ON LAURINDA.

And cry, the very belt in all the fair;

But let che diamonds sparkle into fame,
Waen nature franı'd Laurinda, heavenly fair, And each spectator with their worth inflame.
With each attractive charm, and winning air,

When fancy's in her infancy, the muse
Minerva's eloquence refin'd her tongue,
Charm'd in her speech, and warbled in her song ; Till, by degrees, the takes a loftier aim

Some trivial theme, in trifling lays, pursues,
Imperial majesty from Juno came,
Sooth'd with the softness of the Cyprian dame.

And crowns her actions with immortal fame.

Thus thc keen sword that's bath'd in heroes blood, 0! would fume other powers employ their care, To make her kind, as these have made her fair;

Firit to be temper'd, drinks the filthly flood: Thae single act should all the rest outthine,

PRESENTING WALLER'S POZMS And make the fair perfecion all divine.

TO A LADY.

MADAM,
THE BEE AND CUPID.'

Accept the softest sweetest frains,
FROM THEOCRITUS.

That ever breath'd a dying lover's pains ;
As Cupid in a flow'ry valley (tray'd,

That ever yet could unfuccessful prove,
Where bees around their hives in clofters play'd,

When arm'd with all the eloquence of love,
The honey's fragrant scent allur'd his nose,

And if you find some tender moving part,
And to the bive the groping archer goes.

Soften your soul, and steal upon your heart;
Boldly he thrults his roguish fingers in-

(For sure the most obdurate maid must blame, Nor in that heaven of sweets could fear a fting

The rigid coyness of the cruel dame):
But soon he merited, and met his fate,

Then lovely Laura, think, you faintly feel
Repenting of his roguery, too late;

The symptonis of a flame I dare not tell;
And now, in vain, he frets, he fiamps, he tears

Think, then, you hear your suppliant lover ligh,
The flowing honours of his waving hairs;

But generously, more than fee him die;
Deep is the wound, alas! what can he do!

And if you kindly listen to his pain,
Revenge he vows, but then he fears the foe? Successful Waller has not sung in vain.
Now fwist as thought, to Ida's grove he dies,
And thus complaining, to his mother cries,

TO A LADY
Alas: mamma, what pai, my hand endures !

AT KING'S-COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE,
O take it, kiss it, cool it, rub 't with yours.
Searching for honey I this torment found, UNSkill'd in love, unpradis'd in those arts
Small was the author, but, O! deep the wound. Of gaining mistresscs, and giving hearts,
To whom the mother goddess thus reply'd, Mix'd with the gazing crowd I hither come,
Unkindly laughing, while poor Cupid cry'd. Nor dreamt destruction near this sacred dome;
Fie, fic, is this your courage, mighty Love !

Where holy hymns, and solemn songs of praise,
And is a bee a stronger foe than Jove?

A venerable adoration raise ;
Hence child, compaflionate each lover's heart, But with surprise, at once I hear and see
Since you are conquer'd by fo Imall a dart. A speaking, and a filent harmony :

Transportng sounds! my fainting senses rise,
TO AN

Wing'd with the sweeter music of your eyes : OLD LADY THAT USED TO PAINT.

Your eyes that speak a form so bright, fo fair,

You seem the object of each fervent prayer.
KNELLER with animated art, could trace, Our souls the sweet divinity adore
The magic wonders of a lovely face ;

Aspiring vanity can hope no miorc---
3

N n iij

But ah! forbear, thou holy fair, unknown, Chiefelt good! for in you is
Our happiness to hazard by your own;

Every part of happiness :
Can Heaven, impartial, to your hopes comply, No racking pasfions here dim control,
And give you that, which you to all deny. The peaceful surface of my soul;
Mistaken maid! you think you blessings gain, Nothing can my bliss destroy,
When 'tis your very prayers create our pain

Whilft I thus myself enjoy.
And save us, but to kill us, with disdain.

Ere the heavens or earth were made, Alas! I feel the fatal poison run,

Or their vaft foundations laid ; I gaze, I figh, I love, and am undone--

Ere angels yet were caught to fing,
Harmonious charms, in vain, my mind reprove, To tune the lyre, or touch the string;
They sympathize, and melt, with me, to love : In godlike pomp the great Three One
Whilft in loft sounds, my soul, transported, flew, Reign'd in their solitude alone.
Milook her heav'n, but found a heav'n ia you. Tell me, all ye mighty wise,

Ye governors of colleges;
THE FOP:

What deeper wisdom can you know,
SIR PLUMB, the banker, of each trading lass,

Than caly nature's works here show? ('That newest French edition of an ass ?

All the lonesome night ye pore,
Charm'd by dear felf, with love may fafely sport, Philosophic fages o'er :
As things inanimate receive no hurt)

To what prodigious vast account
On his own beauteous person, deeply read, Can all your mighty works amount ?
No love c'er reach'd his heart, no thought his head; The wise man was as wise as you,
Pangless, he woos some pangless dame of fashion,

And yet his wisdom was---he nothing koew.
And in bad French, serenely lisps his passion;
Then, as the suit he makes is right or wrong,

Come, ye covetouş! ye proud!

Comc, ye wise fantastic crowd! Triumphs in rigadoon, or dies in song.

And as your follies ye discern,

Nature's plain instructions learn.
THE REFUSAL OF HER HAND.

See, this river, as it goes,
That with an eagle's piercing eye,

With what eloquence it flows?
Ned look’d, what man with eyes can doubt, How clear the water, and how fine!
When from the feather'd family,

How deep, how rapidly serene !
He singled this fair chicken out.

But should it fearful of decay, A lion's heart, the gen'rous boy

Stagnate, and Bop up its way; Proudly in ev'ry act maintains,

No

longer would its streams appear, Bravely attacks the nymph when coy,

Wholesome, delicate, or clear: When yielding bravely he disdains:

But bury'd in a quagmire fink,

Or in 'a choking deluge stink.
To play the skilful surgeon's part,
Two necessary points are gain'd;

Believe me, life's the very fame,
But to be master of his art,

The very image of this stream: Poor Ned still wants the lady's hand.

If of future fortune fearless,

If of present changes, careless, THE MORNING CONTEMPLATION.

It uninterrupted goes,

How sweet and how serene it flows: As I range these spacious fields,

But if stope with these restraints, Feast on all that nature yields;

Present ills, and future wants; Ev'ry thing conspires delight,

If anxious doubts, and clogging care, Charms my smell, my taste, my fight;

Betray our reason to despair; Ev'ry rural sound I hear

Life's dull enjoyment only cloys, Soothes my soul, and tunes my ear.

And painfully itself deltrus. Yonder azure hills arising,

View this revential shade!
Peeping through the wide horizon;

Sacred to retirement made!
Strive for the priority,
Which shall first salute my eye :

What surprißing sweets surround me!

What varieties confound me!
Gentle winds, cach (weet adorning,
Breathe the wholesome breath of morning;

Bless'd in this obfcure abode,

I think myself almoft a god! Birds on blossom’d hawthorns, ling

I think myself so too the more, Jocund carols to the spring;

Because I'm out of envy's power! Hopping o'er the fragrant lawa,

And if angels envious be, Merrily salute the dawn,

They alone dare envy me; And with their music seem to chide

And doing so, they let me know Mau's ingratitude and pride.

I am happier here below. O venerable Solitude !

Where is felf-enamour'd pride Best of blessings, chiefel good!

Tinsel vanity beide :

th what gilded rooms of ftate

Learn by thy fate, and oft experienc'd cott, Shaking with the storms of fate

Our temples fill the true Palladium boast : Do they now luxurious lie,

With shame review that dire vindi&ive day, Bound in purple slavery!

When hostile nations plow'd the liquid way; Can their artificial flowers

With rebel rage inspir'd, but ah : how vain Rival these delightful bowers ?

They bray'd the Cynthia of our British main ! Compar'd with nature's charms, how faiat Wing'd with false hopes, their floating cities fico, Is their mimic-colour'd paint ?

Like Sodom, doom'd co flamning vengeance too : I, the living forest have,

Immortal Drake, the British thunder drove, They the empty shadows crave;

Swift, as the bolt, hot-hilling from above; Yet, in spite of all their theft,

Wide o'er the main, the bright infection flew, I too have better shadows left.

And Aying, with tempestuous fury grew; Beh Id this little scrubby thorn,

Reflecting billows shoc a gleamy glare, Of verdure destitute, fo-loro,

And boil'd, and flam'd, with elemental war; As if it were e'en nature's scorn.

From the deep cavern of his oozy bed, Yet this, is of much more possess'd,

Old Ocean's lire emerg'd his azure head; Than any tyrant of the east;

Like Scorching Xanthus, felt his floods retire, Is richer; nay, is happier far

And roar’d in anguish at the god of fire : Than oriental monarchs are :

But when he saw Britannia's peace alarm'd, Can, with equal grandeur, show,

And Heav'n, and Drake, with sacred vengeance les brilliant head with diamonds glow :

arm'd; And contented, knows, next day

With billowing storms he urg'd the work of fate, Doubly will the loss repay,

And heav'd huge mountains at the burning fleet; If fortune snarches it away.

The burning fleet deplore their impious aim, Princely honours thus remain,

And dread the thund'rer, now they feel his flame; Apd thus they fee-but me'er return again With shame, with anguish, and with guilt, expire, But this flow'ry meadow walking,

Or sink in wat'ıy floods, or fvods ot fire. To this prattling echo talking;

Calm o'er the waves great Drake triumphant As along the stream ! pals,

rode, Gazing o: my floating face ;

Safe in the facred (antion of a god; Lo! the ruffling winds arise,

His ark, like Noah's, saw the whelming tide, To snatch the prospect from my eyes :

Absorp an impious world, and gorge its pride, The mimic form that fury braves,

Conquest sat smiling at the scene Heav'n wrought, And proudly triumphs o'er the waves;

And, like the dove, the peaceful olive brought : Yet chough with ev'ry wave 'eis toft,

Like Isrạel, England, on her sea-beat shore, The reflection is not loft.

Beheld the proud Egyptians, proud no more. Virtue wages such a strife,

But, as when once, the rebel Titans (trove, this turbulent Itrcam of life;

And fell fad victims to a vengeful Jove; Rack'd with passions, tost with fears,

Sprung from the poison of their Hydra gore, Vex'd with jealousies, and cares :

A race arosc, as impious as before; But a good unfpotted foul,

A race, that durst usurp the bless'd abodes, Though subjed, yet knows no controul,

Defy the thupd'rer, and dethrone the gods : Whils it turns on virtue's polę.

So, from this base defeat, with impious rage,

New Titans dar'd our British gods engage; But, lo! the clouds obscure the sun,

Salmoneus like, with mimic power they ftrove, Swift saadaws o'er the waters rua : Trembling too, my shadow flies?

And madly arm'd the thunder 'gainst its Jove. And by its very likeness dies.

In the deep bosom of the cavern'd earth, Hence learn, refleding Pattison,

Close plotting treasoo laid the nitrous birth;

Old midwife-night with dusky pinions face, How filent fate itill hurries on,

To hatch the secds, and brood them into fate : How suddenly you must be gone !

When Britain's genius from his ruling itar, And as you now can tell no more,

Beheld the latent ruin from afar; The likeness that your visage wore,

(Such, once in heav'n, he saw black treasons rage On the surface of the flood,

When rebel angel durrt their God engage) Vhere but now you gazing food :

With failing wings the facred pow'r descends, So, as soon as you shall dic,

And hov'ring o'er his ille incumbent bends; And resign mortality;

With tutelary care, the guardian fate, The delulive breath of fame,

And anxious, watch'd the birth of future fate. hall forget your very name.

And now che gloomy wings of sable night,

Embrown'd the filver empire of the night; VERSES ON THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER.

Nor yet the choral cock proclaim'd the day, MOURN, Rome! thy baffled arts, thy conquer'd But all in filence, all in horror lay:

No breathing breeze the dreary forelt hakes, For know! 'gis bcav'n thy impious zcal disarma ; And Heaves alone with watchful urcafon yakés:

Na iiij

arms,