And bids them make mistaken mortals groan, Should at my feet the world's great master fall, 85 If there be yet another name more free, More fond than mistress, make me that to thee! 90 94 Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part, Alas how chang'd! what sudden horrors rise! Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day, When victims at yon altar's foot we lay? NOTES. Ver. 88. make me mistress] A great inaccuracy!-She was his wife. Ver. 100. A naked Lover] One cannot forbear wishing, that, notwithstanding all the dexterity and management our poet has exerted on the occasion, these six lines had been omitted. Ver. 108. yon altar's] The altar of Paraclete, says Mr. Ber Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell, 115 Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe; 120 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, With other beauties charm my partial eyes, 125 Full in my view set all the bright abode, Ah think at least thy flock deserves thy care, Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r, 130 From the false world in early youth they fled, By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts, led. NOTES. rington, did not then exist; they were not professed at the same time or place; one was at Argentieul, the others at St. Denys. Ver. 111. As with cold lips] This description of the solemnity of her taking the veil, the prognostics that attended it, her passion intruding itself in the midst of her devotion, Ver. 115; the sudden check to her passion, Ver. 125; need not be pointed out to any reader of sensibility, and lover of true poetry. 135 You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desert smil'd, 140 NOTES. Ver. 133. You rais'd these hallow'd walls;] He founded the Monastery. P. Ver. 136. Our shrines irradiate,] Non magis auro fulgentia atque ebore, simulacra, quam lucos, et in iis silentia ipsa adoramus, says Pliny very finely of places of worship. Ver. 141. In these lone] All the images drawn from the Convent, from this line down to line 170, and particularly the personification of Melancholy expanding her dreadful wings over its whole circuit, cannot be sufficiently applauded. The fine epithet, browner horror, is from Dryden. It is amusing to read with this passage Mr. Gray's excellent Account of his Visit to the Grande Chartreuse. Works, 4to. p. 67. These exquisite lines will be highly relished by all those, To walk the studious cloisters pale, As may with sweetness through mine ear Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all heav'n before mine eyes. Il Penseroso, v. 155. Where awful arches make a noon-day night, And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day. 145 150 But why should I on others' pray'rs depend? Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend! The dying gales that pant upon the trees, The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze; 160 But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves, 165 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 Ah wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in vain, Confess'd within the slave of love and man. 180 Assist me, Heav'n! but whence arose that pray'r? 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, 190 How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense, Unequal task! a passion to resign, 195 For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost, as mine. Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state, How often must it love, how often hate! Conceal, disdain,—do all things but forget. 200 NOTES. Ver. 177. Ah wretch !] From the Letters; as also v. 133; and also v. 251; from the Letters. Epist. ii. p. 67. Ver. 182. an altar for forbidden fires,] Ought we to depreciate and neglect the very interesting and pathetic Tale of Rousseau's Eloise, because many of his other writings are so objectionable? |