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Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
While prostrate here in humble grief I lie, Kind, virtuous drops just gathering in my eye; While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll, And dawning grace is opening on my soul; Come, if thou darest, all charming as thou art! Oppose thyself to Heaven; 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
Take back my fruitless penitence and prayers;
274 Priests, tapers, &c. Pope seems to have felt no hesitation in borrowing, where the expression caught his ear. Those lines are word for word from Smith's dreary Phædra and Hippolytus:
Priests, tapers, temples, swam before my sight.
Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me;
O, grace serene! O, virtue heavenly fair!
See in her cell sad Eloisa spread, Propp'd on some tomb, a neighbor of the dead. In each low wind methinks a spirit calls, 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: Once, like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd; Love's victim then, though now a sainted maid: But all is calm in this eternal sleep;
Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep;
See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll;
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 wandering 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
323 See my lips tremble. From Oldham's Death of Adonis:" Kiss, while I watch thy swimming eyeballs roll, Watch thy last gasp, and catch thy springing soul.
Then sadly say, with mutual pity moved,—
O, may we never love as these have loved!' From the full choir when loud hosannas rise, And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice ;— Amid that scene, if some relenting eye Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie, Devotion's self shall steal a thought from heaven, One human tear shall drop, and be forgiven. And sure, if fate some future bard shall join In sad similitude of griefs to mine; 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: He best can paint them who shall feel them most.