Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me, Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine. Fair eyes and tempting looks, (which yet I view,) Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu ! 296 O Grace serene! O Virtue, heav'nly fair! Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care! Fresh blooming Hope, gay daughter of the sky! 300 Enter each mild, each amicable guest; Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest! See in her cell sad Eloisa spread, Propt on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead, 305 310 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 seemed 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; "Ev'n Superstition loses every fear: "For God, not man, absolves our frailties here." 315 I come, I come! prepare your roseate bow'rs, Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs. Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go, Thou, Abelard, the last sad office pay, And smooth my passage to the realms of day; See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll, Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul! Ah, no; in sacred vestments mayst thou stand, 325 It will be then no crime to gaze on me; 330 335 Then too, when Fate shall thy fair frame destroy, (That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy,) In trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drown'd, Bright clouds descend, and angels watch thee round; From op'ning skies may streaming glories shine, 341 And saints embrace thee with a love like mine. May one kind grave unite each hapless name, 345 350 355 360 The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost; He best can paint 'em who shall feel them most. TWO CHORUSES TO THE TRAGEDY OF BRUTUS. CHORUS OF ATHENIANS. STROPHE I. YE shades, where sacred truth is sought; In vain your guiltless laurels stood War, horrid war, your thoughtful walks invades, 5 ANTISTROPHE I. O heav'n-born sisters! source of art! Who charm the sense, or mend the heart; 10 Who lead fair Virtue's train along, Moral Truth and mystic Song! To what new clime, what distant sky, STROPHE II. When Athens sinks by fates unjust, 15 Shall cease to blush with strangers' gore: 20 See arts her savage sons controul, And Athens rising near the pole ! "Till some new tyrant lifts his purple hand, And civil madness tears them from the land. ANTISTROPHE II. Ye Gods! what justice rules the ball? Oh curst effects of civil hate, 25 In ev'ry age, in ev'ry state! 30 Still, when the lust of tyrant pow'r succeeds, |