with which this transaction is delicately hinted at in these most excellent lines; which are the genuine voice of nature and passion, and place the object intended to be impressed on the reader full in his sight.

She next reminds Abelard of the solemnity of her taking the veil, from verse one hundred and six, to one hundred and eighteen, which are highly beautiful, particularly these circumstances attending the rite

As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil,

The shrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale!

These two circumstances are fancied with equal force and propriety; and this supposed prognostic of the uneasiness she would undergo in the monastic life, is very affecting. sion intruded itself even in the

But her pas nidst of this

awful

ninth lines of this quotation, bear a wonderful resemblance to a fine passage in the book of Job, ch. xxix. ver. 6. & seq. I shall only add, that this is the only complete poem of the

kind.

1

awful act of devotion, the strength of which

she represents by this particular,

*Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,

Not on the Cross my eyes were fixt, but You.

Here she gives her fondness leave to expatiate into many amorous ideas :

+ Still on that breast enamour'd let me lie,
Still drink delicious poison from thy eye,
Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be prest.

And then follows a line exquisitely passionate, and worthy the sensibility of Sappho or of Eloisa:

Give all thou canst!-and let me dream the rest.

Suddenly she here checks the torrent of this amorous transport

Ah, no- -instruct me other joys to prize,‡
With other beauties charm my partial eyes.
Full in my view set all the bright abode,
And make my soul quit Abelard for God.

X 4

She

* V. 115.

† V. 121.

V. 125.

She puts him in mind of his being the father and founder of the monastery, and entreats him to visit his flock on that account. This topic is taken from the Letters:

From the false world in early youth they fled,*
By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led;
You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desert smil'd,
And paradise was open'd in the wild.

"Nihil hic super alienum ædificâsti fundamentum; totum quod hic est, tua creatio est. Solitudo hæc feris tantum, sive latronibus vacans, nullam hominum habitationem noverat, nullam domum habuerat. In ipsis cubilibus ferarum, in ipsis latibulis latronum, ubi nec nominari deus solet, divinum erexisti tabernaculum, et spiritûs sancti proprium dedicâsti templum. Nihil ad hoc ædificandum ex regum vel principum opibus intulisti, cum plurima posses & maxima, ut quicquid fieret, tibi soli posset ascribi." Which last sentence is finely improved by POPE; being at once heightened with pathos and poetic imagery; and containing an oblique satire on benefactions raised by avarice, or extorted by fear.

* Ver. 131. + Epist. i. Heloiss. p. 46.

No

No weeping orphan saw his father's stores*
Our shines irradiate, or emblaze our floors;
No silver saints, by dying misers giv❜n,
Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n ;
But such plain roofs as piety could raise.

No part of this poem, or indeed of any of POPE's productions, is so truly poetical, and contains such strong painting, as the passage to which we are now arrived; the description of the convent, where POPE's religion certainly aided his fancy. It is impossible to read it, without being struck with a pensive pleasure, and a sacred awe, at the solemnity of the scene; so picturesque are the epithets.

In these lone walls, (their days eternal bound,)†
These moss-grown domes, with spiry turrets crown'd,
Where awful arches make the noon-day night,
And the dim windows shed a solemn light;
Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray.

All the circumstances that can amuse and sooth the mind of a solitary, are next enumerated in this expressive manner: and the reader that shall

be

* Ver. 135.

† Ver. 141.

be disgusted at the length of the quotation, one might pronounce, has no taste either for painting or poetry:

The darksome pines, that o'er yon rocks reclin'd, *
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind;
The wand'ring streams, that shine between the hills;
The grots, that echo to the tinkling rills;
The dying gales, that pant upon the trees;†
The lakes, that quiver to the curling breeze;
No more these scenes my meditation aid,
Or lull to rest the visionary maid.

The effect and influence of MELANCHOLY, who is beautifully personified, on every object that occurs, and on every part of the convent, cannot be too much applauded, or too often read, as it is founded on nature and experience. That temper of mind casts a gloom on all things.

But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
Long-sounding iles, and intermingled graves,

Black

* V. 155.

+ Read with this passage, Mr. Gray's account of his journey to the Grande Chartreuse. Works 4to. p. 67.

Ver. 163.