For her, th' unfading rose of Eden blooms, And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes, For her the spouse prepares the bridal ring, For her white virgins hymeneals sing, 220 To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,[677] And melts in visions of eternal day.[678] Far other dreams my erring soul employ, Far other raptures, of unholy joy: When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day, 225 Fancy restores what vengeance snatched away, Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free, All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee. Oh cursed, dear horrors of all-conscious night! How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight![679] 230 Provoking demons all restraint remove, And stir within me ev'ry source of love. I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms, And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms. I wake:--no more I hear, no more I view, 235 The phantom flies me, as unkind as you. I call aloud; it hears not what I say: I stretch my empty arms; it glides away. To dream once more I close my willing eyes; Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise;[680] 240 Alas, no more!--methinks we wand'ring go Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe,[681] Where round some mould'ring tow'r pale ivy creeps, And low-browed rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps. Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies; 245 Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise. I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find, And wake to all the griefs I left behind. For thee the fates, severely kind,[682] ordain A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain; 250 Thy life a long dead calm of fixed repose; No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows;[683] Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow, Or moving spirit bade the waters flow;[684] Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiv'n, 255 And mild as op'ning gleams of promised heav'n.[685] Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread? The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.[686] Nature stands checked; religion disapproves; Ev'n thou art cold--yet Eloisa loves. 260 Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn.[687] What scenes appear where'er I turn my view? The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue, Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,[688] 265 Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes. I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee, Thy image steals between my God and me,[689] Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear, With ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear.[690] 270 When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,