ON THE DUTCHESS OF MAZARIN's RETIRING INTO A CONVENT. John Langhorne Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T116245 1137 K093079.004 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. IV. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 169-172. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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ON THE DUTCHESS OF MAZARIN's RETIRING INTO A CONVENT . BY THE SAME . YE holy cares that haunt these lonely cells , These scenes where salutary sadness dwells ; Ye sighs that minute the slow wasting day , Ye pale regrets that wear my life away ; O bid these passions for the world depart , These wild desires , and vanities of heart ! Hide every trace of vice , of follies past , And yield to Heaven the victory at last . To that the poor remains of life are due , 'Tis Heaven that calls , and I the call pursue . Lord of my life , my future cares are thine , My love , my duty greet thy holy shrine : No more my heart to vainer hopes I give , But live for thee , whose bounty bids me live . The power that gave these little charms their grace , His favours bounded , and confin'd their space ; Spite of those charms shall time , with rude essay , Tear from the cheek the transient rose away ; But the free Mind , ten thousand ages past , Its maker's form , shall with its maker last . Uncertain objects still our hopes employ ; Uncertain all that bears the name of joy ! Of all that feels the injuries of fate Uncertain is the search , and short the date : Yet ev'n that boon-what thousands wish to gain ? That boon of Death , the sad resource of pain ! Once on my path all fortune's glory fell , Her vain magnificence , and courtly swell : Love touch'd my soul at least with soft desires , And Vanity there fed her meteor fires . This truth at last the mighty scenes let fall , An hour of Innocence was worth them all . Lord of my life ! O let thy sacred ray Shine o'er my heart , and break its clouds away ! Deluding , flattering , faithless world adieu ! Long hast thou taught me GOD IS ONLY TRUE . That God alone I trust , alone adore , No more deluded , and misled no more . Come , sacred hour , when wavering doubts shall cease ! Come , holy scenes of long repose and peace ! Yet shall my heart , to other interests true , A moment balance 'twixt the world and you ? Of pensive nights , of long-reflecting days , Be yours , at last , the triumph and the praise ! Great , gracious Master ! whose unbounded sway , Felt thro' ten thousand worlds , those worlds obey , Wilt thou for once thy awful glories shade , And deign t' espouse the creature thou hast made ? All other ties indignant I disclaim , Dishonour'd those , and infamous to name ! O fatal ties , for which such tears I've shed , For which the pleasures of the world lay dead ! That world's soft pleasures you alone disarm ; That world without you still might have its charm . But now those scenes of tempting hope I close , And seek the peaceful studies of Repose ; Look on the past as time that stole away , And beg the blessings of a happier day . Ye gay saloons , ye golden-vested halls , Scenes of high treats , and heart-bewitching balls ! Dress , figure , splendor , charms of play , farewel , And all the toilet's science to excel ! Ev'n Love , that ambush'd in this beauteous hair , No more shall lie , like Indian archers , there . Go , erring Love ! for nobler objects given ! Go , beauteous hair , a sacrifice to Heaven ! Soon shall the veil these glowing features hide , At once the period of their power and pride ! The hapless lover shall no more complain Of vows unheard , or unrewarded pain ; While calmly sleep in each untortur'd breast My secret sorrow , and his sighs profest . Go , fiattering train ! and , slaves to me no more , With the same sighs some happier fair adore ! Your alter'd faith I blame not , nor bewail — And haply yet ( what woman is not frail ? ) Yet , haply , might I calmer minutes prove , If he that lov'd me knew no other love ! Yet were that ardor , which his breast inspir'd , By charms of more than mortal beauty fir'd , What nobler pride ! could I to Heaven resign The zeal , the service that I boasted mine ! O change your false desires , ye flattering train ! And love me pious , whom ye love profane ! These long adieus with lovers doom'd to go , Or prove their merit , or my weakness shew ; But Heaven , to such soft frailties less severe , May spare the tribute of a female tear , May yield one tender moment to deplore Those gentle hearts that I must hold no more .