ARGUMENT.

Abelard and Eloisa flourished in the twelfth century; they were two of the most distinguished persons of their age in learning and beauty, but for nothing more famous than for their unfortunate passion. After a long course of calamities, they retired each to a several convent, and consecrated the remainder of their days to religion. It was many years after this separation that a letter of Abelard's to a friend, which contained the history of his misfortune, fell into the hands of Eloisa.

This, awakening all her tenderness, occasioned those celebrated letters (out of which the following is partly extracted) which give so lively a picture of the struggles of grace and nature, virtue and passion.

In these deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heavenly-pensive Contemplation dwells, And ever-musing Melancholy reigns, What means this tumult in a vestal's veins?

Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?

Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?

Yet, yet I love!--From Abelard it came, And Eloisa yet must kiss the name.

Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd, Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd: 10 Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise Where, mix'd with God's, his loved idea lies: Oh write it not, my hand!--the name appears Already written--wash it out, my tears!

In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays, Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.

Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains: Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn; Ye grots and caverns, shagg'd with horrid thorn! 20 Shrines! where their vigils pale-eyed virgins keep, And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep!

Though cold like you, unmoved and silent grown, I have not yet forgot myself to stone.

All is not Heaven's while Abelard has part, Still rebel nature holds out half my heart; Nor prayers nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain, Nor tears for ages taught to flow in vain.

Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose, That well-known name awakens all my woes. 30 Oh, name for ever sad! for ever dear!

Still breathed in sighs, still usher'd with a tear.

I tremble too, where'er my own I find, Some dire misfortune follows close behind.

Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow, Led through a sad variety of woe; Now warm in love, now withering in my bloom, Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!

There stern religion quench'd the unwilling flame, There died the best of passions, Love and Fame. 40

Yet write, oh! write me all, that I may join Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.

Nor foes nor fortune take this power away; And is my Abelard less kind than they?

Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare, Love but demands what else were shed in prayer; No happier task these faded eyes pursue; To read and weep is all they now can do.

Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief; Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief! 50 Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid; They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires, Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires; The virgin's wish without her fears impart, Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart, Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.

Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame, When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name; 60 My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind, Some emanation of the all-beauteous Mind.

Those smiling eyes, attempering every ray, Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.

Guiltless I gazed; Heaven listen'd while you sung; And truths divine came mended from that tongue.

From lips like those, what precept fail'd to move?

Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love: Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran, Nor wish'd an angel whom I loved a man. 70 Dim and remote the joys of saints I see; Nor envy them that heaven I lose for thee.

How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said, Curse on all laws but those which Love has made!

Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.

Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame, August her deed, and sacred be her fame; 80 Before true passion all those views remove; Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love?

The jealous god, when we profane his fires, Those restless passions in revenge inspires, And bids them make mistaken mortals groan, Who seek in love for aught but love alone.

Should at my feet the world's great master fall, Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn them all: Not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove; No, make me mistress to the man I love; If there be yet another name more free, More fond than mistress, make me that to thee! 90 Oh, happy state! when souls each other draw, When love is liberty, and nature law: All then is full, possessing and possess'd, No craving void left aching in the breast: Even thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part, And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.

This, sure, is bliss (if bliss on earth there be) And once the lot of Abelard and me.

Alas, how changed! what sudden horrors rise!

A naked lover bound and bleeding lies! 100 Where, where was Eloise? her voice, her hand, Her poniard, had opposed the dire command.

Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain; The crime was common, common be the pain.

I can no more; by shame, by rage suppress'd, Let tears and burning blushes speak the rest.

Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day, When victims at yon altar's foot we lay?

Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell, When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell? 110 As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil, The shrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale: Heaven scarce believed the conquest it survey'd, And saints with wonder heard the vows I made.

Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew, Not on the cross my eyes were fix'd, but you: Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call, And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.

Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe; Those still at least are left thee to bestow. 120 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 press'd; Give all thou canst--and let me dream the rest.

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.

Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy care, Plants of thy hand, and children of thy prayer. 130 From the false world in early youth they fled, By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led.

You raised these hallow'd walls; the desert smiled, And Paradise was open'd in the wild.

No weeping orphan saw his father's stores Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors; No silver saints, by dying misers given, Here bribed the rage of ill-requited Heaven: But such plain roofs as Piety could raise, And only vocal with the Maker's praise. 140 In these lone walls, (their day's eternal bound) These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown'd, Where awful arches make a noonday night, And the dim windows shed a solemn light; Thy eyes diffused a reconciling ray, And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day.

But now no face divine contentment wears, 'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears.

See how the force of others' prayers I try, (Oh pious fraud of amorous charity!) 150 But why should I on others' prayers depend?

Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!

Ah, let thy handmaid, sister, daughter move, And all those tender names in one--thy love!

The darksome pines that, o'er yon rocks reclined, Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind, The wandering 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; 160 No more these scenes my meditation aid, Or lull to rest the visionary maid.

But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves, Long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves, Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws A death-like silence, and a dread repose: Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene, Shades every flower, and darkens every green, Deepens the murmur of the falling floods, And breathes a browner horror on the woods. 170

Yet here for ever, ever must I stay; Sad proof how well a lover can obey!

Death, only death, can break the lasting chain; And here, even then, shall my cold dust remain; Here all its frailties, all its flames resign, And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.

Ah, wretch! believed the spouse of God in vain, Confess'd within the slave of love and man.

Assist me, Heaven! but whence arose that prayer?

Sprung it from piety, or from despair? 180 Even here, where frozen chastity retires, Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.

I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought; I mourn the lover, not lament the fault; I view my crime, but kindle at the view, Repent old pleasures, and solicit new; Now turn'd to Heaven, I weep my past offence, Now think of thee, and curse my innocence.

Of all affliction taught a lover yet, 'Tis sure the hardest science to forget! 190 How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense, And love the offender, yet detest the offence?

How the dear object from the crime remove, Or how distinguish penitence from love?

Unequal task! a passion to resign, For hearts so touch'd, so pierced, so lost as mine.

Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state, How often must it love, how often hate!

How often hope, despair, resent, regret, Conceal, disdain,--do all things but forget! 200 But let Heaven seize it, all at once 'tis fired; Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspired!

Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue, Renounce my love, my life, myself--and you.

Fill my fond heart with God alone, for He Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.

How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot!

The world forgetting, by the world forgot: Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!

Each prayer accepted, and each wish resign'd; 210 Labour and rest, that equal periods keep; 'Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;'

Desires composed, affections ever even; Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to heaven.

Grace shines around her with serenest beams, And whispering angels prompt her golden dreams.

For her the 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 heavenly harps she dies away, And melts in visions of eternal day.

Far other dreams my erring soul employ, Far other raptures, of unholy joy: When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day, Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away, Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free, All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.

O curst, dear horrors of all-conscious night!

How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight! 230 Provoking demons all restraint remove, And stir within me every 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, 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! 240 Alas, no more! methinks we wandering go Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe, Where round some mouldering tower pale ivy creeps, And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.

Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies; 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, ordain A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain; 250 Thy life a long dead calm of fix'd repose; No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows.

Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow, Or moving spirit bade the waters flow; Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiven, And mild as opening gleams of promised heaven.