Ah Wretch! believ'd the Spouse of God in vain Confefod within the Slave of Love and Man.
N these deep folitudes and awful cells,
Where heav'nly-penfive 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 Eloïsa yet must kiss the name.
Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd,
Nor pass these lips in holy filence feal'd;
Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd Idea lies :
O write it not my hand - the name appears
Already written-wash it out, my tears!
In vain loft Eloïsa weeps and prays,
Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.
Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains
Repentant fighs, 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-ey'd virgins keep,
And pitying faints, whose statues learn to weep !
Tho' cold like you, unmov'd and filent grown,
I have not yet forgot myself to ftone.
All is not Heav'n's while Abelard has part,
Still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
Nor pray'rs 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.
Oh name for ever fad! for ever dear!
Still breath'd 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 thro' a sad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom,
Lost in a convent's folitary gloom!
There ftern Religion quench'd th'unwilling flame,
There dy'd the best of passions, Love and Fame. 40
Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo fighs to thine.
Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away;
And is my Abelard less kind than they?
Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare, 45
Love but demands what else were shed in pray'r;
No happier task these faded eyes pursue;
To read and weep is all they now can do.
Then share thy pain, allow that fad relief;
Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief.
Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
Some banish'd lover, or fome captive maid;
They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
Warm from the foul, 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 foul to foul,
And waft a figh from Indus to the Pole.
Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame, When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name; My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind, Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind. Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry ray, Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day. Guiltless I gaz'd; heav'n listen'd while you sung; 65 And truths divine came mended from that tongue. From lips like those what precept fail'd to move Too foon they taught me 'twas no fin to love : Back thro' the paths of pleasing sense I ran, Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man. Dim and remote the joys of faints I see; Nor envy them that heav'n I lofe for thee.
VER. 66. And truths divine, etc] He was her Preceptor in
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