:

Ah come not, write not, think not once of me,
Nor share one Pang of all I felt for thee.
Thy Oaths I quit, thy Memory resign.
Forget, renounceme, hate whate'er was mine.
Fair Eyes, and tempting Looks (which yet I view!)
Long lov'd, ador'd Ideas! all adieu!
O Grace serene! oh Virtue heav'nly fair!
Divine Oblivion of low-thoughted Care !
Fresh blooming Hope, gay Daughter of the Sky!

And Faith, our early Immortality!
Enter each mild, each amicable Guest;
Receive, and wrap me in eternal Rest!

Abelard and Eloisa were interr'd in the same Grave or in Monuments adjoining, in the Monastery of Paracelete: He died in the Year 1142, she in 1163. He founded the Monastery.

When she speaks of her entring into Vows what a moving and paffionate Description she gives of it.

Canft thou forget what Tears that Moment fell, When warm in Youth I bade the World farewel? As with cold Lips I kiss'd the trembling Veil, The Shrines all trembled and the Lamps grew pale: Heaven scarce believ'd the Conquest it survey'd And Saints with Wonder heard the Vows I made.

He was her Tutor in Philofophy and Divinity, but each being overcome by the Love of the other. At last their chief Study grew how to procure reciprocal and mutual Delight, which being discover'd brought on a tragick Scene of Separation, and a Wound to Abelard worse than Death, for her Relations caus'd him to be unmann'd, which no way abated the Warmth of Eloifa's Paffion.

Nature

Nature stands check'd, Religion disapproves,
Even thou art cold, yet Eloisa loves.

I believe it is not in the Power of our Language to go beyond this Poem in Tenderness and Harmony, and yet the Verfes to the Memory of an unfortunate Lady are esteemed equal to them.

This Lady seems to have been a particular Favourite of our Poet, whether he himself was the Person she was remov'd from I am not able to say, but whoever reads his. Verses to her Memory, will find she had a very great Share in him.

This young Lady who was of Quality, had a very large Fortune, and was in the Eye of our difcerning Poet a great Beauty, was left under the Guardianship of an Uncle who gave her an Education fuitable to her Title, for Mr. Pope declares she had Titles and she was thought a fit Match for the greatest Peer, but very young the contracted an Acquaintance and afterwards fome Degree of Intimacy with a Young Gentleman, who, is only imagined, and having fettled her Affections there, refus'd a Match propos'd to her by her Uncle, Spies being fet upon her it was not long before her Correspondence with her Lover of lower Degree was discover'd, which when tax'd with by her Uncle, she had too much Truth and Honour to deny. The Uncle finding that she could not, nor would strive to withdraw her Regard from him, after a little Time forc'd her Abroad, where she was receiv'd with all due Respect to her Quality, but kept up from the Sight or Speech of any Body but the Creatures of this fevere Guardian, so that it was impoffible for her Lover even to deliver a Letter that might ever come to her Hand.

Several

Several were receiv'd from him with Promises to get them privately deliver'd to her, but those were all sent to England and only serv'd to make them more Cautious who had her in Care.

She languish'd here a confiderable Time, went through a great deal of Sickness and Sorrow, wept and figh'd continually, at last wearied out and defpairing quite, the unfortunate Lady-as Mr. Pope justly calls her, put an End to her own Life, having bribed a Woman Servant to procure her a Sword, she was found Dead upon the Ground, but warm, the Severity af the Laws of the Place where she was in, denied her Christian Burial, and she was buried without Solemnity, or even any to wait on her to her Grave, except some Young People of the Neighbourhood, who saw her put into common Ground, and strew'd her Grave with Flowers.

Which gave some Offence to the Priesthood, who would have buried her in the Highway, but it seems their Power there did not extend so far.

The Poem not being very long may serve for a farther Illustration of this Affair, where the Exprefsions are so strong and Natural, that the Heart must have had no little Share in the Composition.

What beck'ning Ghost, along the moonlight Shade Invites my Steps, and points to yonder Glade? 'Tis she!-but why that bleeding Bosom gor'd, Why dimly gleams the visionary Sword? Oh ever beauteous, ever firiendly ! tell, Is it in Heav'n a Crime to love too well? To bear too tender, or too firm a Heart, To act a Lover's or a Roman's Part? Is there no bright Reversion in the Sky, For those who greatly think, or bravely die?

Why

Why bade ye else, ye Pow'rs! her Soul afpire
Above the vulgar Flight of low Defire ?
Ambition first sprung from your blest Abodes;
The glorious Fault of Angels and of Gods :
Thence to their Images on Earth it flows,
And in the Breast of Kings and Heroes glows!
Most Souls, 'tis true, but peep out once an Age,
Dull fullen Pris'ners in the Body's Cage:
Dim Lights of Life that burn a Length of Years,
Useless, unseen, as Lamps in Sepulchres:
Like Eastern Kings a lazy State they keep,
And close confin'd in their own Palace fleep.

From thefe perhaps (e'er Nature bade her die)
Fate snatch'd her early to the pitying Sky.
As into Air the purer Spirits flow,
And sep'rate from their kindred Dregs below;
So flew the Soul to its congenial Place,
▲ Nor left one Virtue to redeem her Race.

But thou, false Guardian of a Charge too good,
Thou, mean Deferter of thy Brother's Blood!
See on these Ruby Lips the trembling Breath,
These Cheeks, now fading at the Blast of Death:
Cold is that Breast which warm'd the World before,
And those Love-darting Eyes must roll no more.
Thus, if eternal Justice rules the Ball,
Thus shall your Wives, and thus your Children fall :
On all the Line a sudden Vengeance waits,
And frequent Herses shall besiege your Gates.
There Passengers shall stand, and pointing say,
(While the long Fun'rals blacken all the Way)
Lo these were they, whose Souls the Furies steel'd,
And curs'd with Hearts unknowing how to yield.
Thus unlamented pass the Proud away,
The Gaze of Fools, and Pageant of a Day!
So perish all, whose Breast ne'er learn'd to glow
For others Good, or melt at others Woe.

What

What can atone (oh ever injur'd Shade !) Thy Fate unpity'd, and thy Rites unpaid? No Friend's Complaint, no kind doméstick Tear Pleas'd thy pale Ghost, or grac'd thy mournful Bier; By foreign Hands thy dying Eyes were clos'd, By foreign Hands thy decent Limbs compos'd, By foreign Hands thy humble Grave adorn'd, By Strangers honour'd, and by Strangers mourn'd! What tho' no Friends in sable Weeds appear, Grieve for an Hour, perhaps, then mourn a Year, And bear about the Mockery of Woe To midnight Dances, and the publick Show ? What tho' no weeping Loves thy Afhes grace, Nor polish'd Marble emulate thy Face! What tho' no facred Earth allow thee Room, Nor hallow'd Dirge be mutter'd oe'r thy Tomb? Yet shall thy Grave with rifing Flow'rs be drest, And the green Turf lie lightly on thy Breast:.. There shall the Morn her earliest Tears befstow, There the first Roses of the Year shall blow; While Angels with their filver Wings o'ershade The Ground, now facred by thy Reliques made.

So peaceful refts, without a Stone a Name, What once had Beauty, Titles, Wealth, and Fame. How lov'd, how honour'd once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot; A Heap of Dust alone remains of thee; 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!

Poets themselves must fall, like those they sung; Deaf the prais'd Ear, and mute the tuneful Tongue. Ev'n he, whose Soul now melts in mournful Lays, Shall shortly want the gen'rous Tear he pays; Then from his clofing Eyes thy Form shall part, And the last Pang shall tear thee from his Heart; Life's idle Business at one Gafp be over, The Muse forgot, and thou belov'd no more!....

"

Befides