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Shwretch! believed the spouse of God in vain, Confefsid within the Have offove and Man:
A B E L A R D.
N these deep folitudes and awful cells,
Where heav'nly-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 ?
5 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 seal’d; 10 Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd Idea lies: O write it not my
the name appears Already written wash it out, my tears!
In vain loft Eloïsa weeps and prays,
15 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; Yegrots and caverns shagg’d with horrid thorn! 20 Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep, And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep! Tho'cold like you, unmov'd and silent grown, I have not yet forgot myself to stone. All is not Heav'n's while Abelard has part, 25 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. 30 Oh name for ever fad! for ever dear! Still breath'd in fighs, 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,
35 Led thro' a sad variety of woe : Now warm in love, now with’ring in my bloom, Loft in a convent's folitary gloom!
There stern Religion quench'd th’unwilling flame,
Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
Then share thy pain, allow that fad relief;
Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame,
Those smiling eyes, attemp’ring ev'ry ray,
How oft, when prefs’d to marriage, have I said, Curse on all laws but those which love has made ! Love, free as air, at fight of human ties,
75 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; Before true passion all those views remove, Fame, wealth, and honour ! what are you to Love?
NOTES Ver. 66. And truths divine, etc.) He was her Preceptor in Philosophy and Divinity.
Love will not be confin'd by Maisterie: