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BELARD and Eloifa flourished in the twelfth Century; they were two of the moft diftinguished perfons 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 feveral Convent, and confecrated the remainder of their days to religion. It was many years after this feparation, that a letter of Abelard's to a Friend, which contained the hiftory of his misfortune, fell into the hands of Eloifa. This awakening all her tenderness, occafioned those celebrated letters (out of which the following is partly extracted) which give fo lively a picture of the struggles of grace and nature, virtue and paffion. P.
S.Wale inv: et del:
Ah Wretch believ'd the Spouse of God in vain,
El. to Ab:
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 ?
O write it not my
Dear fatal name! reft ever unreveal'd,
hand the name appears
wash it out, my tears!