  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. ELOISA TO ABELARD. In these deep solitudes 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 Eloisa yet must kiss the name. Dear fatal name! rest ever unrevealed, Nor pass these lips in holy silence sealed: 10 Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Where, mixed with God's, his loved idea O write it not, my hand—the name appears Already written In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays, 15 Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys. Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains: Ye rugged rocks, which holy knees have worn; Ye grots and caverns, shagged with horrid thorn! 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 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 sad! for ever dear! Still breathed in sighs, still ushered with a tear. Some dire misfortune follows close behind. Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow, 35 Led through a sad variety of woe: Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom, Lost in a convent's solitary gloom! There stern religion quenched th' unwilling flame, There died the best of passions, love and fame. 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 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. Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief. Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid, Some banished 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, 55 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 approached me under friendship's name; My fancy formed 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; And truths divine came mended from that tongue. From lips like those, what precept failed to move? Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love: Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran, Nor wished an angel whom I loved a man. Dim and remote the joys of saints I see: Nor envy them that heav'n I lose for thee. How oft, when pressed to marriage, have I said, Curse on all laws but those which love has made! Love, free as air, at sight 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; Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to love? 80 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, 85 Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn them all; Not CÆsar'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, Oh! happy state! when souls each other draw, When love is liberty, and nature, law: All then is full, possessing and possessed, No craving void left aching in the breast: Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part, 95 And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart. And once the lot of Abelard and me. Alas, how changed! what sudden horrors rise! A naked lover bound and bleeding lies! Where, where was Eloise? her voice, her hand, Her poniard, had opposed the dire command. Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke The crime was common, common be the pain. I can no more; by shame, by rage suppressed, Let tears, and burning blushes speak the rest. Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day, When victims at yon Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell, When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell? The shrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale: Heav'n scarce believed the conquest it surveyed, And saints with wonder heard the vows I made. Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew, 115 Not on the cross my eyes were fixed, 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. Still on that breast enamoured let me lie, Still drink delicious poison from thy eye, Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be pressed; Give all thou canst—and let me dream the rest. Ah no! instruct me other joys to prize, 125 With other beauties charm my partial eyes, 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 pray'r; 130 From the false world in early youth they fled, By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led. You raised these hallowed walls; And Paradise was opened in the wild. No weeping orphan saw his father's stores 135 Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors: No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n, Here bribed the rage of ill-requited heav'n: But such plain roofs as piety could raise, And only vocal with the Maker's praise. In these lone walls (their day's eternal bound), These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crowned, And the dim windows shed a solemn light, Thy eyes diffused a reconciling ray, And gleams of glory brightened all the day. But now no face divine contentment wears, 'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears. See how the force of others' pray'rs I try, O pious fraud of am'rous charity! 150 But why should I on others' pray'rs 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 wand'ring streams that shine between the hills, The grots that echo to the tinkling rills, The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze; No more these scenes my meditation aid, Or lull to rest the visionary maid. But o'er the twilight groves Long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves, Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws 165 A death-like silence, and a dread repose: Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene, Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry green, Deepens the murmur of the falling floods, And breathes a browner horror on the woods. 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, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain; And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine. Ah wretch! believed the spouse of God in vain, Confessed within the slave of love and man. Assist me, heav'n! but whence arose that pray'r? Sprung it from piety, or from despair? Ev'n 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, 185 Repent old pleasures, and solicit new; Now turned to heav'n, 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! How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense, And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence? Or how distinguish penitence from love? Unequal task! a passion to resign, 195 For hearts so touched, 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 heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fired; Not touched, but rapt; not wakened, 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 205 Alone can rival, can succeed to thee. How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot: Eternal sun-shine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resigned; 210 Labour and rest, that equal periods keep; "Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;" Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to heav'n. Grace shines around her, with serenest beams, 215 And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams. For her, th' 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 heav'nly 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, 225 Fancy restores what vengeance snatched away, Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free, All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee. Oh cursed, dear horrors of all-conscious night! How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight! Provoking demons all restraint remove, And stir within me ev'ry 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, 235 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. Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise; Alas, no more!—methinks we wand'ring go Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe, Where round some mould'ring tow'r pale ivy creeps, And low-browed rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps. Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies; 245 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, A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain; 250 Thy life a long dead calm of fixed 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; And mild as op'ning gleams of promised heav'n. Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread? The torch of Venus burns not for the dead. Nature stands checked; religion disapproves; Ev'n thou art cold—yet Eloisa loves. 260 Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn. What scenes appear where'er I turn my view? The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue, Rise in the grove, before the altar rise, Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes. I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee, Thy image steals between my God and me, Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear, With ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear. When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll, And swelling organs lift the rising soul, One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight, Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight; While altars blaze, and angels tremble round. While prostr |
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