The origin of this famous poem seems to have lain jointly in Pope's perception of the poetic availability of the Héloïse-Abelard legend, and in his somewhat factitious grief in his separation from Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. They met in 1715, became friends, and in

ELOISA TO ABELARD

ARGUMENT

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.

And ever-musing Melancholy reigns,
What means this tumult in a vestal's veins ?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last re-
treat?

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 unreveal'd, Nor pass these lips, in holy silence 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 hand-the name appears

Already written wash it out, my tears!
In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays,
Her heart still dictates, and her hand
obeys.

Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains

Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:

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 safe variety of woe:

Now warm in love, now with'ring in my

Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve

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my woe; Those still at least are left thee to bestow. Still on that breast enamour'd let me lie, Still drink delicious poison from thy eye, Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press'd; Give all thou canst- and let me dream the rest.

Ah, no! instruct me other joys to prize, With other beauties charm my partial eyes! Full in my view set all the bright abode, And make my soul quit Abelard for God. Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy

in vain,

Confess'd within the slave of Love and man. Assist me, Heav'n! but whence arose that prayer?

Sprung it from piety or from despair? 180
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,
Repent old pleasures, and solicit new;
Now turn'd to Heav'n, I weep my past
offence,

Now think of thee, and curse my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,

"T is sure the hardest science to forget! 190 How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the