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
to
a
friend
,
which
contained
the
history
of
his
misfortunes
,
fell
into
the
hands
of
Eloisa
:
this
occasioned
those
celebrated
letters
(
out
of
which
the
following
is
partly
extract
ed
)
which
give
so
lively
a
picture
of
the
struggles
of
grace
and
nature
,
virtue
and
passion
.
ABELARD
TO
ELOISA
.
BY
MR.
CAWTHORNE
,
MASTER
OF
TUNBRIDGE-SCHOOL
.
AH
,
why
this
boding
start
?
this
sudden
pain
,
That
wings
my
pulse
,
and
shoots
from
vein
to
vein
?
What
mean
,
regardless
of
yon
midnight
bell
,
These
earth-born
visions
saddening
o'er
my
cell
?
What
strange
disorder
prompts
these
thoughts
to
glow
?
These
sighs
to
murmur
,
and
these
tears
to
flow
?
'Tis
she
,
'tis
Eloisa's
form
restor'd
,
Once
a
pure
saint
,
and
more
than
saints
ador'd
:
She
comes
in
all
her
killing
charms
confest
,
Glares
thro'
the
gloom
,
and
pours
upon
my
breast
,
Bids
heav'n's
bright
guard
from
Paraclete
remove
,
And
drags
me
back
to
misery
and
love
.
Enjoy
thy
triumphs
,
dear
illusion
!
see
This
sad
apostate
from
his
God
to
thee
;
See
,
at
thy
call
,
my
guilty
warmths
return
,
Flame
thro'
my
blood
,
and
steal
me
from
my
urn
.
Yet
,
yet
,
frail
Abelard
!
one
effort
try
,
Ere
the
last
lingering
spark
of
virtue
die
;
The
deadly
charming
sorceress
controul
,
And
spite
of
nature
tear
her
from
thy
soul
.
Long
has
that
soul
in
these
unsocial
woods
,
Where
anguish
muses
,
and
where
horror
broods
,
From
love's
wild
visionary
wishes
stray'd
,
And
sought
to
lose
thy
beauties
in
the
shade
,
Faith
dropt
a
smile
,
devotion
lent
her
fire
,
Woke
the
keen
pang
,
and
sanctify'd
desire
;
Led
me
enraptur'd
to
the
blest
abode
,
And
taught
my
heart
to
glow
with
all
its
God
.
But
oh
,
how
weak
fair
faith
and
virtue
prove
!
When
Eloisa
melts
away
in
love
!
When
her
fond
soul
impassion'd
,
rapt
,
unveil'd
,
No
joy
forgotten
,
and
no
wish
conceal'd
,
Flows
thro'
her
pen
as
infant
softness
free
,
And
fiercely
springs
in
ecstasies
to
me
.
Ye
heavens
!
as
walking
in
yon
sacred
fane
With
every
seraph
warm
in
every
vein
,
Just
as
remorse
had
rous'd
an
aking
sigh
,
And
my
torn
soul
hung
trembling
in
my
eye
,
In
that
kind
hour
thy
fatal
letter
came
,
I
saw
,
I
gaz'd
,
I
shiver'd
at
the
name
;
The
conscious
lamps
at
once
forgot
to
shine
,
Prophetic
tremors
shook
the
hallow'd
shrine
;
Priests
,
censors
,
altars
from
thy
genius
fled
,
And
heaven
itself
shut
on
me
while
I
read
.
Dear
smiling
mischief
!
art
thou
still
the
same
,
The
still
pale
victim
of
too
soft
a
flame
?
Warm
,
as
when
first
with
more
than
mortal
shine
Each
melting
eye-ball
mix'd
thy
soul
with
mine
?
Have
not
thy
tears
for
ever
taught
to
flow
,
The
glooms
of
absence
,
and
the
pangs
of
woe
,
The
pomp
of
sacrifice
,
the
whisper'd
tale
,
The
dreadful
vow
yet
hovering
o'er
thy
veil
,
Drove
this
bewitching
fondness
from
thy
breast
?
Curb'd
the
loose
wish
,
and
form'd
each
pulse
to
rest
?
And
canst
thou
still
,
still
bend
the
suppliant
knee
To
love's
dread
shrine
,
and
weep
and
sigh
for
me
?
Then
take
me
,
take
me
,
lock
me
in
thy
arms
,
Spring
to
my
lips
,
and
give
me
all
thy
charms
:
No
,
fly
me
,
fly
me
,
spread
th'
impatient
sail
,
Steal
the
lark's
wing
,
and
mount
the
swiftest
gale
;
Skim
the
last
ocean
,
freeze
beneath
the
pole
;
Renounce
me
,
curse
me
,
root
me
from
thy
soul
;
Fly
,
fly
,
for
justice
bares
the
arm
of
God
,
And
the
grasp'd
vengeance
only
waits
his
nod
.
Are
these
my
wishes
?
can
they
thus
aspire
?
Does
phrenzy
form
them
,
or
does
grace
inspire
?
Can
Abelard
,
in
hurricanes
of
zeal
,
Betray
his
heart
,
and
teach
thee
not
to
feel
?
Teach
thy
enamour'd
spirit
to
disown
Each
human
warmth
,
and
chill
thee
into
stone
?
Ah
,
rather
let
my
tenderest
accents
move
The
last
wild
tumults
of
unholy
love
!
On
that
dear
bosom
trembling
let
me
lie
,
Pour
out
my
soul
,
and
in
fierce
raptures
die
,
Rouze
all
my
passions
,
act
my
joys
anew
,
Farewell
,
ye
cells
!
ye
martyr'd
saints
!
adieu
:
Sleep
,
conscience
,
sleep
!
each
awful
thought
be
drown'd
,
And
seven-fold
darkness
veil
the
scene
around
.
What
means
this
pause
,
this
agonizing
start
?
This
glimpse
of
heaven
quick-rushing
thro'
my
heart
?
Methinks
I
see
a
radiant
cross
display'd
,
A
wounded
Saviour
bl
eds
along
the
shade
;
Around
th'
expiring
God
bright
angels
fly
,
Swell
the
loud
hymn
,
and
open
all
the
sky
:
O
save
me
,
save
me
,
ere
the
thunders
roll
,
And
hell's
black
caverns
swallow
up
my
soul
.
Return
,
ye
hours
!
when
guiltless
of
a
stain
,
My
strong-plum'd
genius
throbb'd
in
every
vein
,
When
warm'd
with
all
th'
Aegyptian
fanes
inspir'd
,
All
Athens
boasted
,
and
all
Rome
admir'd
;
My
merit
in
its
full
meridian
shone
,
Each
rival
blushing
,
and
each
heart
my
own
.
Return
,
ye
scenes
!
ah
no
,
from
fancy
fly
,
On
time's
stretch'd
wing
,
till
each
idea
die
,
Eternal
fly
,
since
all
that
learning
gave
Too
weak
to
conquer
,
and
too
fond
to
save
,
To
love's
soft
empire
every
wish
betray'd
,
And
left
my
laurels
withering
in
the
shade
.
Let
me
forget
,
that
while
deceitful
fame
Grasp'd
her
shrill
trump
,
and
fill'd
it
with
my
name
,
Thy
stronger
charms
,
impower'd
by
heav'n
to
move
Each
saint
,
each
blest
insensible
to
love
,
At
once
my
soul
from
bright
ambition
won
,
I
hugg'd
the
dart
,
I
wish'd
to
be
undone
;
No
more
pale
science
durst
my
thoughts
engage
,
Insipid
dulness
hung
on
every
page
;
The
midnight
lamp
no
more
enjoy'd
its
blaze
,
No
more
my
spirit
flew
from
maze
to
maze
:
Thy
glances
bade
philosophy
resign
Her
throne
to
thee
,
and
every
sense
was
thine
.
But
what
could
all
the
frosts
of
wisdom
do
,
Oppos'd
to
beauty
,
when
it
melts
in
you
?
Since
these
dark
,
cheerless
,
solitary
caves
,
Death-breathing
woods
,
and
daily-opening
graves
,
Mis-shapen
rocks
,
wild
images
of
woe
,
For
ever
howling
to
the
deeps
below
;
Ungenial
desarts
,
where
no
vernal
shower
Wakes
the
green
herb
,
or
paints
th'
unfolding
flower
;
Th'
imbrowning
glooms
these
holy
mansions
shed
,
The
night-born
horrors
brooding
o'er
my
bed
,
The
dismal
scenes
black
melancholy
pours
O'er
the
sad
visions
of
enanguish'd
hours
;
Lean
abstinence
,
wan
grief
,
low-thoughted
care
,
Distracting
guilt
,
and
hell's
worst
fiend
,
despair
,
Conspire
,
in
vain
,
with
all
the
aids
of
art
,
To
blot
thy
dear
idea
from
my
heart
.
Delusive
,
sightless
god
of
warm
desire
!
Why
would'st
thou
wish
to
set
a
wretch
on
fire
?
Why
lives
thy
soft
divinity
where
woe
Heaves
the
pale
sigh
,
and
anguish
loves
to
glow
?
Fly
to
the
mead
,
the
daisy-painted
vale
,
Breathe
in
its
sweets
,
and
melt
along
the
gale
;
Fly
where
gay
scenes
luxurious
youths
employ
,
Where
every
moment
steals
the
wing
of
joy
;
There
may'st
thou
see
,
low
prostrate
at
thy
throne
,
Devoted
slaves
and
victims
all
thy
own
:
Each
village-swain
the
turf-built
shrine
shall
raise
,
And
kings
command
whole
hecatombs
to
blaze
.
O
memory
!
ingenious
to
revive
Each
fleeting
hour
,
and
teach
the
past
to
live
,
Witness
what
conflicts
this
frail
bosom
tore
!
What
griefs
I
suffer'd
!
and
what
pangs
I
bore
!
How
long
I
struggled
,
labour'd
,
strove
to
save
An
heart
that
panted
to
be
still
a
slave
!
When
youth
,
warmth
,
rapture
,
spirit
,
love
,
and
flame
,
Seiz'd
every
sense
,
and
burnt
thro'
all
my
frame
;
From
youth
,
warmth
,
rapture
,
to
these
wilds
I
fled
,
My
food
the
herbage
,
and
the
rock
my
bed
.
There
,
while
these
venerable
cloisters
rise
O'er
the
bleak
surge
,
and
gain
upon
the
skies
,
My
wounded
soul
indulg'd
the
tear
to
flow
O'er
all
her
sad
vicissitudes
of
woe
;
Profuse
of
life
,
and
yet
afraid
to
die
,
Guilt
in
my
heart
,
and
horror
in
my
eye
,
With
ceaseless
prayers
,
the
whole
artillery
given
To
win
the
mercies
of
offended
heaven
,
Each
hill
,
made
vocal
,
eccho'd
all
around
,
While
my
torn
breast
knock'd
bleeding
on
the
ground
.
Yet
,
yet
,
alas
!
tho'
all
my
moments
fly
Stain'd
by
a
tear
,
and
darken'd
in
a
sigh
;
Tho'
meagre
fasts
have
on
my
cheek
display'd
The
dusk
of
death
,
and
sunk
me
to
a
shade
,
Spite
of
myself
the
still-impoisoning
dart
Shoots
thro'
my
blood
,
and
drinks
up
all
my
heart
;
My
vows
and
wishes
wildly
disagree
,
And
grace
itself
mistakes
my
God
for
thee
.
Athwart
the
glooms
,
that
wrap
the
midnight
sky
,
My
Eloisa
steals
upon
my
eye
;
For
ever
rises
in
the
solar
ray
,
A
phantom
brighter
than
the
blaze
of
day
:
Where-e'er
I
go
,
the
visionary
guest
Pants
on
my
lip
,
or
sinks
upon
my
breast
;
Unfolds
her
sweets
,
and
,
throbbing
to
destroy
,
Winds
round
my
heart
in
luxury
of
joy
;
While
loud
hosannas
shake
the
shrines
around
,
I
hear
her
softer
accents
in
the
sound
;
Her
idol-beauties
on
each
altar
glare
,
And
heaven
much-injur'd
has
but
half
my
prayer
:
No
tears
can
drive
her
hence
,
no
pangs
controul
,
For
every
object
brings
her
to
my
soul
.
Last
night
,
reclining
on
yon
airy
steep
,
My
busy
eyes
hung
brooding
o'er
the
deep
;
The
breathless
whirlwinds
slept
in
every
cave
,
And
the
soft
moon-beam
danc'd
from
wave
to
wave
;
Each
former
bliss
in
this
bright
mirror
seen
,
With
all
my
glories
,
dawn'd
upon
the
scene
,
Recall'd
the
dear
auspicious
hour
anew
,
When
my
fond
soul
to
Eloisa
flew
:
When
,
with
keen
speechless
ecstasies
opprest
,
Thy
frantic
lover
snatch'd
thee
to
his
breast
,
Gaz'd
on
thy
blushes
arm'd
with
every
grace
,
And
saw
the
goddess
beaming
in
thy
face
;
Saw
thy
wild
,
trembling
,
ardent
wishes
move
Each
pulse
to
rapture
,
and
each
glance
to
love
.
But
lo
!
the
winds
descend
,
the
billows
roar
,
Foam
to
the
clouds
,
and
burst
upon
the
shore
,
Vast
peals
of
thunder
o'er
the
ocean
roll
,
The
flame-wing'd
lightning
gleams
from
pole
to
pole
.
At
once
the
pleasing
images
withdrew
,
And
more
than
horrors
crouded
on
my
view
;
Thy
uncle's
form
,
in
all
his
ire
array'd
,
Serenely
dreadful
stalk'd
along
the
shade
,
Pierc'd
by
his
sword
,
I
sunk
upon
the
ground
,
The
spectre
ghastly
smil'd
upon
the
wound
;
A
group
of
black
infernals
round
me
hung
,
And
toss'd
my
infamy
from
tongue
to
tongue
.
Detested
wretch
!
how
impotent
thy
age
!
How
weak'thy
malice
!
and
how
kind
thy
rage
!
Spite
of
thyself
,
inhuman
as
thou
art
,
Thy
murdering
hand
has
left
me
all
my
heart
;
Left
me
each
tender
,
fond
affection
,
warm
,
A
nerve
to
tremble
,
and
an
eye
to
charm
.
No
,
cruel
,
cruel
,
exquisite
in
ill
,
Thou
thought'st
it
dull
barbarity
to
kill
;
My
death
had
robb'd
lost
vengeance
of
her
toil
,
And
scarcely
warm'd
a
Scythian
to
a
smile
:
Sublimer
furies
taught
thy
soul
to
glow
With
all
their
savage
mysteries
of
woe
;
Taught
thy
unfeeling
poniard
to
destroy
The
powers
of
nature
,
and
the
source
of
joy
;
To
stretch
me
on
the
racks
of
vain
desire
,
Each
passion
throbbing
,
and
each
wish
on
fire
;
Mad
to
enjoy
,
unable
to
be
blest
,
Fiends
in
my
veins
,
and
hell
within
my
breast
.
Aid
me
,
fair
faith
!
assist
me
,
grace
divine
!
Ye
martyrs
!
bless
me
,
and
ye
saints
!
refine
,
Ye
sacred
groves
!
ye
heaven-devoted
walls
!
Where
folly
sickens
,
and
where
virtue
calls
;
Ye
vows
!
ye
altars
!
from
this
bosom
tear
Voluptuous
love
,
and
leave
no
anguish
there
:
Oblivion
!
be
thy
blackest
plume
display'd
O'er
all
my
griefs
,
and
hide
me
in
the
shade
;
And
thou
,
too
fondly
idoliz'd
!
attend
,
While
awful
reason
whispers
in
the
friend
;
Friend
,
did
I
say
?
immortals
!
what
a
name
?
Can
dull
,
cold
friendship
,
own
so
wild
a
flame
?
No
;
let
thy
lover
,
whose
enkindling
eye
Shot
all
his
soul
between
thee
and
the
sky
,
Whose
warmths
bewitch'd
thee
,
whose
unhallow'd
song
Call'd
thy
rapt
ear
to
die
upon
his
tongue
,
Now
strongly
rouze
,
while
heaven
his
zeal
inspires
Diviner
transports
,
and
more
holy
fires
;
Calm
all
thy
passions
,
all
thy
peace
restore
,
And
teach
that
snowy
breast
to
heave
no
more
.
Torn
from
the
world
,
within
dark
cells
immur'd
,
By
angels
guarded
,
and
by
vows
secur'd
,
To
all
that
once
awoke
thy
fondness
dead
,
And
hope
,
pale
sorrow's
last
sad
refuge
,
fled
;
Why
wilt
thou
weep
,
and
sigh
,
and
melt
in
vain
,
Brood
o'er
false
joys
,
and
hug
th'ideal
chain
?
Say
,
canst
thou
wish
,
that
,
madly
wild
to
fly
From
yon
bright
portal
opening
in
the
sky
,
Thy
Abelard
should
bid
his
God
adieu
,
Pant
at
thy
feet
,
and
taste
thy
charms
anew
?
Ye
heavens
!
if
to
this
tender
bosom
woo'd
,
Thy
mere
idea
harrows
up
my
blood
;
If
one
faint
glimpse
of
Eloise
can
move
The
fiercest
,
wildest
agonies
of
love
;
What
shall
I
be
,
when
,
dazzling
as
the
light
,
Thy
whole
effulgence
flows
upon
my
sight
?
Look
on
thyself
,
consider
who
thou
art
,
And
learn
to
be
an
abbess
in
thy
heart
;
See
,
while
devotion's
ever-melting
strain
Pours
the
loud
organ
thro'
the
trembling
fane
,
Yon
pious
maids
each
earthly
wish
disown
,
Kiss
the
dread
cross
,
and
croud
upon
the
throne
:
O
let
thy
soul
the
sacred
charge
attend
,
Their
warmths
inspirit
,
and
their
virtues
mend
;
Teach
every
breast
from
every
hymn
to
steal
The
seraph's
meekness
,
and
the
seraph's
zeal
;
To
rise
to
rapture
,
to
dissolve
away
In
dreams
of
heaven
,
and
lead
thyself
the
way
,
Till
all
the
glories
of
the
blest
abode
Blaze
on
the
scene
,
and
every
thought
is
God
!
While
thus
thy
exemplary
cares
prevail
,
And
make
each
vestal
spotless
as
her
veil
,
Th'
eternal
spirit
o'er
thy
cell
shall
move
In
the
soft
image
of
the
mystic
dove
;
The
long-lost
gleams
of
heavenly
comfort
bring
Peace
in
his
smile
,
and
healing
on
his
wing
;
At
once
remove
affliction
from
thy
breast
,
Melt
o'er
thy
soul
,
and
hush
her
pangs
to
rest
.
O
that
my
soul
,
from
love's
curst
bondage
free
,
Could
catch
the
transports
that
I
urge
to
thee
!
O
that
some
angel's
more
than
magic
art
Would
kindly
tear
the
hermit
from
his
heart
!
Extinguish
every
guilty
sense
,
and
leave
No
pulse
to
riot
,
and
no
sigh
to
heave
.
Vain
fruitless
wish
!
still
,
still
,
the
vigorous
flame
Bursts
,
like
an
earthquake
,
thro'
my
shatter'd
frame
;
Spite
of
the
joys
that
truth
and
virtue
prove
,
I
feel
but
thee
,
and
breathe
not
but
to
love
;
Repent
in
vain
,
scarce
wish
to
be
forgiven
;
Thy
form
my
idol
,
and
thy
charms
my
heaven
.
Yet
,
yet
,
my
fair
!
thy
nobler
efforts
try
,
Lift
me
from
earth
,
and
give
me
to
the
sky
;
Let
my
lost
soul
thy
brighter
virtues
feel
,
Warm'd
with
thy
hopes
,
and
wing'd
with
all
thy
zeal
.
And
when
,
low
bending
at
the
hallow'd
shrine
,
Thy
contrite
heart
shall
Abelard
resign
;
When
pitying
heaven
,
impatient
to
forgive
,
Unbars
the
gates
of
light
,
and
bids
thee
live
;
Seize
on
th'auspicious
moment
ere
it
flee
,
And
ask
the
same
immortal
boon
for
me
.
Then
when
these
black
terrific
scenes
are
o'er
,
And
rebel
nature
chills
the
soul
no
more
;
When
on
thy
cheek
th'
expiring
roses
fade
,
And
thy
last
lustres
darken
in
the
shade
;
When
arm'd
with
quick
varieties
of
pain
,
Or
creeping
dully
slow
from
vein
to
vein
,
Pale
death
shall
set
my
kindred
spirit
free
,
And
these
dead
orbs
forget
to
doat
on
thee
;
Some
pious
friend
,
whose
wild
affections
glow
Like
ours
,
in
sad
similitude
of
woe
,
Shall
drop
one
tender
,
sympathizing
tear
,
Prepare
the
garland
,
and
adorn
the
bier
;
Our
lifeless
reliques
in
one
tomb
enshrine
,
And
teach
thy
genial
dust
to
mix
with
mine
.
Mean
while
,
divinely
purg'd
from
every
stain
,
Our
active
souls
shall
climb
th'
etherial
plain
,
To
each
bright
cherub's
purity
aspire
,
Catch
ali
his
zeal
,
and
pant
with
all
his
fire
;
There
,
where
no
face
the
glooms
of
anguish
wears
,
No
uncle
murders
,
and
no
passion
tears
,
Enjoy
with
heaven
eternity
of
rest
,
For
ever
blessing
,
and
for
ever
blest
.