On
reading
Pope's
Eloiza
to
Abelard
.
Sure
,
hapless
Fair
,
no
hearts
can
ever
know
,
But
banish'd
lovers
,
banish'd
lovers
'
woe
!
Ah
!
Eloiza
,
ever
exil'd
maid
,
I
read
thy
sorrows
,
sorrowing
as
I
read
:
My
sympathetic
heart
now
shares
thy
grief
,
Repeats
thy
sighs
,
and
wishes
thy
relief
:
But
when
I
hear
thee
unrelenting
boast
Thy
tainted
virtue
,
and
thy
honour
lost
,
All
sense
of
pity
in
my
bosom
dies
,
And
direful
tumults
of
reproaches
rise
:
No
passions
soft
,
or
sadly-pleasing
pain
,
But
rage
and
madness
in
thy
bosom
reign
;
Ah
!
must
thy
Abelard
exalted
be
,
Above
the
Maker
of
himself
and
thee
!
And
darest
thou
thus
explode
the
wedded
dame
,
Disclaim
her
virtues
,
and
disdain
her
same
:
Blush
,
Eloiza
,
at
a
thought
so
vain
,
Thy
face
with
crimson
let
confusion
stain
;
And
while
thy
bosom
glows
with
guilty
fire
;
Let
every
hope
of
happiness
expire
;
But
if
again
thou
would'st
my
pity
move
,
Lament
at
once
thy
honour
and
thy
love
.