Ah come not, write not, think not once of me,
Nor share one Pang of all I felt for thee.

Thy Oaths I quit, thy Memory refign.
Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.
Fair Eyes, and tempting Looks (which yet I view!)
Long lov'd, ador'd Ideas! all adieu !

O Grace ferene! oh Virtue heav'nly fair!
Divine Oblivion of low-thoughted Care!
Fresh blooming Hope, gay Daughter of the Sky!
And Faith, our early Immortality!
Enter each mild, each amicable Gueft;
Receive, and wrap me in eternal Rest!

Abelard and Eloifa were interr'd in the fame Grave or in Monuments adjoining, in the Monaftery of Paracelete: He died in theYear 1142, the in 1163. He founded the Monaftery.

When she speaks of her entring into Vows what a moving and paffionate Description fhe gives of it.

Canft thou forget what Tears that Moment fell, When warm in Youth I bade the World farewel? As with cold Lips I kifs'd the trembling Veil, The Shrines all trembled and the Lamps grew pale: Heaven scarce believ'd the Conqueft it survey'd And Saints with Wonder heard the Vows I made.

He was her Tutor in Philofophy and Divinity, but each being overcome by the Love of the other. At laft their chief Study grew how to procure reciprocal and mutual Delight, which being difcover'd brought on a tragick Scene of Separation, and a Wound to Abelard worfe than Death, for her Relations caus'd him to be unmann'd, which no way abated the Warmth of Eloifa's Paffion.

Nature

Nature ftands check'd, Religion disapproves,
Even thou art cold, yet Bloifa loves.

I believe it is not in the Power of our Language to go beyond this Poem in Tenderness and Harmony, and yet the Verfes to the Memory of an unfortunate Lady are esteemed equal to them.

This Lady feems to have been a particular Favourite of our Poet, whether he himself was the Perfon the was removed from I am not able to say, but whoever reads his Verfes to her Memory, will find she had a very great Share in him.

This young Lady who was of Quality, had a very large Fortune, and was in the Eye of our difcerning Poet a great Beauty, was left under the Guardianfhip of an Uncle who gave her an Education fuitable to her Title, for Mr. Pope declares fhe had Titles and the was thought a ft Match for the greatest Peer, but very young the contracted an Acquaintance and afterwards fome Degree of Intimacy with a Young Gentleman, who, is only imagined, and having fettled her Affections there, refus'd a Match propos'd to her by her Uncle, Spies being fet upon her it was not long before her Correfpondence with her Lover of lower Degree was difcover'd, which when tax'd with by her Uncle, fhe had too much Truth and Honour to deny. The Uncle finding that she could not, nor would ftrive to withdraw her Regard from him, after a little Time forc'd her Abroad, where he was receiv'd with all due Respect to her Quality, but kept up from the Sight or Speech of any Body but the Creatures of this fevere Guardian, fo that it was impoffible for her Lover even to deliver a Letter that might ever come to her Hand,

Several

Several were receiv'd from him with Promises to get them privately deliver'd to her, but those were all fent to England and only ferv'd to make them more Cautious who had her in Care.

She languifh'd here a confiderable Time, went through a great deal of Sickness and Sorrow, wept and figh'd continually, at last wearied out and defpairing quite, the unfortunate Lady-as Mr. Pope juftly calls her, put an End to her own Life, having bribed a Woman Servant to procure her a Sword, fhe was found Dead upon the Ground, but warm, the Severity af the Laws of the Place where fhe was in, denied her Chriftian Burial, and she was buried without Solemnity, or even any to wait on her to her Grave, except fome Young People of the Neighbourhood, who faw her put into common Ground, and ftrew'd her Grave with Flowers.

Which gave fome Offence to the Priesthood, who would have buried her in the Highway, but it seems their Power there did not extend fo far.

The Poem not being very long may serve for a farther Illuftration of this Affair, where the Expreffions are fo ftrong and Natural, that the Heart muft have had no little Share in the Compofition.

What beck'ning Ghoft, along the moonlight Shade Invites my Steps, and points to yonder Glade? 'Tis fhe !-but why that bleeding Bofom gor'd, Why dimly gleams the vifionary Sword? Oh ever beauteous, ever firiendly! tell, Is it in Heav'n a Crime to love too well? To bear too tender, or too firm a Heart, To act a Lover's or a Roman's Part ? Is there no bright Reverfion in the Sky, For those who greatly think, or bravely die?

Why

Why bade ye elfe, ye Pow'rs! her Soul afpire
Above the vulgar Flight of low Defire?
Ambition first sprung from your bleft Abodes;
The glorious Fault of Angels and of Gods:
Thence to their Images on Earth it flows,
And in the Breast of Kings and Heroes glows!
Moft Souls, 'tis true, but peep out once an Age,
Dull fullen Pris❜ners in the Body's Cage:
Dim Lights of Life that burn a Length of Years,
Ufelefs, unfeen, as Lamps in Sepulchres :
Like Eaftern Kings a lazy State they keep,
And clofe confin'd in their own Palace fleep.
From thefe perhaps (e'er Nature bade her die)
Fate fnatch'd her early to the pitying Sky.
As into Air the purer Spirits flow,

And fep'rate from their kindred Dregs below;
So flew the Soul to its congenial Place,
Nor left one Virtue to redeem her Race.

But thou, false Guardian of a Charge too good,
Thou, mean Deserter of thy Brother's Blood!
See on these Ruby Lips the trembling Breath,
Thefe Cheeks, now fading at the Blast of Death:
Cold is that Breaft which warm'd the World before,
And thofe Love-darting Eyes muft roll no more.
Thus, if eternal Juftice rules the Ball,

Thus fhall your Wives, and thus your Children fall:
On all the Line a fudden Vengeance waits,
And frequent Herfes fhall befiege your Gates.
There Paffengers fhall ftand, and pointing fay,
(While the long Fun'rals blacken all the Way)
Lo these were they, whofe Souls the Furies fteel'd,
And curs'd with Hearts unknowing how to yield.
Thus unlamented pass the Proud away,
The Gaze of Fools, and Pageant of a Day!
So perifh all, whofe Breaft ne'er learn'd to glow
For others Good, or melt at others Woe.

What

What can atone (oh ever injur'd Shade !)
Thy Fate unpity'd, and thy Rites unpaid?
No Friend's Complaint, no kind domestick Tear
Pleas'd thy pale Ghoft, or grac'd thy mournful Bier
By foreign Hands thy dying Eyes were clos'd,
By foreign Hands thy decent Limbs compos'd,
By foreign Hands thy humble Grave adorn'd,
By Strangers honour'd, and by Strangers mourn'd!
What tho' no Friends in fable Weeds appear,
Grieve for an Hour, perhaps, then mourn a Year,
And bear about the Mockery of Woe

To midnight Dances, and the publick Show!
What tho' no weeping Loves thy Afhes grace,
Nor polish'd Marble emulate thy Face!
What tho' no facred Earth allow thee Room,
Nor hallow'd Dirge be mutter'd oe'r thy Tomb?
Yet fhall thy Grave with rifing Flow'rs be dreft,
And the green Turf lie lightly on thy Breast:
There fhall the Morn her earlieft Tears beftow,
There the firft Rofes' of the Year fhall blow;
While Angels with their filver Wings o'erfhade
The Ground, now facred by thy Reliques made.
So peaceful refts, without a Stone a Name,
What once had Beauty, Titles, Wealth, and Famė.
How lov'd, how honour'd once, avails thee not,
To whom related, or by whom begot;

A Heap of Duft alone remains of thee;
'Tis all thou art, and all the proud fhall be!

Poets themselves muft fall, like thofe they fung;
Deaf the prais'd Ear, and mute the tuneful Tongue.
Ev'n he, whofe Soul now melts in mournful Lays,
Shall fhortly want the gen'rous Tear he pays;
Then from his clofing Eyes thy Form shall part,
And the last Pang fhall tear thee from his Heart;
Life's idle Bufinefs at one Gafp be o'er,
The Mufe forgot, and thou belov'd no more!

Befides