On reading Pope's Eloiza to Abelard.

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.