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Eloisa to Abelard
The 18th century was a wealth of knowledge, exploration and rapidly growing technology and expanding record-keeping made possible by advances in the printing press. In its determination to preserve the century of revolution, Gale initiated a revolution of its digitization of epic proportions to preserve these invaluable works in the largest archive of its kind. Now for the first time these high-quality digital copies of original 18th century manuscripts are available in print, making them highly accessible to libraries, undergraduate students, and independent scholars.
Western literary study flows out of eighteenth-century works by Alexander Pope, Daniel Defoe, Henry Fielding, Frances Burney, Denis Diderot, Johann Gottfried Herder, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, and others. Experience the birth of the modern novel, or compare the development of language using dictionaries and grammar discourses.
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The below data was compiled from various identification fields in the bibliographic record of this title. This data is provided as an additional tool in helping to insure edition
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Bodleian Library (Oxford)
T185435
The booksellers' names appear to be fictitious. With a half-title.
printed for T. Daniel, W. Thompson, and J. Steele, and A. Todd, 1758. [2],24p.; 12
Western literary study flows out of eighteenth-century works by Alexander Pope, Daniel Defoe, Henry Fielding, Frances Burney, Denis Diderot, Johann Gottfried Herder, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, and others. Experience the birth of the modern novel, or compare the development of language using dictionaries and grammar discourses.
++++
The below data was compiled from various identification fields in the bibliographic record of this title. This data is provided as an additional tool in helping to insure edition
++++
Bodleian Library (Oxford)
T185435
The booksellers' names appear to be fictitious. With a half-title.
printed for T. Daniel, W. Thompson, and J. Steele, and A. Todd, 1758. [2],24p.; 12
22 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1717
7 people are currently reading
1068 people want to read
About the author
Alexander Pope
2,268 books691 followersPeople best remember
The Rape of the Lock
(1712) and
The Dunciad
(1728), satirical mock-epic poems of English writer Alexander Pope.
Ariel, a sylph, guards the heroine of The Rape of the Lock of Alexander Pope.
People generally regard Pope as the greatest of the 18th century and know his verse and his translation of Homer. After William Shakespeare and Alfred Tennyson, he ranks as third most frequently quoted in the language. Pope mastered the heroic couplet.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexand...
Ariel, a sylph, guards the heroine of The Rape of the Lock of Alexander Pope.
People generally regard Pope as the greatest of the 18th century and know his verse and his translation of Homer. After William Shakespeare and Alfred Tennyson, he ranks as third most frequently quoted in the language. Pope mastered the heroic couplet.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexand...
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 64 reviews
November 3, 2015
Reading this is like seeing words bleed to death at the hands of an angel.
"Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you.
Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call,
And if I lose thy love, I lose my all."
But also:
"Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art!
Oppose thyself to Heav'n; dispute my heart;
Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes
Blot out each bright idea of the skies."
I read the entire poem in my head, and at the fifth or sixth line I realized I was reading it singing the words in my mind, such was their musicality, such was the rythm of the composition. So I read it again, this time aloud, and this time I truly sang it.
It was very weird.
It was very beautiful.
It was very, very sad.
"Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you.
Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call,
And if I lose thy love, I lose my all."
But also:
"Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art!
Oppose thyself to Heav'n; dispute my heart;
Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes
Blot out each bright idea of the skies."
I read the entire poem in my head, and at the fifth or sixth line I realized I was reading it singing the words in my mind, such was their musicality, such was the rythm of the composition. So I read it again, this time aloud, and this time I truly sang it.
It was very weird.
It was very beautiful.
It was very, very sad.
March 25, 2019
How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d
I found that quote tonight, started thinking about the movie, felt the relentless urge to forget some, many things but, considering the impossibility (unless someone works at some Lacuna, Inc. firm, in which case please, do share the specifics), decided to keep adding books to the pile.
Jan 27, 19
Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.
Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away
And now I've read it. The complete story hardly epitomizes love (who am I to make a statement about it anyway...) but reading Pope's poem aloud, listening to every sound of Eloisa's musical hell, imagining every move, tear and thought, it's all a feast for the senses.
Maybe the biggest triumph of this weekend (it sounds sad so I added the "maybe") is that I was able to overcome some rampant sentimentality. I read it on one of my good days, apparently.
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain—do all things but forget.
March 24, 18
* Later on my blog.
September 21, 2013
Set up in the backdrop of the 12th century, this masterpiece of a work by Alexander Pope, depicts the misery of Eloisa within the confines of a monastery. Her crime: illicit love with her teacher Abelard. She refuses to conform to the laws of the convent, expresses her undying love, and resentment for not being able to make it happen. Abelard was castrated as punishment for loving her. There is a thing about unrequited love which touches you deep down. That feeling oozes unbounded throughout. Thank you 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' for letting me come across it:
'How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgotten by the world forgot.
Eternal Sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each prayer accepted and each wish resigned...'
'How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgotten by the world forgot.
Eternal Sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each prayer accepted and each wish resigned...'
Read
August 30, 2016Another genius.
I come, I come! prepare your roseate bow'rs,
Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs.
Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go,
Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow:
Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay,
And smooth my passage to the realms of day;
See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll,
Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul!
I come, I come! prepare your roseate bow'rs,
Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs.
Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go,
Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow:
Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay,
And smooth my passage to the realms of day;
See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll,
Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul!
October 7, 2025
Eloisa got that bipolar, religious-guilt rizz. She's just like me fr.
(also I'm not sure if this should count towards my reading goal but I'm a cheat so I'll count it anyway)
(also I'm not sure if this should count towards my reading goal but I'm a cheat so I'll count it anyway)
December 6, 2019
What a great poem with so much sadness.
It broke my heart quite a few times and it mended it too.
If one loves like Eloisa, one loves truly.
If one writes like Pope, one writes truly.
An undoubtful 5/5.
It broke my heart quite a few times and it mended it too.
If one loves like Eloisa, one loves truly.
If one writes like Pope, one writes truly.
An undoubtful 5/5.
October 18, 2025
actually one of my favourite things in the world ever
June 4, 2016
sigh
It's hard to understand this kind of poetry if you've never been in love. But it's worse if you had the chance but were too afraid to try. At least Heloise has the memories to remind her that she is still alive.
It's hard to understand this kind of poetry if you've never been in love. But it's worse if you had the chance but were too afraid to try. At least Heloise has the memories to remind her that she is still alive.
March 27, 2013
Wow, an 18th Century British lit work that I actually liked.
January 14, 2024
How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot?
The world forgetting, by the world forgot:
Eternal sun-shine of the spotless mind!
Each prayer accepted, and each wish resign'd;
i read this bc of the movie :(
The world forgetting, by the world forgot:
Eternal sun-shine of the spotless mind!
Each prayer accepted, and each wish resign'd;
i read this bc of the movie :(
September 27, 2021
Ev’n here, where 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 sollicit new;
Now turn’d to heav’n, I weep my past offense;
Now think of thee, and curse my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
‘Tis sure the hardest science to forget!
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 sollicit new;
Now turn’d to heav’n, I weep my past offense;
Now think of thee, and curse my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
‘Tis sure the hardest science to forget!
October 10, 2024
i loved this poem
May 18, 2020
Almost every verse is quotable, it's that good.
November 9, 2025
In these deep solitudes and awful cells,
Where heav’nly-pensive contemplation dwells,
And ever-musing melancholy reigns;
What means this tumult in a vestal’s veins?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I love!—From Abelard it came,
And Eloisa yet must kiss the name.
-Alexander Pope
These are the words of of Heloise reflecting on her once lover, Abelard. They come to us the first stanza of an 18th century poem (or an epistle to be precise), titled Eloisa to Abelard. Here is a link to it.
Written by Alexander Pope in 1717, the narrative poem is an Ovidian heroic epistle. 23 stanzas of English iambic pentameter in the in the form of the Heroides. The poem would later serve as an important frame work for the popularisation of epistolary novels that would follow later in the century.
Originally Heroides or Letters of Heroines used letters in verse to tell the tale of aggrieved heroines of Greek and Roman mythology. They focus on how their poorly behaved heroic lovers forsake or betray them.
Pope’s heroine is not so affronted. His verse recounts the story of a forbidden love between a philosopher and his student in the 12th century. Introduced before the poem in a much summarised form, the story is a well known medieval tale of the tragic love between Peter Abelard and Héloïse d’Argenteuil. We know of their plight due to the copying of their letters to one another.
The story and letters provide a deep context and for the poem. Popes beautiful verse takes the historical tale and imposes ideas of longing and conflict bought on by such longing. In Eloisa to Abelard we find a tender self examination dealing with immediacy of emotions as Eloise reads Abelard’s letters (very meta-textual) and digests her almost impulsive response. The verb usage and tense creates the feeling of us being with her in the room and experiencing t he moment with her at the same time. Heloise is now a nun and such desires cause great friction at the interface of her spiritual world. It also deals with the way in which memories and consequences of the past can consume us, and asking if it would be better to have never had a past at all.
A tragically human tale, showcasing all our deepest impulses, horrors and flaws has been kept through the ages. Each successive generation keeping alive. The flame of yearning and self-contradiction passed on until our friend Pope got hold of it 600 years later. He then enriched it with his magic and the same kind of people have handed that down to us 300 years later. Over a period of nearly 1000 years, the story has survived. In all that time of struggle, of death and pestilence, of Kingdoms and Empires, of toil and relief, never did we stop feeling. The burning of pure emotion has stayed with us and propagated from one generation to the next. Somethings stay with us a long time I suppose. I wonder what your doing right now or if you ever went to Paris or what you would say if you read this.
Where heav’nly-pensive contemplation dwells,
And ever-musing melancholy reigns;
What means this tumult in a vestal’s veins?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I love!—From Abelard it came,
And Eloisa yet must kiss the name.
-Alexander Pope
These are the words of of Heloise reflecting on her once lover, Abelard. They come to us the first stanza of an 18th century poem (or an epistle to be precise), titled Eloisa to Abelard. Here is a link to it.
Written by Alexander Pope in 1717, the narrative poem is an Ovidian heroic epistle. 23 stanzas of English iambic pentameter in the in the form of the Heroides. The poem would later serve as an important frame work for the popularisation of epistolary novels that would follow later in the century.
Originally Heroides or Letters of Heroines used letters in verse to tell the tale of aggrieved heroines of Greek and Roman mythology. They focus on how their poorly behaved heroic lovers forsake or betray them.
Pope’s heroine is not so affronted. His verse recounts the story of a forbidden love between a philosopher and his student in the 12th century. Introduced before the poem in a much summarised form, the story is a well known medieval tale of the tragic love between Peter Abelard and Héloïse d’Argenteuil. We know of their plight due to the copying of their letters to one another.
The story and letters provide a deep context and for the poem. Popes beautiful verse takes the historical tale and imposes ideas of longing and conflict bought on by such longing. In Eloisa to Abelard we find a tender self examination dealing with immediacy of emotions as Eloise reads Abelard’s letters (very meta-textual) and digests her almost impulsive response. The verb usage and tense creates the feeling of us being with her in the room and experiencing t he moment with her at the same time. Heloise is now a nun and such desires cause great friction at the interface of her spiritual world. It also deals with the way in which memories and consequences of the past can consume us, and asking if it would be better to have never had a past at all.
A tragically human tale, showcasing all our deepest impulses, horrors and flaws has been kept through the ages. Each successive generation keeping alive. The flame of yearning and self-contradiction passed on until our friend Pope got hold of it 600 years later. He then enriched it with his magic and the same kind of people have handed that down to us 300 years later. Over a period of nearly 1000 years, the story has survived. In all that time of struggle, of death and pestilence, of Kingdoms and Empires, of toil and relief, never did we stop feeling. The burning of pure emotion has stayed with us and propagated from one generation to the next. Somethings stay with us a long time I suppose. I wonder what your doing right now or if you ever went to Paris or what you would say if you read this.
December 11, 2021
"What scenes appear where'er I turn my view?
The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue,
Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee,
Thy image steals between my God and me,
Thy voice I seem in every hymn to hear,
With every bead I drop too soft a tear.
When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,
And swelling organs lift the rising soul,
One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight,
Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight:
In seas of flame my plunging soul is drowned,
While altars blaze, and angels tremble round." (vv. 263-276)
-
"No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole;
Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll!
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 resign;
Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.
Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!)
Long loved, adored ideas, all adieu!
O grace serene! oh virtue heavenly 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 guest;
Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest!" (vv. 289-302)
-
"May one kind grave unite each hapless name,
And graft my love immortal on thy fame!
Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er,
When this rebellious heart shall beat no more;
If ever chance two wandering lovers brings
To Paraclete's white walls and silver springs,
O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads,
And drink the falling tears each other sheds;
Then sadly say, with mutual pity moved,
'Oh may we never love as these have loved!'
From the full choir when loud hosannas rise,
And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
Amid that scene, if some relenting eye
Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
Devotion's self shall steal a thought from heaven,
One human tear shall drop, and be forgiven." (vv. 343-358)
The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue,
Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee,
Thy image steals between my God and me,
Thy voice I seem in every hymn to hear,
With every bead I drop too soft a tear.
When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,
And swelling organs lift the rising soul,
One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight,
Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight:
In seas of flame my plunging soul is drowned,
While altars blaze, and angels tremble round." (vv. 263-276)
-
"No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole;
Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll!
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 resign;
Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.
Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!)
Long loved, adored ideas, all adieu!
O grace serene! oh virtue heavenly 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 guest;
Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest!" (vv. 289-302)
-
"May one kind grave unite each hapless name,
And graft my love immortal on thy fame!
Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er,
When this rebellious heart shall beat no more;
If ever chance two wandering lovers brings
To Paraclete's white walls and silver springs,
O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads,
And drink the falling tears each other sheds;
Then sadly say, with mutual pity moved,
'Oh may we never love as these have loved!'
From the full choir when loud hosannas rise,
And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
Amid that scene, if some relenting eye
Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
Devotion's self shall steal a thought from heaven,
One human tear shall drop, and be forgiven." (vv. 343-358)
November 27, 2017
As evidenced by my previous review of The Rape of the Lock, I was not too pleased with Pope, so I didn't expect to like this. I surprisingly did. I love Eloisa in history, she's awesome, and I would have liked the poem to have addressed her intellect/scholarly pursuits but what can you expect from the guy who wrote about how silly it was that a girl was upset someone cut off a lock of her hair.
Actually, despite not really demonstrating how smart she was, this poem still gives a sympathetic and downright heartbreaking look into the emotions of someone who's been torn from someone she loves and can't keep her mind off of-- the heroic couplet scheme (aa, bb, cc, dd,...) really fits with these feelings, and it's a genuinely emotional work that fortunately doesn't come down to something as angering as Rape of the Lock. Good on you, Alex.
Actually, despite not really demonstrating how smart she was, this poem still gives a sympathetic and downright heartbreaking look into the emotions of someone who's been torn from someone she loves and can't keep her mind off of-- the heroic couplet scheme (aa, bb, cc, dd,...) really fits with these feelings, and it's a genuinely emotional work that fortunately doesn't come down to something as angering as Rape of the Lock. Good on you, Alex.
September 5, 2025
“O Death all-eloquent! you only prove / What dust we dote on, when 'tis man we love.”
GORGEOUS poem! I read it to start off the Early Gothic curriculum I've designed for myself to do over the next couple of months. My favorite English professor always used to start her classes off by having us read the poetry from the era we were studying; it's the best way to get a feel for the time period, the atmosphere, the literary techniques, etc that were valued when it was written. Pope is apparently the master of the couplet, which absolutely shines here. The gothic atmosphere and taboo religious themes set a marvelous tone for the tragic love story depicted here. Makes me want to fall to my knees in a graveyard, skirts sprawled out around me, and plunge a dagger through my heart. Lovely.
GORGEOUS poem! I read it to start off the Early Gothic curriculum I've designed for myself to do over the next couple of months. My favorite English professor always used to start her classes off by having us read the poetry from the era we were studying; it's the best way to get a feel for the time period, the atmosphere, the literary techniques, etc that were valued when it was written. Pope is apparently the master of the couplet, which absolutely shines here. The gothic atmosphere and taboo religious themes set a marvelous tone for the tragic love story depicted here. Makes me want to fall to my knees in a graveyard, skirts sprawled out around me, and plunge a dagger through my heart. Lovely.
February 16, 2022
By far Pope's magnum opus, certainly the best from him I've read. Quite the read for Valentine's Day. The way he conflates the suffering of consumption by flames-- both from hell and from love -- is *chef's kiss*. There's something inherently and fundamentally devastating in witnessing their respective isolations. They are removed from their society, both sexual and metropolitan, and are subsequently reduced to only their words. And even as their words bridge space their persons cannot, they fail to do so much. It is a torment to love, an anguish to be loved. But beloved they remain, regardless.
oof.
oof.
March 22, 2021
Oh happy state! when souls each other draw,
When love is liberty, and nature, law:
All then is full, possessing, and possess'd,
No craving void left aching in the breast:
Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find,
And wake to all the griefs I left behind.
💖💖💖💖💖
When love is liberty, and nature, law:
All then is full, possessing, and possess'd,
No craving void left aching in the breast:
Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find,
And wake to all the griefs I left behind.
💖💖💖💖💖
December 24, 2024
"Oppose thyself to Heav'n; dispute my heart;
Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes
Blot out each bright idea of the skies;
Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears;
Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs;
Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode;
Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God! "
Dando gracias a la película the eternal sunshine of the spotles mind por llevarme a esta Joya
Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes
Blot out each bright idea of the skies;
Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears;
Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs;
Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode;
Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God! "
Dando gracias a la película the eternal sunshine of the spotles mind por llevarme a esta Joya
April 1, 2020
absolutely beautiful and tragic. it’s perfect, it’s just so perfect. i read this story and was immediately captivated by it. and for a poem published in 1717 it’s quite easy to read and understand too, once you translate a few words and get a hang of the style it’s written in. i would encourage everyone to read this, it’s wonderful.
March 23, 2021
For hearts so touched, so pierced, so lost as mine.
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain,—do all things but forget!
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain,—do all things but forget!
August 25, 2021
This reading is a distillation of melancholy, regret & despair but not less could be expected from a poem inspired in the tragic love of Pierre Abelard & Héloïse. I recommend not to read this on a glass of wine specially if there are still some loose ends from the past.
December 7, 2021
“How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!"
Cool I actually know what that last time is from now. Never has blissful ignorance ever been portrayed, well, so blissfully.
Cool I actually know what that last time is from now. Never has blissful ignorance ever been portrayed, well, so blissfully.
March 19, 2025
4.75 || back tattoo idea! 😍
"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd; "
"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd; "
January 3, 2026
What strikes me again when rereading Eloisa to Abelard is how moveable the poem is. It never stands still. Héloïse’s voice constantly shifts between memory, desire, guilt and resertion, and the inner unrest reminded me of quoting from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry, 2004). Just like in the movie, love here is something you can’t hold on to without pain, but also can’t erase without losing yourself. You give something away and never get it back
The rhythm of Pope’s verse lines plays a major role in this. The heroic verses are tight, but never dead; they carry a musicality that makes you want to read sentences aloud. You literally want to “chew” some rules, taste again, because they say more than they seem to do at first glance. Images return and nestle: the monastery walls, the silence of religious life, the body that cannot be disciplined by faith or reason.
Pope’s own life inevitably casts a shadow over this. Biographers such as Maynard Mack (Alexander Pope: A Life, 1985) and Pat Rogers (Alexander Pope: A Literary Life, 1999) describe how Pope fell outside the social centre due to his physical limitations and his position as a Catholic, (look at that well-known painting) and how his love life remained largely unanswered or problematic. That is exactly what makes Eloisa to Abelard so convincing: the poem feels written by someone who had a lot of love to give, but found little room to live it.
There is something tragic in that realisation. It seems almost inevitable that someone who can articulate love so precisely, so layered and so painfully, has paid a price for it themselves. Eloise to Abelard is therefore not only a poem about a historical love story, but also a reflection everything we lose that comes with it.
The rhythm of Pope’s verse lines plays a major role in this. The heroic verses are tight, but never dead; they carry a musicality that makes you want to read sentences aloud. You literally want to “chew” some rules, taste again, because they say more than they seem to do at first glance. Images return and nestle: the monastery walls, the silence of religious life, the body that cannot be disciplined by faith or reason.
Pope’s own life inevitably casts a shadow over this. Biographers such as Maynard Mack (Alexander Pope: A Life, 1985) and Pat Rogers (Alexander Pope: A Literary Life, 1999) describe how Pope fell outside the social centre due to his physical limitations and his position as a Catholic, (look at that well-known painting) and how his love life remained largely unanswered or problematic. That is exactly what makes Eloisa to Abelard so convincing: the poem feels written by someone who had a lot of love to give, but found little room to live it.
There is something tragic in that realisation. It seems almost inevitable that someone who can articulate love so precisely, so layered and so painfully, has paid a price for it themselves. Eloise to Abelard is therefore not only a poem about a historical love story, but also a reflection everything we lose that comes with it.
December 29, 2017
Lovely, and unexpectedly Gothic in its glooms; would be worth revisiting, especially in context with Keats.
June 19, 2019
‘I have not yet forgot myself to stone’ line 24
‘I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;
I mourn the lover, not lament the fault’ lines 183-4
‘I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;
I mourn the lover, not lament the fault’ lines 183-4
Displaying 1 - 30 of 64 reviews