The abbot says to her, after describing the daily life of Abelard, “How holily, how devoutly, in what a catholic spirit he made confession, first of his faith and then of his sins! ... Thus Master Peter finished his days, and he who for his knowledge was famed throughout the world, in the discipleship of Him who said, ‘Learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly in heart,’ persevered, in meekness and humility, and, as we may believe, passed to the Lord.” It is in such language that this benevolent man addresses his “venerable and very dear sister,” concerning, as he tenderly puts it, her “first husband in the Lord.” And doubtless this same Abelard became, at the last, a little child, who through much tribulation had unlearned his haughty and selfish temper, and had gone back from subtleties and logic to say in all simplicity, Abba, Father! And it is not less interesting for us to discover in the second epistle of Heloise to Peter of Cluny, that the mother’s heart yearns over her boy, and that she commends Astrolabe to the care and protection of his father’s benefactor, a trust which, in his next letter, Peter accepts and promises to discharge. Of the poetry of Abelard much has unquestionably been lost. His troubadour ballads may have been conveniently suppressed; it is often the fate of wise men’s lighter productions. And his hymns were for long years untraced, except in the instance of the _Mittit ad virginem_ and of another upon the Trinity, which was ascribed to him, but is now accredited to Hildebert. A very pretty poem, _Ornarunt terram germina_, preserved by Du Meril (_Poesies Populaires Lat._, p. 444) is given in the collection of Archbishop Trench and again in that of Professor March. Even in English its grace and daintiness do not entirely escape us, and they show how possible it was for him to have written the love-songs which celebrated Heloise. The earth is green with grasses; The sky is filled with lights— Sun, moon, and stars. There passes Vast use through days and nights. On either hand upbuilded, Arouse, O man, and see! Those heavenly realms are gilded By help which shines for thee. The suns of winter cheer thee For lack of fire below; While the bright moon draws near thee, With stars, thy path to show! Leave pride her ivory spaces; The poor man on the grass Looks up, from fragrant places By which the song-birds pass. The rich, with wasteful labor, (For vaulted domes shall fall,) Mocking his poorer neighbor, Paints heaven within his hall. But in that open chamber Where all things fairest are, Let the poor man remember How God paints sun and star. So vast a work and splendid Is nature’s more than man’s! No pains nor cost attended Those age-enduring plans! The rich man keeps his servant, An angel guards the poor, And God sends stars observant To watch above his door!