The Eloisa ends rather flatly by one of Pope's characteristic aphorisms.

"He best can paint them (the woes, that is, of Eloisa) who shall feel them most;" and it is characteristic, by the way, that even in these his most impassioned verses, the lines which one remembers are of the same epigrammatic stamp, e.g.: A heap of dust alone remains of thee, 'Tis all thou art and all the proud shall be! I mourn the lover, not lament the fault.
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot, The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
The worker in moral aphorisms cannot forget himself even in the full swing of his fervid declamation.

I have no doubt that Pope so far exemplified his own doctrine that he truly felt whilst he was writing.
His feelings make him eloquent, but they do not enable him to "snatch a grace beyond the reach of art," to blind us for a moment to the presence of the consummate workman, judiciously blending his colours, heightening his effects, and skilfully managing his transitions or consciously introducing an abrupt outburst of a new mood.

The smoothness of the verses imposes monotony even upon the varying passions which are supposed to struggle in Eloisa's breast.

It is not merely our knowledge that Pope is speaking dramatically which prevents us from receiving the same kind of impressions as we receive from poetry--such, for example, as some of Cowper's minor pieces--into which we know that a man is really putting his whole heart.