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No balm in absence will effectual prove,
Nature provides no weapon salve for love.
Sir Robert Howard.
Thus absence dies, and dying proves
No absence can subsist with loves
That do partake of fair perfection;
Since, in the darkest night, they may,
By love's quick motion, find a way
To see each other in reflection.
Suckling. Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; And every little absence is an age.
Dryden. All flowers will droop in absence of the sun That waked their sweets.
Dryden. His friends beheld, and pitied him in vain, For what advice can ease a lover's pain? Absence, the best expedient they could find, Might save the fortune, if not spare the mind.
Dryden. Though I am forced thus to absent myself From all I love, I shall contrive some means, Some friendly intervals to visit thee. Southern. Condemn’d whole years in absence to deplore, And image charms he must behold no more.-Pope. In spring the fields, in autumn hills I rove; At morn the plains, at noon the shady grove; But Delia, always absent from her sight, Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight.
Pope. Methinks I see thee straying on the beach, And asking of the surge that bathes thy foot
If ever it has washed our distant shore. Cowper. . What tender strains of passion can impart
The pangs of absence to an amorous heart?
Far, far too faint the powers of language prove,
Language, that slow interpreter of love!
Souls paired like ours, like ours to union wrought,
Converse by silent sympathy of thought.
I'm from thy sight, the heart within my bosom
Moans like a tender infant in its cradle,
Whose nurse had left it.
There's not an hour
Of day or dreaming night but I am with thee;
There's not a wind but whispers of thy name,
And not a flower that sleeps beneath the moon,
But in its hues or fragrance, tells a tale
Short absence hurt him more,
And made his wound far greater than before;
Absence not long enough to root out quite
All love, increases love at second sight. - Thomas May.
The limner's art may trace the absent feature,
And give the eye of distant weeping faith
To view the form of its idolatry;
But oh! the scenes 'mid which they met and parted,
The thoughts—the recollections sweet and bitter,
Th’ Elysian dreams of lovers, when they loved,
Who shall restore them?
Maturin. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Think'st thou that I could bear to part
From thee, and learn to halve my heart;
Years have not seen, time shall not see,
The hour that tears my soul from thee. Byron.
We must part awhile;
A few short months—tho' short, they will be long
Without thy dear society: but yet
We must endure it, and our love will be
The fonder after parting—it will grow
Intenser in our absence, and again
Burn with a tender glow when I return.
James G. Percival.
Oh Absence! by thy stern decree, .
How many a heart, once light and free,
Is filled with doubts and fears!
Thy days like tedious weeks do seem,
Thy weeks slow-moving months we deem,
Thy months, long-lingering years. J. T. Watson.
Moved the Creator, in his holy rest,
Through all eternity, so late to build
In chaos; and the work begun, how soon
But all is calm in this eternal sleep;
Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep;
Even superstition loses every fear;
For God, not man, absolves our frailties here.
His life is paralleled E’en with the stroke and line of his great justice; He doth with holy abstinence subdue That in himself, which he spurs on his power To qualify in others.
Yet in abstinence in things we must profess,
Which nature fram'd for need, not for excess.
Against diseases here the strongest fence
Is the defensive virtue abstinence.
Religious men, who hither must be sent
As awful guides of heavenly government;
To teach you penance, fasts, and abstinence,
To punish bodies for the soul's offence. Dryden.
Clytorean streams the love of wine expel,
(Such is the virtue of the abstemious well,)
Whether the colder nymph that rules the flood,
Extinguishes and balks the drunken god;
Or that Melampus, (so have some assured,)
When the mad Prætides with charms he cured
And powerful herbs, both charms and simples cast
Into the sober spring, where still their virtues last.
The man that sits within a monarch's heart,
And ripens in the sunshine of his favour,
Would he abuse the count'nance of the king,
Alack! what mischiefs might he set abroach,
In shadow of such greatness.
Any but God alone to value right
The good before him, but perverts best things
To worst abuses, or to their meanest use. Milton.
Some praise at morning what they blame at night,
And always think the last opinion right;
The muse by these is like a mistress used,
This hour she's idolized, the next abused. Pope.
Pick out of mirth, like stones out of the ground,
Profaneness, filthiness, abusiveness;
These are the scum with which coarse wits abound;
The fine may spare these well, yet not go less.
Dame Nature, as the learned shew,
Provides each animal its foe;
Hounds hunt the hare, the wily fox
Devours your geese, the wolf your flocks.
Thus envy pleads a natural claim
To persecute the muse's fame,
On poets in all times abusive,
From Homer down to Pope inclusive. Swift.
As the unthought-on accident is guilty
Of what we wildly do, so we profess
Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies
Of every wind that blows.
And trivial accidents shall be forborne.
That others may have time to take their turn.
Dryden. Such a minister as wind to fire, That adds an accidental fierceness To its natural fury.
GLADLY then he mixed
Among those friendly powers, who him received
With joy, and acclamations loud, that one,
That, of so many myriads fall'n, yet one
Returned, not lost.
His speech was answered with a general noise
Of acclamation; doubtless signs of joy
Which soldiers uttered as they forward went,
The sure forerunner of a fair event.
Sir John Beaumont.
The herald ends, the vaulted firmament
With loud acclaim, and vast applause is rent.
TELL him from me, (as he will win my love,)
He bear himself with honourable action,
Such as he hath observed in noble ladies
Unto their lords, by them accomplished.
I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,
And deck my body in gay ornaments.
O miserable thought, and more unlikely
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns.
Shakspere. The next I took to wife, O that I never had! fond wish too late, Was in the Vale of Sorec, Dalila, That specious monster, my accomplished snare.
Accomplishments were native to her mind,
Like precious pearls within a clasping shell,
And winning grace her every act refined,
Like sunshine shedding beauty where it fell.