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POETICAL QUOTATIONS ,
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart, untravell’d, fondly turns to thee: Since she must go, and I must mourn, come
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, night,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain, Environ me with darkness whilst I write.
Goldsmith: Traveller. DONNE,
Short absence hurt him more, Winds murmur'd through the leaves your short And made his wound far greater than before ; delay,
Absence not long enough to root out quite And fountains o'er their pebbles chid your All love, increases love at second sight. stay:
THOMAS MAY: Henry II. But, with your presence cheer'd, they cease to
Short retirement urges sweet return.
MILTON. And walks wear fresher green at your return.
Oh! couldst thou but know
With what a deep devotedness of woe She vows for his return with vain devotion
I wept thy absence, o'er and o'er again pays.
Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew
pain, Forced from her presence, and condemn’d to And memory, like a drop that night and day live!
Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away! Unwelcome freedom, and unthank'd reprieve.
MOORE: Lalla Rookh. DRYDEN.
Ye flowers that droop, forsaken by the spring; Love reckons hours for months, and days for Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to sing, years;
Ye trees that fade, when autumn heats remove, And every little absence is an age.
Say, is not absence death to those who love? DRYDEN: Amphytrion.
Pope. His friends beheld, and pity'd him in vain,
As some sad turtle his lost love deplores,
Thus far from Delia to the winds I mourn, For shat advice can ease a lover's pain? Absence, the best expedient they could find,
Alike unheard, unpitied, and forlorn.
POPE. Night save the fortune, if not cure the mind.
Fate some future bard shall join
In sad similitude of griefs to mine;
In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love;
ACTORS. At morn the plains, at noon the shady grove;
One tragic sentence if I dare deride, But Delia always; absent from her sight,
Which Betterton's grave action dignified; Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight. Or well-mouth'd Booth with emphasis proPOPE: Pastorals.
claims, In vain you tell your parting lover
Though but perhaps a muster-roll of names.
POPE. You wish fair winds may waft him over: Alas! what winds can happy prove,
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
That, from her working, all his visage wann'd? I charge thee loiter not, but haste to bless me:
SHAKSPEARE Think with what eager hopes, what rage, I burn, For every tedious moment how I mourn: Think how I call thee cruel for thy stay,
ADVERSITY. And break my heart with grief for thy delay.
The gods in bounty work up storms about us,
That give mankind occasion to exert What! keep a week away? seven days and Their hidden strength, and throw out into pracnights?
tice Eightscore eight hours ? and lovers' absent Virtues which shun the day.
Must burn before its surface shine;
But plunged within the furnace flame,
It bends and melts—though still the same. O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,
BYRON: Giaour. Leave not the mansion so long tenantless; Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall,
By adversity are wrought And leave no memory of what it was!
The greatest works of admiration, Repair me with thy presence, Sylvia;
And all the fair examples of renown
Out of distress and misery are grown.
DANIEL: On the Earl of Southampton.
Some souls we see
Grow hard and stiffen with adversity.
DRYDEN. Some friendly intervals, to visit thee. SOUTHERN: Spartan Dame. Aromatic plants bestow
No spicy fragrance while they grow; Looking my love, I go from place to place, But, crush'd or trodden to the ground, Like a young fawn that late hath lost the Diffuse their balmy sweets around. hind;
GOLDSMITH. And seek each where, where last I saw her face, Whose image yet I carry fresh in mind.
By how much from the top of wond'rous glory, SPENSER.
Strongest of mortal men,
To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou art fall’n. Since I did leave the presence of my love,
MILTON. Many long weary days I have out-worn, And many nights that slowly seem’d to move
The scene of beauty and delight is changed: Their sad protract from evening until morn.
No roses bloom upon my fading cheel:,
No laughing graces wanton in my eyes;
But haggard Grief, lean-looking sallow Care, For since mine eye your joyous sight did miss, And pining Discontent, a rueful train, My cheerful day is turn'd to cheerless night. Dwell on my brow, all hideous and forlorn. SPENSER
Some, the prevailing malice of the great
Men (Unhappy men!) or adverse fate
Can counsel, and give comfort to that grief Surk deep into the gulfs of an afflicted state. Which they themselves not feel; but tasting it,
ROSCOMMON. Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage :
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
Charm ache with air, and agony with words. And caterpillars eat my leaves away.
Direct not him whose way himself will choose ; Sweet are the uses of adversity;
'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wiit Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
thou lose. Wears yet a precious jewel in his head:
SHAKSPEARE. And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running Mishaps are master'd by advice discreet, brooks,
And counsel mitigates the greatest smart. Sermons in stones, and good in everything.
Let me embrace these sour adversities;
AFFECTATION. For wise men say it is the wisest course. There affectation, with a sickly mien,
SHAKSPEARE. Shows in her cheeks the roses of eighteen; His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
Practised to lisp and hang the head aside,
Faints into airs, and languishes with pride. For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
In this wild world the fondest and the best
Are the most tried, most troubled, and distress'd. Thou, heedful of advice, secure proceed;
CRABBE. My praise the precept is, be thine the deed.
Pope. We bear it calmly, though a ponderous woe,
And still adore the hand that gives the blow. Where's the man who counsel can bestow,
POMFRET. Unbiass'd or by favour or by spite; Not dully prepossess’d, nor blindly right? Heaven is not always angry when He strikes, POPE. But most chastises those whom most He likes.
The good are better made by ill,
SHAKSPEARE. I find, quoth Mat, reproof is vain! Who first offend will first complain.
Henceforth I'll bear
PRIOR. Affliction till it do cry out itself, A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,
Enough, enough, and die.
SHAKSPEARE. We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry; But were we burden'd with like weight of pain;
Affliction is the good man's shining scene; As much, or more, we should ourselves com | Prosperity conceals his brightest ray; plain.
As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.
Young: Night Thoughts