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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.


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 founiains 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. mourn,

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, lest 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.


As some sad turtle his lost love deplores, His friends beheld, and pity'd him in vain,

Thus far from Delia to the winds I mourn, For what advice can ease a lover's pain ?

Alike unheard, unpitied, and forlorn. Absence, the best expedient they could find,

POPE. Might save the fortune, if not cure the mind.

Fate some future bard shall join
DRYDEN: Fables.

In sad similitude of griefs to mine;
His absence from his mother oft he'll mourn, Condemn’d whole years in absence to deplore,
And, with his eyes, look wishes to return. And image charms he must behold no more.
DRYDEN: Juvenal, Sat. II.

POPE: Eloisa.


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 wast him over: Alas! what winds can happy prove,

Is it not monstrous that this player here, That bear me far from what I love?

But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, PRIOR. Could force his soul so to his own conceit,

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 prac

tice nights? Eightscore eight hours? and lovers' absent Virtues which shun the day.

More tedious than the dial eightscore times ? The rugged metal of the mine
Oh, weary reckoning!

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 sair examples of renown
Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain.

Out of distress and misery are grown.

DANIEL: On the Earl of Southampton.

Some souls we see
Tho' I am forced thus to absent myself
From all I love, I shall contrive some means,

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.

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 cheek,

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 Sunk deep into the gulss 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 :
Cold news for me:

Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud,

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 wilt 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;
For wise men say it is the wisest course.


There affectation, with a sickly mien,
Shows in her cheeks the roses of eighteen;
Practised to lisp and hang the head aside,
Faints into airs, and languishes with pride.


His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the blessedness of being little.



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.

POMFRET. Fear not the anger of the wise to raise ; Those best can bear reproof who merit praise. The good are better made by ill,

Pope. As odours crushed are sweeter still.

ROGERS: Jacqueline. In vain Thalestris with reproach assails ; For who can move, when fair Belinda fails ? Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, POPE. And thou art wedded to calamity.

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.

We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry;
But were we burden'd with like weight of pain, Amiction is the good man's shining scene;
As much, or more, we should ourselves com- Prosperity conceals his brightest ray;

As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.

YOUNG: Night Thoughts.


The spring, like youth, fresh blossoms doth pro.

duce, Why shouldst thou try to hide thyself in youth?

But autumn makes them ripe, and fit for use : Impartial Proserpine beholds the truth; And laughing at so vain and fond a task,

So age a mature mellowness doth set
Will strip thy hoary noddle of its mask.

On the green promises of youthful heat.

We'll mutually forget

Age, like ripe apples, on earth's bosom drops ; The warmth of youth and frowardness of age.

While sorce our youth, like fruits, untimely ADDISON. crops.

Young men soon give, and soon forget affronts ; | To elder years to be discreet and grave.
Old age is slow in both.

Then to old age maturity she gave.

Now wasting years my former strength confound,
And added woes have bow'd me to the ground:

Who this observes, may in his body find Yet by the stubble you may guess the grain,

Decrepit age, but never in his mind. And mark the ruins of no common man.

SIR J. DENHAM. BROOME. Of Age's avarice I cannot see What is the worst of woes that wait on age ?

What colour, ground, or reason there can be; What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow?

Is it not solly, when the way we ride To view each loved one blotted from life's page,

Is short, for a long journey to provide ? And be alone on earth as I am now.

Sir J. DENHAM. Before the Chastener humbly let me bow Not from grey hairs authority doth flow, O’er hearts divided, and o'er hopes destroy'd. Nor from bald heads, nor from a wrinkled brow;

BYRON: Childe Harold. But our past life, when virtuously spent, 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,

Must to our age those happy fruits present. And coming events cast their shadows before.

Sir J. DENHAM. CAMPBELL: Lochiel's Warning:

Age is froward, uneasy, scrutinous, Nor can the snow that age does shed

Ilard to be pleased, and parsimonious. Upon thy rev’rend head,

SIR J. DENHAM. Quench or allay the noble fire within;

Authority kept up, old age secures,
But all that youth can be thou art.

Whose dignity as long as lise endures.

Now then the ills of age, its pains, its care,
The drooping spirit for its fate prepare;

Old husbandmen I at Sabinum know, And each affection failing, leaves the heart Who for another year dig, plough, and sow; Loosed from life's charm, and willing to depart. For never any man was yet so old,

CRABDE. But hoped his life one winter more would hold. Our nature here is not unlike our wine;

Sir J. DENHAM. Some sorts, when old, continue brisk and fine :

Age by degrees invisibly doth creep, So age's gravity may seem severe,

Nor do we seem to die, but fall asleep. But nothing harsh or bitter ought t’ appear.

Sir J. DENHAM. Sir J. DENHAM. Those trifles wherein children take delight Old age, with silent pace, comes creeping on, Grow nauseous to the young man's appetite,

Nauseates the praise which in her youth she won, And from those gaieties our youth requires

And hates the muse by which she was undone. To exercise their minds, our age retires.


Thus daily changing, by degrees I'd waste, Age's chief arts, and arms, are to grow wise; Still quitting ground by unperceived decay, Virtue to know, and known, to exercise. And steal myself from lise, and melt away. Sir J. DENHAM.


Prudence, thou vainly in our youth art sought,

Age has not yet And with age purchased, art too dearly bought: So shrunk my sinews, or so chill'd my veins, We're past the use of wit for which we toil : But conscious virtue in my breast remains. Late fruit, and planted in too cold a soil.


Were I no queen, did you my beauty weigh, Our green youth copies what grey sinners act,

My youth in bloom, your age in its decay. When age commends the fact.


Now leave these joys, unsuiting to thy age, His youth and age

To a fresh comer, and resign the stage. All of a piece throughout, and all divine.


Just in the gate Yet unimpair'd with labours, or with time,

Dwelt pale diseases and repining age. Your age but seems to a new youth to climb.


Beroe but now I left; whom, pined with pain, He look'd in years, yet in his years were seen

Her age and anguish from these rites detain. A youthful vigor, and autumnal green.

You season still with sports your serious hours, O'er whom Time gently shakes his wings of
For age but tastes of pleasures, youth devours.

Till with his silent sickle they are mown.

This advantage youth from age hath won,
As not to be outridden though outrun.

Jove, grant me length of life, and years good DRYDEN.

store When the hoary head is hid in snow,

Heap on my bended back.

DRYDEN. The life is in the leaf, and still between The fits of falling snows appears the streaky The feeble old, indulgent of their ease. green.


Thus then my loved Euryalus appears; What, start at this! when sixty years have He looks the prop of my declining years. spread


grey experience o'er thy hoary head ? Is this the all observing age could gain ? Of no distemper, of no blast he died, Or hast thou known the world so long in vain ? But fell like autumn fruit that mellow'd long;

DRYDEN. Even wonder'd at, because he dropt no sooner.

Fate seem'd to wind him up for fourscore years; So noiseless would I live, such death to find :

Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more: Like timely fruit, not shaken by the wind,

Till like a clock worn out with eating time, But ripely dropping from the sapless bough.

The wheels of weary life at last stood still. DRYDEN.

DRYDEN: Edipus. Time has made you dote, and vainly tell Of arms imagined in your lonely cell:

These I wielded while my bloom was warm, Go! be the temple and the gods your care;

Ere age unstrung my nerves, or time o'erPermit to men the thought of peace and war.

snow'd my head. DRYDEN.

DRYDEN. Time seems not now beneath his years

A look so pale no quartane ever gave;

stoop, Nor do his wings with sickly feathers droop.

My dwindled legs seem crawling to a grave. DRYDEN.

DRYDEN: Juvenal. And sin’s black dye seems blanch'd by age to These are the effects of doting age, virtue.

Vain doubts, and idle cares, and over caution. Dryden.

DRYDEN: Scbastian,


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