How sad and dismal sound the farewells which Poor lovers take, whom destiny disjoins, Although they know their absence will be short: And when they meet again, how musical And sweet are all the mutual joys they breathe! Like birds, who when they see the weary sun Forsake the world, they lay their little heads Beneath their wings, to ease that weight which his Departure adds unto their grief.
'Tis true, my love: But when they see that bright Perpetual traveller return, they warm And air their feathers at his beams, and sing Until their gratitude hath made them hoarse. Sir W. Davenant's Platonic Lovers.
My eyes won't lose the sight of thee, But languish after thine, and ache with gazing. Otway's Venice Preserved. In taking leave,
Thro' the dark lashes of her darting eyes, Methought she shot her soul at ev'ry glance, Still looking back, as if she had a mind That you should know she left her soul behind her. Lee's Theodosius.
Oh! had he ever lov'd, he would have thought The worst of tortures bliss, to silent parting.
Cibber's Cæsar in Egypt. Farewell, my home, my home no longer now, Witness of many a calm and happy day; And thou, fair eminence, upon whose brow Dwells the last sunshine of the evening ray. Farewell! Mine eyes no longer shall pursue The westering sun beyond the utmost height, When slowly he forsakes the fields of light. No more the freshness of the falling dew, Cool and delightful here shall bathe my head, As from this western window dear, I lean, Listening the while I watch the placid scene,- The martins twittering underneath the shed. Farewell my home, where many a day has past, In joys whose lov'd remembrance long shall last. Southey. Well-peace to thy heart, though another's it be, And health to thy cheek, though it bloom not for
Farewell to the few I have left with regret; May they sometimes recall what I cannot forget, That communion of heart and that parley of soul, Which has lengthen'd our nights, and illumined our bowl! Moore
Enough, that we are parted—that there rolls Whose darkness severs me as wide from thee A flood of headlong fate between our souls, As hell from heaven, to all eternity!
Then came the parting hour, and what arise When lovers part! expressive looks, and eyes Tender and tearful,- many a fond adieu, And many a call the sorrow to renew; Sighs such as lovers only can explain, And words that they might undertake in vain. Crabbe's Hall.
Bear witness earth and heaven, That ne'er was hope to mortal given, So twisted with the strings of life, As this-to call Matilda wife; I bid it now for ever part, And with the effort bursts my heart.
She rose-she sprung-she clung to his embrace, Till his heart heaved beneath her hidden face. He dared not raise to his that deep blue eye, That downcast droop'd in tearless agony. Her long fair hair lay floating o'er his arms, In all the wildness of dishevell'd charms; Scarce beat that bosom where his image dwelt So full-that feeling seem'd almost unfelt! Hark! peals the thunder of the signal gun! It told 't was sunset, and he cursed that sun. Again-again-that form he madly press'd, Which mutely clasp'd, imploringly caress'd; And tottering to the couch, his bride he bore One moment gazed - as if to gaze no more; Felt that for him earth held but her alone, Kiss'd her cold forehead-turn'd-is Conrad gone? Byron's Corsair.
Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness: And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon nights so sweet, such awful morn could rise. Byron's Childe Harold.
Yet, O yet, thyself deceive not Love may sink by slow decay; Fit by sudden wrench, believe not, Hearts can thus be torn away.
Byron's Fare thee Well.
Think'st thou that I could bear to part With thee, and learn to halve my heart?
Byron's Bride of Abydos. Let's not unman each other-part at once: All farewells should be sudden, when for ever, Else they make an eternity of moments, And clog the last sad sands of life with tears. Byron's Sardanapalus.
Have not all past human beings parted, And must not all the present one day part. Byron's Sardanapalus.
One struggle more, and I am free
From pangs that rend my heart in twain, One last long sigh to love and thee, Then back to busy life again.
I had not liv'd till now, could sorrow kill; Death shuns the wretch who fain the blow would
And I must even survive this last adieu, And bear with life, to love and pray for you!
They tell me 't is decided; you depart: 'Tis wise, 'tis well, but not the less a pain; I have no further claim on your young heart, Mine is the victim, and would be again; To love too much has been the only art I used; - I write in haste, and if a stain Be on this sheet, 'tis not what it appears, My eye-balls burn and throb, but have no tears.
Here's a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate; And whatever sky's above me, Here's a heart for every fate.
Why do I weep? to leave the vine Whose clusters o'er me bend The myrtle-yet oh! call it mine!— The flowers I lov'd to tend. A thousand thoughts of all things dear, Like shadows o'er me sleep,
I leave my sunny childhood here - Oh, therefore let me weep!
I have no parting sigh to give, So take my parting smile.
Lightly won, and lightly lost, love I shed no tears for thee;
There was little to remember, and nothing to regret. Miss Landon.
When thou art gone there creeps into my heart A cold and bitter consciousness of pain; The light, the warmth of life with thee depart, And I sit dreaming o'er and o'er again Thy greeting clasp, thy parting look and tone; And suddenly I wake - and am alone! Frances Kemble Butler. There are two hearts whose movements thrill In unison so closely sweet! That pulse to pulse responsive still, They both must heave
or cease to beat. Bernard Barton.
There are two souls whose equal flow In gentle streams so calmly run, That when they part-they part!—ah, no! They cannot part-those souls are one. Bernard Barton.
We part-no matter how we part, There are some thoughts we utter not, Deep treasur'd in our inmost heart,
Never reveal'd, and ne'er forgot! Why murmur at the common lot? We part-I speak not of the pain,— But when shall I each lovely spot, And each lov'd face behold again. Richard Henry Wilde.
Long years have gone by, yet that parting, oh! Who would the title of true worth were his,
Can it be forgotten by either on earth.
The note of each wild bird that carols toward heaven
Must tell her of swift-wing'd hopes that were mine,
Must vanquish vice, and no base thoughts con
The bravest trophy ever man obtain'd,
Is that, which, o'er himself, himself hath gain'd. Earl of Sterline's Darius. Passions are likened best to floods and streams;
While the dew that steals over each blossom at The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb:
Tells me of the teardrop that wept their decline. Hoffman's Poems.
I must leave thee, lady sweet! Months shall waste before we meet, Winds are fair, and sails are spread, Anchors leave their ocean bed; Ere this shining day grow dark, Skies shall gird my shoreless bark; Through thy tears, O lady mine, Read thy lover's parting line.
Once my soul was fondly plighted To a holy one of earth- Like two music-notes united, Notes that sever in their birth. Yet not sever'd we, though parted, Still in truth our souls are one, Though on earth the gentle-hearted Hath her blessed mission done.
So when affections yield discourse, it seems The bottom is but shallow whence they come. They that are rich in words must needs discover, They are but poor in that which makes a lover. Sir W. Raleigh.
When headstrong passion gets the reins of reason, The force of nature, like too strong a gale, For want of ballast, oversets the vessel.
Higgons's Generous Conqueror. Exalted souls
Have passions in proportion violent,
O. W. Holmes. Resistless, and tormenting: they're a tax Impos'd by nature on pre-cminence;
But then to part! to part when Time
And fortitude, and wisdom must support them. Lillo's Elmerick. While passions glow, the heart, like heated steel, Takes each impression, and is worked at pleasure. Young's Busiris.
When reason, like the skilful charioteer, Can break the fiery passions to the bit, And, spite of their licentious sallies, keep The radiant tract of glory; passions, then,
Has wreathed his tireless wings with flowers, Are aids and ornaments. Triumphant reason,
And spread the richness of a clime
Of fairy o'er this land of ours. When glistening leaves and shaded streams In the soft light of autumn lay, And, like the music of our dreams, The viewless breezes seem'd to stray- 'Twas bitter then to rend the heart With the sad thought that we must part: And, like some low and mournful spell, To whisper but one word-farewell.
Firm in her seat, and swift in her career, Enjoys their violence, and, smiling, thanks Their formidable flame, for bright renown. Young's Brothers.
The ruling passion, be it what it will, The ruling passion conquers reason still.
The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules, Uncheck'd by reason, and the pow'rful voice Of friendship.
Brooke's Earl of Warwick
Moore's Loves of the Angels Alas! our young affections run to waste, Or water but the desert; whence arise But weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste, Rank at the core though tempting to the eyes, Flowers, whose wild odours breathe but agonies, And trces, whose gums are poison; such the plants Which spring beneath her steps as passion flies O'er the world's wilderness, and vainly pants For some celestial fruit, forbidden to our wants. Byron's Childe Harold. An empire thou could'st crush, command, rebuild, But govern not thy pettiest passion.
Byron's Childe Harold. My passions were all living serpents, and Twin'd, like the gorgons, round me.
I cannot love as I have lov'd, And yet I know not why; It is the one great woe of life To feel all feeling die;
As one by one the heartstrings snap, As age comes on so chill;
And hope secms left that hope may cease, And all will soon be still.
And the strong passions, like to storms, Soon rage themselves to rest,
Or leave a desolated calm
A worn and wasted breast;
A heart that like the Geyser spring, Amidst its bosom snows,
May shrink, not rest-but with its blood Boils even in repose.
Bailey's Festus. Passion, when deep, is still: the glaring eye That reads its enemy with glance of fire, The lip, that curls and writhes in bitterness, The brow contracted, till its wrinkles hide The keen, fix'd orbs, that burn and flash below, The hand firm clench'd and quivering, and the foot Planted in attitude to spring, and dart Its vengeance, are the language it employs. Percival's Poems.
One passion prominent appears, the lust Of liberty, and hung the popular flag Of power, which ofttimes took the fairer name
Pollock's Course of Time. When thou art with me every sense is dull, And all I am, or know, or feel, is thee; My soul grows faint, my veins run liquid flame, And my bewilder'd spirit seems to swim In eddying whirls of passion dizzily.
Frances Kemble Butler. Oh! precious is the flower that passion brings To his first shrine of beauty, when the heart Runs over in devotion, and no art
Checks the free gush of the wild lay he sings; But the rapt eye and the impetuous thought Declare the pure affection.
Simms's Grouped Thoughts.
The wildest ills that darken life Are rapture to the bosom's strife; The tempest, in its blackest form, Is beauty to the bosom's storm.
J. W. Eastburn. And underneath that face, like summer's ocean's, Its lip as moveless, and its cheek as clear, Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart's emotions, Love, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow-all save fear. Halleck's Poems.
In thy breast there springs a poison fountain, Deadlier than that where breathes the Upas tree. Halleck's Poems.
To thought's tumultuous flow
I strive to give the strength of glowing words; The waves of feeling, tossing to and fro,
In broken music o'er my heart's loose chords, Give but their fainting echoes from my soul, As through its silent depths their wild, swift cur. rents roll. Mrs. Welby's Poems. Oh! Passion's words are faithless things, And Love disowns them ere they fall; It is the reckless tongue that stings,
The tongue that knows not Reason's thrall.
Thy injuries would teach patience to blaspheme, Yet still thou art a dove.
Beaumont's Double Marriage.
Patience preach it to the winds, To roaring seas, or raging fires! the knaves That teach it, laugh at you when you believe 'em. Otway's Orphan.
O ye cold-hearted, frozen formalists! On such a theme,. 't is impious to be culm; Passion is reason, transport temper, here.
Young's Night Thoughts.
E'en the best must own, Patience and resignation are the pillars Of human peace on earth.
Patience, unmov'd, no marvel tho' she pause; (They can be meek, that have no other cause ;) A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity, We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry;
But were we burden'd with like weight of pain, As much, or more, we should ourselves complain. Shaks. Comedy of Errors.
How poor are they, that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
Shaks. Othello. Patience, my lord! why 't is the soul of peace: Of all the virtues 't is the nearest kin to heaven; It makes men look like gods: the best of men That e'er wore earth about him, was a sufferer, A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit, The first true gentleman that ever breath'd.
Patience in cowards is tame hopeless fear; But in brave minds, a scorn of what they bear. Sir R. Howard's Indian Queen.
Many are the sayings of the wise, In ancient and in modern books enroll'd, Extolling patience as the truest fortitude; And to the bearing well of all calamities, All chances incident to man's frail life, Consolitaries writ,
With studied argument, and much persuasion sought,
Lenient of grief and anxious thought:
But with th' afflicted in his pangs their sound Little prevails, or rather seems a tune
Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint;
But patience is the virtue of an ass, That trots beneath his burden, and is quiet. Lansdowne's Heroic Love.
Preach patience to the sea, when jarring winds Throw up her swelling billows to the sky! And if your reasons mitigate her fury, My soul will be as calm.
Smith's Princess of Parma
As the pent water of a mill-dam lies Motionless, yielding, noiseless, and serene, Patience waits meekly with compassion'd eyes; Or, like the speck-cloud, which alone is scen Silver'd within blue space, ling'ring for air On which to sail prophetic voyages; Or as the fountain stone that doth not wear, But suits itself to pressure, and with ease Diverts the dropping crystal; or the wife That sits beside her husband, and her love Subliming to another state and life, Off'ring him consolation as a dove — Her sighs and tears, her heartache, and her mind Devout, untir'd, calm, precious, and resign'd.
In your patience ye are strong.
He is a coward who would borrow
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