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1. THOUGH absent, present in desires they be;
Our souls much further than our eyes can see.

2. Absence not long enough to root out quite All love, increases love at second sight.

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I'm from thy sight, the heart within my bosom
Moans like a tender infant in its cradle,



Whose nurse has left it.

OTWAY'S Venice Preserved.

There's not an hour

Of day or dreaming nights 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

Of thee.

PROCTOR'S Mirandola.

5. 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.


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6. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there; But alas! recollection at hand

Soon hurries me back to despair!

7. Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold,
Nor friends, nor sacred home.

8. 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'S Bride of Abydos.

9. Far I go where fate may lead me,
Far across the troubled deep;
Where no stranger's ear shall heed me,
Where no eye for me shall weep.

10. Tho' fate, my girl, may bid us part,

The soul it cannot, cannot sever;
The heart will seek its kindred heart,
And cling to it as close as ever.

11. And canst thou think, because we part
Till some brief months have flown,
That absence e'er can change a heart
Which years have made thine own?

12. "Tis hard to be parted from those

With whom we for ever could dwell;
But bitter indeed is the sorrow that flows,


When perhaps we are saying farewell-forever!


13. When absent from her whom my soul holds most dear,
What a medley of passions invade!

In this bosom what anguish, what hope, and what fear,
I endure for my beautiful maid!


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