ABSENCE. A PASTORAL BALLAD. Philip Parsons Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T116245 1137 K093079.004 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. IV. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 90-93. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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ABSENCE . A PASTORAL BALLAD . BY — . HOW sweet to recall the sweet moments of joy ! 'Tis this , and this only can Absence employ , Can ease my fond heart , and beguile my soft pain , Till I see with delight my dear charmer again . Ah ! who ever knew such full transports as I , While with her , the swift minutes unheeded pass'd by , Alas ! with the sweet recollection I burn , Bring back your delights , ye dear moments , return ! Ah me ! what delights in my bosom would rise While with eager attention I've hung on her eyes , And watch'd the kind beams of Compassion and Love , While she pitied my passion , and seem'd to approve ; Ah me ! with what raptur'd attention I've hung , To catch the sweet accents that flow'd from her tongue , When tenderness bade the dear maiden impart The pleasing sensations that glow'd in her heart . O how does my Fair one consume the long day ? Is the Charmer quite easy while I am away ? Indeed if our thoughts like our hearts should agree , The dear lovely maiden is thinking on me : Ah ! did she but think with such fondness as I , How much would she grieve , and how oft would she sigh ! Yet with so much fond Love may her bosom ne'er burn , If she sighs as I sigh , if she mourns as I mourn . But why do I wander ? why sigh thus alone ? Alas ! 'tis the loss of my Fair that I moan . Why thus every hour does my sorrow increase ? Alas ! it is Absence that ruins my peace . Why swells my sad bosom with fear and with grief ? Ah ! nought but her presence can bring me relief . Why thus down my cheek trickles fast the big tear ? Alas ! can I help it ? — my Fair is not here . Till I nourish'd this passion I all unconcern'd Saw Peace my companion wherever I turn'd , Till now with my heart all at ease I could rest , And a sigh was a stranger unknown to my breast . What then is this Love ? and why do I endure These griefs in my mind , nor endeavour to cure ? When thus my fond heart is o'erwhelm'd with Despair , And I know no delight when away from my Fair ? Yet , Colin , these pains , spite of all thou hast said , By one hour of her presence are far over-paid , These sorrows from Absence which now you deplore , Then vanish , are lost , and are thought of no more . Recall those rash words , and forbear to complain , Since the next tender meeting rewards all your pain , Let sweet Expectation then lessen your care , Let Hope soften Absence , and keep off Despair . Sure , sure those dear pleasures once more will return ; How long in this Absence distrest must I mourn ? How long must I wish , while my lot I deplore , That dear angel-face ! — could I see it once more ! That dear angel-voice ! — Time , how swift didst thou seem , While I listen'd enchanted as Love was her theme ! O come those dear hours ! and to soothe my fond pain Love again be her theme , and I listen again ! How dull and how slow do the moments retreat ! Time was when they flew : — now there's lead on their feet . Ye Loiterers , be gone ; why so long do ye stay ? Ye fly when I'm with her , ye creep when away . Ah ! Colin , how foolish Time's progress to blame , His paces are equal , his motions the same ; 'Twas the joy of her Presence made Time appear fleet , 'Tis the pain of her Absence adds lead to his feet .