Massachusetts spy and Worcester advertiser. [volume] ([Worcester, Mass.]) 1823-1825, 1825-01-05
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From the New York Mirror
THE DREAM OF LOVE.
By Charles Ludlow, Of Richmond, IA.

By Charles LudlOw, Of Richmond, "a.
/ have seen bubble blown into its
circular and indescribable beauty on
its brilliant surface were painted the
most inimitable pictures of light and life
graceful clouds floated in the bosom
of the mimic. sky: fine sun irradiated
the little world, and cast all the magic
light and shade over a landscape Of
most bewitching splendor. A creation,
bright as poet could imagine, gloved
before me; but wave of air broke the
spell of It's transitory, but beautiful exis-
tence, and it was gone. 1t was like a
dream of love. If there is one happy
being in creation, it is the lover in the
luxury of his visionary aspirations-if
there is single blissful moment, like a
star sparkling in the sbadowy armament
OF life, it is that which discovers a long
nourished affection to be mutual.
The moon, as she rides on through
her in6nity ofspace, has not a greater
effect upon the ocean tide, than has the
passion of love upon the tide of human
thought-now permitting ii to settle
down into a state of temporary tranquil
hty--again bidding it heave and swell,
by the magic of its viewless power.
Without it, what would be this world I?
As creation without light; yet, pos
sesslng ii, as we do, how does it discem-
pose the soberest plans of reason How
do the loftiest buhyarks of stern philos-
oPhy bow down and disappear before
the fragrance of lis breath 1t is the
poetry Of thought, when reason slum-
bers on her stately throne, or wanders
away in happy dreams 1t is scarcely
to be defined, for it seems in a perpetu-
al halo of soft light, which dazzles
while it fascinates the minds eye. II is
10 the spirit what sunshine is to the
fiower-luring the fragrance from its
bosom, and bringing out all the ener-
gies of its young nature, or as the hand
of beauty to the slumbering lutte passing
over the silent chords, till sit doth dis
course most eloquent music"
| had young friend, just rising into
manhood--hery and unsettled as the
warriors steed in battle, his career was
unguIded by prudence OF thought. A
never failing flow of spirits made him al
ways agreeable--he was full of sense
and frolic. He could bring tear into
your eye, before the smile had left your
lip--he was always hope and happi.
ness.
Suddenly he stood before me an alter
ed being-his eye had grown melan-
choly and full of meditation. its mois-
ture was often succeeded by fash and
its fire agaiD extinguished in the trem-
bling tear. He stunned the rude clam
or ofthe bustling world, and would steal
away into some solitary recess, and in
the still shade of the forest ponder on
the sweetness Of his own sorrow. His
mind became almost world of itself.
and thousands of visions rose -obedient
at the call of creative thought--his soul.
lifted high on fancy's wing, would ex-
plore, in its wild and beautiful career,
the fatbomless regions of imagination,
through all the variety of its magni6-
cent domain. He loved-deepIy, de-
votedly. 1t was more than love; it
was alteration. The object of his pas
sion was all that woman could be.
There is no object, in all creation, halt
SO splendid as such being-the charms
that are dIfused through the whole uni
verse seemed gathered together in her.
When the sun is going down in the
west, he leaves behind him track of
bright light, but it is insipid when CON-
pared TO the light of her eye. The
fragrance of the rose was not so deli
cious as the warmth of her breath-mu.
sic could wake no melody like the thrill
ling tones of her voice. Her motion
was more graceful than the heave
of the sea, or the change Of
the cloud and the magic of mind
cleaning through all her words, and
looks, aud actions, shed around bel
a charm more grateful than Arabian in
cense.
No wonder my hero bowed down be.
fore her.. no wonder that the sound Of
her voice was always in his ear, that heu
image was before him in his daily occu.
pations, and bore part in the mysteri.
Gus changes of bis dream. There was
no affectation in her nature, and she
confessed she loved him--they seemed
created for each other-and who would
have believed that fate-but | am d.
crossing.
There is something very melancholy
in the reflection that any woman can
die but to him that she should perish,
was the very agony Of despair. He had
left her for few days, intending when
he returned to have asked her hand.
| On the morning of his return, he sDrany