Literary cadet, and Saturday evening bulletin. [volume] (Providence, R.I.) 1826-1827, 1827-01-06
THE LIGHT OF OTHER TINES.


Ii is not in the season of infancy, when
the tongue half articulates the name of
mamma" in Iisping accents-when the
little arms are twined around the nurses
neck, in gratitude for some dainty just re-
ceived-and the eye sparkles as it gazes
on each novel object-in all the fervor
Of new. born enthusiasm-that the bosom
thrills with the pleasures, or throbs with
the pains of memory. But little time
and the scene is changed-in our school
day troubles, young and thoughtless as
the heart may be, we feel its influence
we leave, perchance, our ''na.ive home," !"
and the companions ofour infantine sports.
The first tear ofreal grefnow dims the
eye, as we recall our childish joys, and
contrast them with the dull monotony of
study and discipline. And where are the
absent friends whose society may have
charmed, and whose sympathy may have
soothed us? Together with them, the
promenade may have been past, or the
volume perused-lhey have shared our
JOYS and sorrows in other hours-they
may have mingled with us in the festive
dance-and their voices with ours may
have harmonzed many leisure hour
yet still they are far away, and these
scenes have vanished-but in moments
of visionary indulgence, these images
will rise upon the fancy, ,at the recollection
of which we smile while we sigh, and
sigh while we SMILE" And we may roam
from place to place, new scenes will burst
upon the eye--nature's charms are spread
before us-the majesty of the mountain
the grandeur of the wave-the mag
nifcence ofwoodland wilds---or the beau
ty of the grove and the grace of the
rivulet, may rise upon the eye---yet
while the enthusiastic spirit is revellng
in haunts like these, the heart will often
linger round the natal bowers we have
left behnd-warmer hearts may here be
found-fairer forms are stealing near us,
yet still the thought will hover round
the past, and we sigh for
"Those we've left behind u.s.
Remembrances like these, though me-
lancholy, may be pleasing, although
"joy's recollection is no longer joy."-
But have you lost friend9 brother |?
Heard mothers parting breath Then,
indeed, the pains Of memory are ours
Oh these will press upon the spirit at
the gayest seasons, and spread gloom
over the happiest days. Have We not
seen the smile checked by the sigh Of
SORROW? Have We not seen the gloomy
shade come suddenly around the brigh-
test brow ?-True, indeed, "there are
thoughts We cannot banish," though all
around are happy and joyous. And
how powerful is association A strain
Of music will bring some half forgotten
image to tine mind, as we recognise the
well known air, and think upon the one
whose voice first breathed those sounds
upon the ear. Did We hear the note of
that songster from yonder tree ? Re-
membrance revives with that strain /:
Hark to the sound Of yon distant bell,
as it falls upon the ear in these romantic
solitudes-" How many tale its music
tells"-a glance of the eye--a tone of
the voice, will recall the past, and the
eyes and the voices we have known in
moments that arc gone. We revisit, per-
chance, some familiar spot, after absence
has half worn its recollection from the
mind. 1t may be the classic halls that
have been trod so often in the glow OF
youthful feeling-it may be our child
hoods home, among whose bowers we
have sported in times long past. But
where are the forms that we loved ? the
bright and the beautiful, they are gone
then, indeed, the hand is pressed to the
burning brow as these remembrances
swell the heart.
Have ye gazed upon the star of eve,
or the midnight moon, without musing
on =" other times ?" Does not the sigh
escape US in times like these, when all
is silent round ?
4" The eyes are dmmd with childish tears,
The heart is idly stirr'i
For the same sounds Are in the ears,
Which in past past times were heardn