Literary cadet and Rhode-Island statesman. [volume] (Providence, R.I.) 1827-1829, 1828-06-28


ing; but the continual dropping which
wears away stone is true emblem
ofthe unquiet heart, and she wore away
| beneath il.
Unavoidable circumstances kept him
al distance, aud they seldom met. But
with all the haIowed delicaoy and deep
tenderness Of their love, that brief in-
tercourse was constrained and painful.
1t was natural that it should be SO. Her
cheek glowed in his presence like the
lip Of child; but less practiced eye
might discover the history of sad, wea-
ry thought beneath it. He knew its
intensity; and it was not strange, as she
leaned feeb!y on his arm, that dark
thoughts overshadowed his happiness.
Could she be happy? This "wearing
away to the land Of leal'' is not the steal
thy ministry they call it. 1t tells truly
of its progress. And it is only when the
shortened pulse and the difficult breath
are willulIy disregarded' that the last
call is surprise to the sufferer Could
she be happy? She looked upoh his
noble forehead and his manly beauty,
and asked herself if the syren world
would pass him by with its manifold
temptations. 1t was no weakness Of
her trust. But the bias Of elements SO
warm and the workings Of spirit so un-
like the tame temper of his fellows, might
surely warrant anxiety in one who
waited on their destiny. She remembered
I that the minute, and, to him, almost COLI
temptible policy Of life must be adopted;
that his fine powers must be condensed
and turned to profit; that he must forget
his beautiful fancy, and forsake the at
fractions of frcquented circles, and be
no more alone with nature; that he must
me ct fraud and calculation, and be pa
tient with absurdity, and familiar with
the low artifce of the sMewd; that he
must change, totally; and for what'
Riches! And would lie do it? Yes,
Marion To fold you to his bosom to
take you to himself; shelter, protect,
cherish you, were enough to bear him
on were it ten times the sacrifice.
l have often thought that the line
spirits who are sometimes seen among
US, were commissioned angels, gifted
with bodies that should release them
gently when their errand was done. 1t
is to me almost a conviction. The
frames Of the very purest human beings
whom it is our blessedness to know, are
often so dcicately balanced-they seem
so readily and lightly to depart when
the brightness Of their life is overcast
to live so entirely to bless, and TO die SO
truly at the hour when tho sorrow Of
the world would overtake them, that
cannot think it a dream.
Marion Graham was such a one.
The fragile beauty Of her form was
more the dclicacy ofan ephemcron than
the proper symmetry Of creature that
would endure. 1t was evident in her
childhood that the first shock given to
her spirit would disengage it; and though
many wept none wondered when she
visibly failed and assumed the treach-
erous loveliness of consumption. The
anxieties Of which have spoken, and
constant fervour Of love which kept
her heart fcverish with excitement, were
too much, and it was apparent that she
was going down rapidly to the grave.
1t was not kept from Lorraine, and he
was prostrated with the blow. He had
feared and expected it long; but it came
upon him with the suddenness of thun-
derbolt The human heart is subtle
deceiver, and never believes till truth is
inevitable; and that Marion would die
so soon! before he had pressed her to
his heart, and called her his own, had,
even to his darkest forcbodings, seemed
impossible. l cannot describe his fee
lings. lie could not, adequately him
self. He was not permitted to go to
her while a shadow of hope remained,
and he sunk into stupor which seemed
almost the calmness Of delirum.
went to him one day, and found him
more cheerful than usual. He had
been writing the verses copied below,
and it had relieved him. He handed
them to me with q melancholy smile,
and said they were his last poetry.
Is death thee Marion
Is il the time for thee
IT. lay thy burden gently down,
And let thy spirit free!
Aud is this all Thy ministry!
Is thy brief errand done!
Art thou so early for the grave,
Sweet Marion!
I cannot give thee up-to die!
] cannot feel that thou
vii, liz no moie that gentle eye;
Nor with that sweet .ow!
How corld I--soeng not thy face,
Aud hearing not thy tone
Bear my impatient hclItedness
And still live On
II is not vet but sickness lie,
Heavily at thy heart,
And dimnes- pres,cth down thine eyes,
Till thou would'st fain depart;
And oh may not bathe thy brow,
Nor at thy pillow pray,
Nor wait to close thy lids, when thou
Hast past away?
but fare thee well If II must be
II thou must aier-dic
! care not if be my lot
Beside thee 10 lie