The Delaware register, or, Farmers', manufacturers' & mechanics' advocate. [volume] (Wilmington, Del.) 1828-1829, 1828-11-15


Mrs Gwen as bird, my Father,
Long chained TO one dull prison, feels at length
Link by link severing, and the hour at hand
When it shall spread its sweet wings nconfn'd,
And mingle with the blue and boundless heaven
Crom-Nay talk not thus Maria, talk not thus!
must not lose thee, for, when thou art gone,
There is a void in this distracted bosom,
Too wide for worlds to fill.
My heart is broken, and thy constant love,
Like fresh green moss upon a fallen column,
Has long been all that holds the perishing fragments
In its soft touch together.
.ifrs C-Is't come to this?
And hangs thy happiness upon thread
So frail as this poor life Will all thy honors,
Thy conquests dignities, avail thee nothing
Thine are the throne, the sceptre-
CrOH--Baubles! Baubles!
Would that my soul had meier been lmed by such!
Oh! that could return into the womb,
And be the nothing that was, or live
My days Of happy boyhood DER again
Nv innocent boyhood, when | slept soft sleeps
Unbroken unembittered, and shed tears,
Not like these lava drops, that furrowu
The cheeks they course but the hearts genest waters
Tightening the fount they flowed from
Or better still, that could drop at
Into the silent grave-But, tho I've prayed
For death, he will not come and kindly add
The body's ruin to the wreck within.
Alas! my soul is like a weapon, which
Heavens ghtnings have destroyed, yet left unscathed
Its scabbard of vile clay.
Mrs C--0h listen TO me,
Dear Father, listen.
Crom-Speak speak on, my child.
Mrs C-My hour is nigh
Oh! do not nurse the treacherous hope that fear
Or woman's weakness prompts the thought, feel
know that am dying: and yon taper,
Now glimmering in its socket, will not waste
So as I-yet ere my spirit parts,
I've somewhat for thy
CrOm-0h give it uterance!
And wretch tortured with want pain
Hung DER the sounds that promised wealth and ease,
As will listen to thee!
Mrs C-Draw nearor-nearer yct-lend me thy hant
Look down me, sweet heaven, and strengthen me,
So that my dying breath may dry the tears
A country sheds, and give to pristine lustre
A Fathers furnished fame
Crom-What mean'st thou child!
Thy words dark and vague, yet shake my soul
Like distant thunder, ere we know the place
On which the bolt will fall.
Mrs C-There was man
Who found one PROSTATE in the dust, and welterng
In her own gore. The wounds deep, not deadly;
He raised her. stanched her wounds and smiled upon he
She chung TO him. and blessed him. Then he smiled
Again, and she eloquent in praise
And liberal in reward-and then he clasped her,
And stabbed her to the heart!
Cron-Most horrible
Lives there wretch like this! My spies shall find him;
I'll scour the country round, ere he shall 'scape
The hand Of Justice.
Mrs C-Ah! the man mean
Is seated high above his fellow men,
Too high for Justice-Thousands at his nod
Trembe, and tens of thousands who now curse him
In secret hide their hatred in their hearts
Like sheathd dagger, and they dare not strike.
Crom-0h heaven!
Why knew this no sooner
Mrs CT feared the tale
Would but offend YOU
Crona-Ofend me! lives the wretch
Where the sun shnes and the wind blows I'll find him,