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

noise Of the water, nor sweet human
voice, which does not bring him pie asure.
He secs all the light and hears all the
music about him--and this is poetry.
To one thus gifted, nature is friend
of many sweet Offices and true consola-
tions. Gall it visionary if you will, she
has. glad fellowship for the happy, and
medicine for the wounded spirit, and
C calm communion for gentle thoughts,
which are the life Of his moral being
Let him seek her when he will, II his
heart be any thing but dead, the poor
sympathy Of the world is mockery OIL
minstering influences. dare 60 FAR
ther. The power Of nature over such
mind as have described, is, ia cases
of extreme meotal suffering, or aban-
donment, stronger than any other moral
influence. There is something in its deep
and serene beauty ,,ncxpressibly soothing
to the diseased mind. 1t steals over it
silently, and gradually, like an invisible
finger, erasing its dark lines and remov-
ing its broodng shadows, and before he
is aware, he is loving, and enjoying, and
feeling, IA he did in better days, when
his sp,rit was untroublcd. To those who
see nothing about them but physical con-
venience, these assertions may seem ex-
travagant; but they are, nevertheless,
true; and blessed be the Author OF our
faculties. there are some who know, by
experience, that nature is friend and
physician to the sick and solitary spirit
of her worshipper.
Paul Lorraine, by the above cefnit-
ion, was a poet He had been what is
called a strange child. 1t was a way Of
saying that they did not understand him.
His unbounded gladness when gay, and
| his singular depression at times, were
naccountable. He was as doclle and
affectionate as girl; but he would wan
der away on summer morning, and ne
glect his books, like very truant. He
could Fever resist the STRINGS ofspring,
| and the smallest bird that went singing
over him on his way to school, tempted
him off irresistibly. His spirit revolted
| at confinement in such seasons, and when
child for absence, his spirit rose within
| him, and he answered Indignantly. On
one of these occasions he was punished
with n blow. / remember as it wore
Yesterday. He was perfectly transform
ed The delicate, quiet boy, whom we
expected to submit, and weep, sPrang to
his feet with the sternness Of lion. He
compressed his beautiful lip, and his eye
flashed for moment-and then he stood
calm and irnmovcabe till the bloodgush-
ed from his nostrils. Ii was the last at
tempt to subdue him, and he was left 10
his own waywardnsss.
At fourteen, Paul Lorraine was the
mos engaging being l ever saw. He
was tall for his years, and surprisingly
grac eful; but his face won you like
spell 1t was not its regularity; not its
clear, transparent compilations; not his
fine eye, with its long, shadowy lashes;
bu: delicious melancholy, that was re-
freshing, like the twilight, to look upon.
lie was happier than most boys, often
gay; but whptevor the change in the
features that were sngularly flexible, the
calm, angelic seriousness OF that look
was always there. His person was ap-
parently slight; but exquisite symmetry,
and the exercise OF his early wanderings,
had given it compactness, and the airy
glide of his step was almost unearthly.-
His bearing was modest, and the habit
ual sadness of his countenance chasten-
cd il much; but 10 one could be long in
his presence, without discovering that
tho chvaIry Of high-minded boy was
among his readiest impulses. |
Is it singular that such being should
be loved? that, in the early maturity OF
uncommon sepsibilities, he should him
self love, passionately? Perhaps it was
the fault Of his character that he was
too susceptible. He certainly never
could resist the delightful language Of
woman's unmeant preference; and if
this is sin, il is the shadow Of virtue
consequence inseparable from the
very delicacy which ennobled him. 1
am not sure that the blush which betray-
ed the secret Of Marion Graham, was
not the first shot from the quiver we
read Of; but he that as it may, truer
affection never stirred the fine chords of
the human bosom than the love Of Paul
Lorraine for that bewitching fairy. i
have seen her often; have played with
her, by daylight, and moonli yht, thou
sand times: and could describe her,
but he has done it himself better. He
wrote the verses which follow, in
school, on blank leaf of his Virgil;
The tempting lip never kissed,
Or kissing not tell,
Wa, like a flashing amethyst
On which a has fell
Or rose leaves bushng through mist,
Or the iinng OF shell.
gazed upon that lip the while
Her honied words did fow,
And wondered a the hidden villa
That made my feelings glow,
Asd wished my sister could beguils
Nv So.