Literary cadet and Rhode-Island statesman. [volume] (Providence, R.I.) 1827-1829, 1828-07-19
NTISCHLLANY.
LOVE,S LEGACY.

shall never meet again. We were chill
dren together. sat by the same fre-sid,
when the winter winds wh,stled arount
our dwelling-sported on the same greet
slope when The sweet breath Of the soutl
stole up from among the howers-laugh
ed in light heartedness at the silly jest.
Of childhood-and wcp' at the same tale
Of sorrow conned over by the half crazed
beldame Of our village. The swift wing
ed hours flew blythe glee Of laughing
and ihoughtless childhood gave place to
the half stayed bashiulness of the girl
a wild light sprang TO your eyes, CLEAN
Of intellect lay upon your forehead, CLOS
sy and glancing tresses fell over your
fine white shoulders; deeper pulse beat
ia the depths Of your bosom, but still to
mo you " ere unchanged, and we loved
each other with ali the strength and pu-
rity Of first devotion. Destiny wilicd
our separation for two feeting summers,
and it was SO. False delicacy forbid our
correspondence, and | heard nothing
from your own bright lips, or beheld not
the trace of your own sweet penmanship
during all that weary absence. Yet my
dreams Of Matilda were immaculate
That change should fall upon the spir-
it of your senses seemed impossible
That one SO devoted in yoalh, and so
unsuIied in soul could think of another
as Of me, seemed profanity even in
thought. But how vain was my credu-
lity. l returned, Matilda, and found my
place by your side usurped by another.
Ills smile to you seems ile's paradise,
and my presence its shadow. will not
endeayour to win you back to your first
allegiance, for | feel that you arc un-
worthy the deep intensity Of my affec-
tions. feel that have been deceived
in your nature, and patiently submit to
tho consequences OF my error. Yet l
do not hate you Matilda, but only pity
the weakness that induced the transfer
Of your heart. That tho change may to
you ts feIicitous is thy anxious prayer.
But oh! it was like the plunge of a pom
lard when witnessed your bright lips
pressed in;delirium by those ofthat proud
boy. 1t is true that his nature is widely
different from miue. There was calm
bS! depth in my emotions when | gazed
mpo. you. imagined thousand glori-
Gus dreams which my lips refused to
utter. Twas my ambition to look upon
you as upon some "bright, particular
star''-to image up all your chaste fer
vency, and to think you too lovely and
too pure to be the afFianced spirit Of clay,
so gross as mine. | saw the dark lash
Of your bewldering eye and felt myself
bewildered-my senses became confus-
ed when your slight hand lay within
mine, and trepidaiion stole over my
frame of which felt ashamed. Mine
was the idolatry Of one who felt the
force Of unutterable passion-the first
wild dream Of an uncorruptcd soul. To
have drawn you to my bosom would have
been paradise, but shrunk from It as a
dream too like heaven; as a spell too in
toxicating to be felt without insanity
Mine was the homage Of sin devoted to
DIANA religious principle that grew
within my nature unconsciously - thing
distinct from all worldiness, and beyond
the callous selfshness Of this neither
sphere. never was reveller, for the
wine cup lost its luxury when absent from
you. Ii an angel had descended to earth,
aud had l become q worshipper, the
emotions of that homage would not have
been more hallowed than those which
were devoted to Matilda No impure
thought ever fitted through my brain
when you were the theme Of my imagin-
ings. Oh! that dream so Immaculate
should be dissolved! Oh! that mildew
10 cold as that Of despair, should fall
upon my soul. May you be happy Ma
tilda, but what depth of passion have
you flung from you-what a gushing
fountain have you sealed up, and for
whom' A wild proud boy who has dar-
ed to tell you in passionate language
that he loved you--a creature whose
whole being is impulse, aud whose very
nature is an emblem of change. One
whom the world does not honour-one
whom you yourself cannot admire for
virue. His life is yet young it is true
his beauty still unnipped; but the out.
lines Of his character are not those of
honour and the current of his thoughts
does not tetokan virtue. If you are to
be his bride Matilda, may he forever
love you, and love you for yourself alone
as l have done. Let my memory be |
washed into oblivien, but if after long
and cheerless years you shall find your.
self blighted rosebud, cast upon the
cold winds Of this bleak world, remem-
him who would have died to preserve
you from calamity. Remember him who
called you dear sister ia boyhood, and
who twined wreaths Of wild flowers to
garland your stainless forehead -remsm-
Der him whose only delight was to please
you, and whose only sorrow was your
unhappiness.