Litchfield enquirer. [volume] (Litchfield, Conn.) 1829-current, 1832-11-29

IOrth again IN the spring. ana We turn INTO
the loneliness; Of our own deserted hearts,
and feel {" They went with the flowers. but
they shall not return.sa There aFealloughts
that come up amid slse Joy Of the feast--
like the deaths head al the banquet ofthe
monarch Of yofeaild speak yet . deeper,
and sterner language for they tell as,
not that We are mortal, but that the chill
of mortality is bfeathed on The fair Howers
that are rooted deepest in our hearts. and
that death is written over the portals even
ofour life. True, the day rejoicing ar
rives, but where the arrow IS driven the
poor heart will ache on. The note OF
praise is indeed heard, but who can enter
abe secret sanctuary, WIN can number the
tears that are mol heard- who can meas
ure the bitterness Of despair that IS buried
IN the silence Of the broken heart. Asthe
wounded deer seek ii. the. dark covert a
shelter from its e0mpafions and from man,
the spirit buries III It's own dark depth, the
wound, on whicl. e slirinks from commune
ion with aught but is God.
There are In every bosom feelings, that
If reused, viii not sleep sgain 4 spark that
if once kindled, will burn on. ill it flames
out ia the Volcano. ii matters little what
be the cause that excited them, whether il
be ambition, or hatred, Or revenge, or love.
The tempest is abroad, and il matters little
that we know whence comes the thunder
bolt, that has smitten fair hopes with
scathihg and desolatioI,. n matters little
too, what may be the character on which
they act whether i be tho feeble mind,
that seeks relief in the Bitterness OF CONE
plant, or the dark spirit that reyels ID
hope Of revenge, or the lofty deep-toned
mind, whose own thoughts have become
the minister of despair, yet, in the strength
OF silent endurance, stands calmly >and
proudly amid its ruined hopes, triumphing
still even over its own desolation-th
they are-mountains may shut in the yol-
cano. the. ocean may roll over the fires,
that should have burst from the earths
quake; but not mountains, nor oceans,
can shut in the fllness of the heart, when
the awakened spirit will be heard.
There is, / am persuaded, at the bottom
Of every heart, this tinge Of strong, perhaps
romantic feeling. We may bury il deep
from the observations Of others we may
throw over il the veil Of icy manners and
cold pride-we may conceal the weakness
Of the heart, in the hearts secret chambers,
till il IS hidden even from our eyes but
when unexpected circumstances have sud-
denly reused it into i lie ,aen his sluosbers
shall be shaken from the sleeping lion.-
The feelings we had yainly chained in the
prison honse Of hearts, will rush forth like
the tempest. The barriers we had idly
heaped before them. will be whirled away
like the autumn leaves, and the strong
feelings of nature will break forth, bearing
destruction before. leaving dcsolation be-
hind them. But these are restrictions and
feelings that are fast passing away
!" Time robs the diamond, and ono by on,
sweeps away our hearts idols and hopes
till we feel That we are lefl alone. in TIC
world. hoping nothing, sloying nothing
fearing nOthi6g. Without tho lie, for
which we loved 10 live or feared t0die. -
We have stood perhaps like some CANDY
tree, which has long reared It's blossoms In
the pride of its beauty--b0t bud AFTER bud
is blighted, blossom after blossom is scati1-
ed---branch after branch has the storm
rent away; but the hand of time has been
busy at It's heart, and il falls--in the lone
illness of the desert it falls land its graceful
ruins cumbcr the gropnd il was won't to
freshaR with its shade. And yet SO grad
aal dl9 the footsteps Of change and decay.
that We hardly notice their approach. dill
the recurrence Of their anniversaries warns
us, as It were, TO breathe fora moment
from our course, and 10 look back for those
who left the goal with Us. and but now
were at our sides, and 10 our hearts, but
their places have been blotted from the re-
cords Of life, and il our memory has treas
ured their names, il has bot added them to
the sad catalogue Of broken and forgotten
friendships Then tho past rises from US,
and feelings that have long numbered III
the grave Of years, bound again into being.
There is no voice like the voice Of the
dead, when from The g shoreless sea" il
calls to us, who yet linger bcbind, and with
our sails trimmed, wait but the breeze that
is to speed us onward and homeward with
them. ]. So il must still be- They who
were many as tbeesn fakes around me,
have melted like them away. The past is
now but pleasant DREAM and the world Of
spirits, and the valley Of st4dows are be-
fore me. And as my 9 feet srnmble on the
dark mountains' and 60 forth alone on
INV homeward path, there Is stern con-
ISOLATION in tho thought, ihaf surviving all,
there are left no ties that sise heart trem-
bles TO break. Z would not that it were
otherwise. Unmonrned, unmourning !
would depart. And as the chains thai