Litchfield enquirer., 1837-05-18
FOR THE ENQUIRER. AM BlTlON.

If there are any dark spots in life upon which we may look back where the bitter waters of afflcton have been mingled in the cllalice of joy, their origin may be traced to impure and unbounded passions. would not gainsay the truth that reasonable aspirngs after honor or riches or fame, are not laudable.- There is perhaps no feeling of the human heart interwoven with natures than the passion of Am bition. It is the sweet food of our fancy, when wake in the glowing and halcyon days of our sunny youth, while are resistbly led to contemplate life as but gilded panorama, wherein all bright and beautiful objects are concentrated the visions of hope spring up like flowers in the youthful blossom, when no storm is lowering, when no tempest hath gathered. Were it possible that the dreams of our ambition the one half of our vain yearning for honor or fame, could be ful6led then might the aspiring bosom thrill with delight, then might this earth be deemed but another Eden where the spirit of joy shed its haowed ecstaces; where the dark clouds of evil were not permitted to lower the ftfu and fe versh dsapponments of life came not in their bitter ness to the tranquil spirit.
 But, alas! as the time bears away on it's troubled the dim apses of our faded years to minge with the soreless of eternity, how do the hrongng plans of human ambition decay within that breast
 
 maturer years is presented in bitter exchange for the gorgeous and overwrought colorng of the young and enthusiastic soul It sonly experence-thatc constant pnnce-that bitter monitor-which may tell US how futile are many of fond expectations and it is not until we have found the gariands of young exist ence withered, until we find the tempest clouds of disappointment lowering darkly above and around us, where we had deemed the sun of pleasure poured a flood of glory from the respendent zenith of his course, that we are forced to excaim, as look back upon the bright morning of our childhood and the shadows and sunshine of our departed existence. A thousand objects, as we start into life, conspre to fill the soul with the passion of ambition. Who can look forth with the clear and ardent eye of youth upon the flow CTS with which his future path of life appears to be srewn, and not seek to weave wreath of their vari- cd and glowing colOrs7 Who can contemplate the star of fame gimmerng amidst the clouds that trem- ble around her dizzy height, and not feel his bosom swell with emotions which he can never express, and yet which he cannot entirely concenl7 It is this which causes the proud conqueror to rejoice, as he sits on hs trumphal chariot with tho gathered spells and trophies Of nature around him i. is this which thrills the bosom of tho philosopher and fills with the fire o though. the poets eye but |. may Do reasonably in Iswsd shss the thoughts Of our own dissolution eau nc yer hsvs place In our bosOms while they ihrob wit the restless and aspiring emotions of our dawnini years Could this be- how soon would they vanIsl away and the musIng spIH. be bFoagh, to ponder o' the muabINsy ofaI earthly objects. It's Death whel s the teFoV end the bitter enemy so impure psssun and uRhOly ambition Ils voice Is ns the sound of mo ny wslsw-as the great deep which lIltslh up il hands ea high snd lt speaks lo lhal 0aF which S 10 moVe deaf Ihan he adder saying sil Is vanity. As hn wiO turns Sway in utter hopelsAsnsss oG hIs spirit