The Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1837-1867, 1838-10-09
DEATH AND BEAUTY.
BY GEORGE d. PRENTICE.

BY GEORGE d. PRENTICE.
have seen the infant sinking down like
stricken flower TO the grave--the strong man
fercely breathing out his soul upon the field of
oattle--the miserable convict standing upon the
scaffold with deep curse quiverng on his lips
Il have viewed death In all his forms of dark
ness and vengeance, with fearless eye-but
never could look on woman, young and lovely
woman, fading away from the earth in beautiful
and accomplishing melancholy, without feeling
the very fountains of life turn to tears and dust.
Death is always terrble--but, when form of
angel beauty is passing of to the silent land of
the sleepers, the heart feels, that something love-
ly is ceasing from existence and broods, with
sense OF utter desolaion, over the lonely thoughts
that come up like scepres from the grave to
ha unit our midnight musings.
Two years ago, l took up my residence for
few weeks, in country village in the eastern
part ofNew. England. Soon after my arrival ]
became acquainted with lovely girl, apparently
about seventeen years ofage. She had lost the
idol of her pure hearts purest love, and the
shadows OF deep and holy memories were rest
ing like the wing of death upon her brow. |
first met her in the presence of the mirthful
her brow was garanded by the young wears
sweetest fiowers-her yellow locks were hang
ing beautifully and low upon her bosom-and
she moved through the crowd with such float
ing and unearthly grace, that the bewildered
gazer almost looked TO see her fade away in the
like air, the creation of some pleasant dream.
Days and weeks past on, and that sweet girl
gave me her confidence, and became to her
as brother. She was wasting away by disease.
The smile upon her lip was fainter, the purple
veins upon her cheek grew visible, and the ca
dences OF her voice became daily more weak
and tremulous. On quiet evening in the deptb
oil June, wandered out with her in the omen
air. 1t was then that she first told ma The t,Ie
OF her passion, and of the blight that had. come
down like mildew upon her life. Love had
been portion of her existence. Its tendrils
had been twined around her earliest wears. and
when they were rent away, they left wound
that flowed till all the springs Of her soul were
blood. III am passing away said she, "and il
should be SO. The winds have gone over INV
life, and the bright bud of hope, and the sweet
blossoms of passion are scattered down. and lie
whitening in the dust. And yet cannot 90
down among the tombs without tear. It's
hard to take leave ofthe friends who love me. il
is very hard to bid farewell to these dear scenes
with which have held communion from child
hood, and which from day to day have augbt
the color of my life and sympathzed with its lows
and sorrows That little'grove where have SO
often strayed with my buried Love, and where.
at times, even now, the sweet tones of his voice
ssem to come stealing around me till the whole
air becomes one intense and mournfn melody
that pensve star, which we used to watch in its
early rising, and on which my fancy can still
picture his form looking down upon me and
oeckonins me to his own bright home--every
flower, and every tree, aud rivulet, on which the
memory ofour early love has set its undvinp
seal, have become dear to nv and cannot.
without SIGH close my eyes npon them forev-
have lately heard that the beautiful girl O,
whom have spoken of is dead. The close Of
her life was as calm "a, the failing of a quie,