Piney Woods planter and Amite union literary reflector. [volume] (Liberty, Miss.) 1838-1838, 1838-04-28
Yet wish not those eyes to weep
For him who wanders DER the deeP,--
Though whereso'er my bark may run,
love but thee--I love but one.


Though whereso'e r my bark may run,
love but thee-I love but one.
Poets are the only lovers whose pas
sion never dies. Other men feel as strong
II and suffer as deeply, but 1t is only for
assessor. They 90 out into the world,
and its cares and pleasures efiace the re-
membrance of their grief. But the poet
lives Within circle that is bounded by his
own Imagination. The same bright form
that he worshipped in youth is perpetual
ly present in manhood and even in age
He invests it with solemn attributes. Me-
mories of the past, of hopes "that blossom
ed but to die" and of sorrows that fade
not but with life, hang around and hallow
it in his thoughts. The Cheltenham Chron-
icle, an English paper Of high literary me-
rit, says:--That this was the case with
Shakespeare is amply testified in his beau
tiful sonnets, which are but a mirror re
fiectiug his Utmost mind. 1t was the same
with Byron, whose early and unfortunate
love tinged the whole Intercourse of his
existence. Bowles again is another in
stance in point. In slight auto-biogra-
phical memoir, full of interest, he tells of
two attachments formed during the strug-
giles of his friendless and penniless youth,
one broken off through poverty, one by
death; but each sacred and hallowed
thing in his memory. The following SON.
net, written 'twhen forty winters had be-
sieged his Brow on an accidental inter
view with the lady Of his earliest love, will
serve to show how abiding were the ear
Hest impulses of his heart:
When last we parted, thou vert young and fair;
How beautiful let fond remembrance say!
Alas! since then old Time has stol'n awry
Nigh forty years, leaving my temples bare.
So hath it perished-like a thing Of air,
The dream Of love and youth. We now are
gray:
Yet still, remembering youths enchanted
way.
Though time has chang d my look and blanch a
my hair,
Though remember one sad hour with pain,
And never thought-long as yetmight live,
And parted long--to hear that voice again,
can sad but cordial greeting give,
And for thy welfare breathe as warm prayer,
Lady, as when loved thee young and fair
Of his two luckless loves, it is easy to
see that the one interrupted by fortune
has left the deepest impression on his heart.
This was only natural, it may be said; for
It was first love, or at least, an earlier
passion; and the grave, too, ends all, even
hope. There is something, doubtless, in
the physical impossibility-for fancy will
cherish what reason condemns; but the
true cause is still deeper. In separations
springing from ourselves, it is difficult to
escape from some feeling of blame in the
continuance or the termination of the con-
nexion: chad | done otherwise, it might
have been better,n is the memory of re-
gret, if not of remorse. If fortune causes
he break, we may grieve our imprudence
n the formation of the intimacy, or think
hat we dropped it too supinely without
urther struggles or waiting for further
chances: if none of these are present to
lash with their bitterness the cup of life,
disappointment, always painful, springs
rom accidental and dress like things But
natural death is mightier and more mex
orable power, before which we feel our
lothngness--whose DEGREES we can nei-
her penetrate nor resist. We reproach
ourselves; we repine at fortune; but we
'ubmit to nature. And under this turks
mother and a larger moral. There is a
lature In all things. tits the part Of Wis
lom to discover it; and having done 50, to
egulate the conduct of life by the rules
W follow in dealing with physical nature
aking all precautions against unsuccess-
h results, allowing neither passion nor
empeI to sway our actions; and having
one this, to dismiss the remembrance Of
he event, be it what it may, as a matter
yithout remedy and beyond care. u. Il