Bloomington herald. [volume] (Bloomington, I. T. [Iowa]) 1840-1849, 1841-04-02
THE BROKE.v NE.aRT.
BY G. d. PRENTICE.

stricken hover " tuC kihSC-tuO SHO"S "'"s
fiercely breathing out his soul on the Held OF
battle-the miserable convict standing upon
the scaffold with deep curse qniverlng en- ms
Inns. have viewed death in all its forms and
| darkness and vengeance, with fearless eye
but I never could look on woman, fading away
| from The earth in beautiful and accomplishing
melancholy, without feeling the very fountains
| of life turned to tears and dust. Death Is al
WAYS terrible-but when form OF angelic
beauty is passing off TO the silent land OF see-
pers, the heart feels that something lovely Is
ceasing from existence, and breathes with
sense of utter desolation, over the lonely
thoughts that come up like spectres from The
graves to haunt our midnight musings.
Two years ago l took up my residence IN
country village in the eastern part OF New
England. Soon after my arrival became ac-
quainted with lovely girl, apparently about
seventeen years fage. She had lost the idol
Of her pures. love, and the shadow Of deep and
holy memories rested like the wing OF death
upon her brow. first met her in the presence
of the mirthfuI-she was indeed a creature to
be worshipped-her brow was gar'anded by
the young years sweetest flowers-her yellow
locks were hanging beautifully and low upon
her bosom, and she moved through the crowd
with such floating unearthly grace, that the
bewldered gazer looked almost to see her faint
away in the air. like the creation of some pleas
an. dream. She seemed cheerful and even gay,
but saw that the gayety was but mockery
of her feelings. She smiled, but there was
something in that smile which told that its
mournful beauty was but the bright reflection
of ,ear-and her eyelids at times closed hea-
Willy down, as if struggling to repress the tide
of agony that was bursting up from hear hearts
secret urn. She looked as if she could have
left the scenes of festivity and gone out be-
meath the quiet stars, and laid her forehead
down upon the fresh green earth and poured
out her stricken soul gush after gusli. till 1t
MINGLED with tire eternal fountain Ut life and
purity.
DAYS and weeks passed on, and that sweet
girl gave me her confidence, and became to
her as a brother. The smile upon her lip was
faint, the purple veins upon her neck grew WIS.,
ible, and the cadence of her voice became dali
" more weak and tremulous. On quiet eve
nino in June, wandered out with her in the
open air. Itwas then that she first told me OF
the tale Of her passion, and Of the blight that
came down like miIdew upon her lite,-love
had been part of her existence. Its tendrlls
had been twined around her heart in its earliest
year; and when they were rent away, It lett
wound till all the springs of her soul were
blood. 81 am passing away said she, and
it should be so. The winds have passed over
| my life, and the bright bud of hope and the
sweet-blossom Of passion are scattered down
| and lie whitening in the dust. And yet l can
not 90 down among the tombs without tear.
1t is hard to take leave Of friends who love me !;
it is very hard to bid farewell TO those dear
scenes with which l have held communion
from childhood, and which from day to day
have caught The color of my life, and sympa-
! ihized with its joys and sorrows. The little
| grave where have so often strayed with my
| buried love, and where, at times, even now,
| the sweetest tones of his voice seem to come
stealing around me, till the whole air becomes
| one intense and mournful melody; the pensive
star in which can still picture his form look
ing down upon me, beckcning me on to my
| own bright home-every flower and rivulet, on
which our early love has set his undying seal,
have become dear to me, and | cannot without
sigh close my eyes upon them forever"
| have lately heard that the beautiful girl Of
whom | have spoken is dead. The close of
her life was calm as the falling of quiet
stream-gentle as the sinking of the breeze
that fingers for time around bed Of roses,
and then dies as it were from very sweetness.
1t cannot be that earth is mans only abiding
place. 1t cannot be that our life is bubble
cast up by the ocean of eternity, to float a mo-
ment upon the waves, and then to sink into
darkness and nothingness. Else why is it
that the aspirations, which leap like angels
from the temple of our hearts, are forever wan
derng about unsatisfied Why is it that the
stars, which hold their fes,iviy around the
midnight throne, are set SO far above the reach
of our limited facul,ies-forever hooking US
by their unapproachable glory1 Why is it
that the rainbow and cloud come over us with
beauty that is not of earth, and then pass off
| and leave us to muse upon their faded lowell
ness! And finally, why is it that bright forms
of human beauty are presented to our view and
then taken from us, leaving the thousand
streams Of our affections to flow back in cold
and alpine torrents upon our hearts! We are
born for higher destiny than that Of EARTH
There is bright, glorious realm where the
rainbow never fades-where the stars will be
spread out before us like the islands that slum-
Der in the ocean-and where the beautiful be-
ings that here pass before US like visions, stay
| 10 our presence forever. Bright creature of
my dreams! in that realm shall see thee a.
| gain. Even now thy lost image is sometimes
with me. In the mysterious silence of mid
| night, when the streams are glowing In the
light of the many stars, thy image comes float
| ing upon the dreams that linger around my
| pillow, and stands before me in its pale dim
oveIness, till its quiet spirit sinks like spell
! from heaven upon my thoughts, and the lapse
| of wears is turned to dreams of blessedness and
| peace.
Ten rich men of New Orleans, it is said,
have agreed to become responsible for $1,000
for ten nights of our charming Fanny's dancing.
XerN immense sort of world fhiS-and some