The Middlebury people's press. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1841-1843, 1841-11-30

ness In shutting out the sunshine, ana the
sweet summer air, which had so often called
smile to her pale lips, when it came on her
bed, fragrant from the rose thickets and the
white clover field, which lay beneath the win
dows they had so cruelty darkened. The
gloom of that death chamber made me SORROW
full, but went to the bed, turned down the
linen, and laid my hand caressingly on the
pale face which lay so white and motionless
in the dim light. 1t was cold as ice. | drew
back affrighted, and stealing from the room,
sat down alone, wondering and full of dread.
They buried her beneath lofty tree on the
high bank ola river. A waterfj ii raises Its
eternal anthem near by, and the sunset filings
its last golden shadows among the long grass
that shelters her. remember it all-the
grave with its newly broken sod-the coffin
placed on the brink. The clergyman with
his biack surplice sweeping the earth, and the
concourse of neighbors gathered around that
grave, each lifting his hat reverently as the
solemn hymn swelled on the air, answered by
the lofty anthem surging up from the waterfall.
and the breeze rustling through the boughs OF
that gloomy tree. Then came the grating of
the coffin as it was lowered into its narrow
bed, the dull hollow sound of falling earth, and
these solemn words of .'dust 10 dust, ashes to
ashes" With mournful dstnctness were all
these things impressed on my young mind
but my mothers last prayer is written more
forcibly than all, in characters that but deep
en- with maturity. 1t has fingered about my
heart blessing and safeguard, pervading 1t
with music that cannot die. Many times
when the heedlessness of youth would have
led me into error, has that sweet voice, now
hushed forever, intermingled with my thoughts,
and the rosy link of fairy chain drawn me
from my purpose.
Oft when my brow has been wreathed with
flowers fol- the festival, when my cheek has
been flushed, and my eyes have sparkled with
anticipated pleasure have | caught the
reflection of those eyes in the mirror, and
the thought of the look which rested upon me
when my mother died-that broken suPplica-
ton to Heaven has come back to my memory
the clustering roses have been tom from my
head; sad and gentle memories have drank the
unnatural glow from my cheeks, and my
thoughts have been carried back TO my lost
parent, and from her to the heaven she inhab-
its. The festival and all its attractions, have
been lost in gentle reflections, and have been
delivered from temptation Again when the
sparkling wine-cup has almost bathed my lips,
amid merriment and.smiles and music, has the
last sad prayer Of my mother seemed to min
gle with its ruby contents, and have put away
the goblet that might not be led into tempta.
ton When my hand has rested in that of
the dishonorable, and trembled 10 the touch of
him who says in his heart that there is no God,
as that voice seemed to flow with his Turing
accents, have listened to it and fled as from
the serpent Of my native forests.
Again and again, when the throbbings of
ambition have almost filled my soul, and the
praises of my fellow men have become pre-
cious incense, the still small voice of my moth
er's prayer has trembled over each hcartstring,
and kindled it to a more healthy music. In
infancy, youth and womanhood, that prayer
has been to me holy remembrance = a sweet
thought full of melody, not the less beautiful
that there is sadness in it.