Tri-weekly journal., 1847-10-02
FROM STRIFE AND PEACE
By FREDERICK Bremen.

You would raise my look TO heaven; but
what is the splendor of the sun to the eve that
no longer sees? What is the power of melody
TO the ear that hears no more? What is all
that is beautiful, and all that is good upon the
earth, to the heart that is dead-that is turned
to stone by long, hard imprisonment Oh, my
friend, | am unworthy of your consolation, Of
your reviving words. My soul rebels against
them, and throws from her, as words. words,
words which have sounded great and beauti
full for thousands of years, while thousands
OF souls have been dumb in unconsouled mis-
cry.
Hope? have hoped so long-I have so
long said to myself better day will conc
The path of duty leads TO the heaven of peace
and light, let the way be ever so thomy. Go
only steadfast on, weary pilgrim, so, go, and
thou shalt reach the promised land. And
have gone on-have passed through the long
weary days of more thanthirty years But the
way lengthens itself out, farther and farther
and-one after another my boyes have wither-
ed-died away. see now no goal before me,
none-but the gravel
Love, love? Oh! if you know what an in
expressibe bitter feeling this world awakens
an me! HaveI not loved, deeply loved? And
what fruit has my love borne? 1t has broken
my heart, and brought misery to those whom
loved 1t is in vain you contend with brief
which has taken deep root in my mind-I be
lieve that there are those who are born predes-
tined to misfortune; whatever approaches them
must share their misery: and belive that
am one of these. Let me, then, fly from man
kind fly from every feeling that could bind me
to them. Why should cause more sorrow
than have already done.
Hast thou heard, in deep caverns, the fall
ing of the water-drop, as with its heavy, un-
ceasing, wasting fall, it wears away the grounds
Hast thou heard the murmuring of the brook
that flows gaily between green banks, while
nodding flowers and the bright lights of heaven
are mirrored in its waves? Then hast thor
seen the images of the two kinds of quie
life, which are as different from one another as
heaven is from hell.
May was passing away and June approach
ed. From their nests in the airy, leaf-colorel
grottoes that nature had formed from them
they sent forth their low pleasant whistle an(
their lovely warblings. The woods ofNorway
were filled with song and fragrance. The peas
ant maiden leads her herds to the Scatter valley
singing as she goes.
tits spring; the aged poet wanders through
wood and meadow, in the regions where he ha,
once been happy. Now his voice is broken
his strength, his fire gone. The shadow O
what he bias been he wanders through tn
young world fresh with new life The bird
of the Spring gather about him, bid him wei
come, and entreat him to take his harp, an
sing the new born year, The laughing Spring.
ii is with our faults as with the Charlock;
where it has once taken root, it is almost i'm
possible to extripate it; and nothing is plor
dscouraging to the farmer than while he see
the weeds that he has torn up, yet lying abor
him, to find new shoots spring from the roo
that are still concealed in the ground. We
may he wax impatient with the weedy sol
and when this soil is the dear, |, the only plea
IRE we can know is in travelling as fast and
far as possible from ourselves.
Among the many noble capacities of MAJ
is that of being able to judge and condem
himself. And if we are justly displeased wit
one, if we have been injured or offended l
word or deed, we should rely upon this capa
ity, and let our reliance exert soothing infr
ence over our feelings. For while we are r