Anti-slavery bugle. [volume] (New-Lisbon, Ohio) 1845-1861, 1848-10-06
Vale Of AvOca.
BY Mns. A. NICHOLSON.

II was lreland's summer twilight, lin
gering long, as though loath to draw the
curtain closely about a bright isle in a dark
world like this. 1t was early in July, the
rich foliage had attained its maturity, and
not a scared leaf was sprinkled on tree or
bush, 10 warn that autumn was near. For
the first mile the road was smooth and broad
lined with trees, now and then a neat cot
tage or domain; the glowing streaks Of the
setting sun had left the western sky, and
glimmerCd through the trees; while the air,
made fragrant by the gentle showers, diff
fused through body and mind that calmness
which seemed to whisper, Be silent; 1t is
the Vale of Avocs you are entering" We
descended a declivity, and the vale opened
upon us at g the Meeting Of the Waters
The tree und er which Moore sat when he
wrote the sweet poem had been pointed out
TO me In the morning. We now stood near
the union of the two streams, where the poet
says,
There is not in the wide world a valley SO
sweet,
As the vale in whose bosom the bright wa
tiers meet"
The rich variety Of wood-the still, clear,
limpid water---the hill and vale, in
some parts dark and wild, in others light and
soft, ever and anon relieving the eye by
some new variety, but above all, the pleas
ant association that this vale, however dark
and deep its recesses, harbors not a
venomo reptile-no, not even the buzz OF
a mosquito is hesrd-made it unlike all 9TH
ers. We rode three miles scarcely uttering
a syllable all the while; a holy repose seemed
to rest on this hallowed spot, as when it first
bloomed under the hand of its Maker, and
Imagination was prompted 10 say, as no SER
pent has ever coiled here, the communicating
touch of sin has not left its impress.
Never did | leave a spot more reluctantly;
it was a night scene which never has faded
from my eye, and hope never will.
30 the last rays of feeling and life must
depart
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from
my heart.
In the deep silence, the voice Of God, and
the soft whisper Of angels seemed TO be there.
These voices said kindly, "There is mercy
yet for poor erring man." 1t appeared like
the bow of the covenant, telling us to remem-
Der that though this world has been cursed
BY sin, yet a new heaven and earth are prom
ised, of which this is a shadowy resem-
b%lence,
The borders of this valley are interspersed
with gentlemen's seats, and here and there
dotted with the whitewashed cottages Of the
PEASANTS; snd the rich cluster of foliage up
on the hill sides, upon bush and trees, al
most persuade you that the dew of Hermon
has fallen upon them. Stranger when you
visit Ireland visit the Vale of Avoca. If you
love God, here you will see him in a picture
that must be read. Ifyour stay be limited,
waste it not in decyphering a time defaced
stone, telling of the bloody deeds Of some
ancient warrior, or the austerity of some long
lived a~scectic, but linger in this spot; stop
at the neat little hotel, erected on purpose
for the accommodate of the stranger and
morning, noon, and night explore its never
dying beauties of light and shade. Three
times did ] go through, and when / turned
oway at last, felt
Il could stay there forever to wander and
weep"