The mountain sentinel. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1844-1853, 1849-09-06


cling Ill his heart; miriads of vague fan
cies rose each time he essayed to compl tie
The creation. Alasi for the dreamer!
The was passed in struggling to realize
his vision; and the night surpassed him.
pale and exhausted, by his elscl, despon-
dent OF success.
And for the young subject of his dreams!
From the moment OF the absence of
Van Dyck from the Palace. the mockefies,
the envious glances, the sarc lsms of the
fair group were lAvished on the dropping
head of the young Dorothea without mer-
cy. Before they had separated that night,
the sighted beauties had m ,dc their gen
tie companion bitterly rue the chance that
had given her the plinler's choice. We
know not how far the promptings of each
of those young VAIN hearts led them, in
theit dreams; but we do know that after
her evening prayer, the last thought in the
Scotch maIden's pure and guileless mind
WAS de.oteI to her fellow-w orshipper at
III. shrine OF the most NOBLE Of the arts.
1t was midnight, the broad shadows of
the tall trees in the Palace gardens stood
out IN bold relief against the moonlit Stat
uary, and dewy flowers beneath; while
the old abbey walls adjoining the ground
even among their creeping MOSES and
lVy-gllStenei in the silver light flung
down ny nights fair Queen. Midnight:
yet that silent hour found one of earth
denizens sieepleSs, and unconscious of
IIme'S pdsslng-Struggling amidst the
s.efnest OF all toll, that OF the teaEllng
brain. The hour had come round 10 find
Van Dycl before the unfinished image of
his vlsionlngs in his monastic studio; there
were traces OF heavy thought and exhauS-
ton On the painters features, as he laId
down his palette and pencils with a sigh;
and i'll tnat sigh there was bitter despair
which held the key 10 his broken muir
muflngS:-'UnlikeI unikeI 1t will be
ever thus. | am but striving to preserve
vision that is TOO dazzling for NV poor
weak gaze. SO it VIII be. Peace, Joy,
all love tor her; while like the poor
worshIpper that gro.els in the dust before
hls gliuerlng idol-Sland here, hoping on,
Struggling with memory, adornlng ny dis
tant Observation-Disclosures, unrem emoered
aluuer
Alone! Pause in thy murmuring, Van
Dyck. 1t Is all hour when hears that
know not care or suffering should be bea-
ten with the calm pulse OF sleep; and yet
other eyes than thine are waking III it.
We will leave the dreamer TO his inward
commLntng, ami pass out again into the
moonIlt girdens OF the Palace. AT the
moment tne painters sigh echoed through
his clois,ereI studio, and he fancied HIM
self the sole dlsturbar OF the nights soll-
tuIt, window OF the palace WAS gently
opened, and female form stepped out
upon The Stone bIlcony; and, trdseising its
length, descended the broad steps into the
shadow OF the tall trees, and. emerging
from the ground, paused at the gothic por-
tai OF The mlniStery.
1t WAS strange 10 see that slight figure
gliding Oil III that solemn silence, amidst
ralntI Ston2-work, AMI tree and shrub, rus
Ting ID the night breeze but the wander
ef seemed 10 DC too mach engrossed by
thought to tecollect wnere she stood.
Passing through the porch, She wound her
way among the dun alsleS of the chapel,
ana entering one OF the galleries, pushed
open hAlI-closed door: aud without pau
I sing to observe It's occupancy, stood III the
! lonely studio, looking cdnly and gfayeiy
upon the dropping form OF the Dung artist,
at his task OF memory.
/ For an instant, the young mans cheek
! paled, as his gaze fell OH lhe motionless
form OF his ny sterlous vlsltant, old forgot
! ten Visions OF the supernatural rushing
across his heated mind. What did she
there, breaking upon his midnight viglIs!
Did not the long veil hide from mortal
gaze the features radiant in the purity of a
celestial world! While the thought rose
In the gazer's neart, his cheek paled; foI
a vague vision connected The frall form be.
fore him with the object Of his dreams
And what did it forbode-that silent watch
! upon his actions!
AS if conscious of the communings, the
figure advanced from the gloom, and ap
preaching the easel, seated herself sientl y
hetore II, I1lnglng back the long drapery
from her face, as she did so. The gen
tie ruslling Of her garments made the onl,
sound TO break the dead silence; for tht
breathing of the painter was inaudible il
the bewIlderment of that re evelation-whiit
the hot blood rushed to his cheek an,
brow in that sudden revulsion of feeling
Before him, on his vacated couch, restet
the form of the Scottish maiden-Doro
thea!
All this had been the action of mo
mens--the next, Van Dyck had fallen OF
his knees before his beautiful visitant, il
gratitude for her remembrance of him
there was a remnant of her noble pride
in the calm gesture Of the young girl, a