Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1849-08-02
HERE LIES
CLARA REVERE,
She shall see in Heaven.

"She was, but with her Father in Heay
en-" said the sexton, with an impressive
ness which did not look for. " It's sac
tale, and cannot bear TO think of il.
was but yesterday that | plucked howe
from her grave, whose cup was closed, anc
opened not, as the warmth of the bamy al
played upon it. How like the fate of the
poor girl was that little flower If yol
will sit down upon this stone, will tell yot
her brief story"
Sitting ourselves at the foot of the slab
the old man gave me sketch of the little
sufferer, which will relate in INV own way
Though brief and devoid of stirring anc
splendid incident, its very simplicity touch
ed my heart and left an impression there
which has often led me TO seek the little
white slab IN the village church yard.
Clara was in her sixteenth year, fair and
beautiful exceedingly. Aud yet it was moi
her personal attractions alone, matchess AZ
they were, which constituted her supreme
loneliness. The beauty of her soul wa.
impressed upon every line OF her witching
countenance, and her heart, which was love
itself, seemed to be imaged in the sum,
dimples and smiles that nestled around hel
transparent checks and her budding lips
Blessed as she was, beyond most of her sex
with fascinating exterior-gay and high
spirited to an unwonted degree, she had
passed most of her infancy and girlhood
without being permitted to behold the faces
OF father aud mother, or to admire those
beautiful scenes in the natural world. OF
which she might be deemed the impersona.
ton. So young, so amlable, so beautiful
and yet by solemn visitation of God,
Clara was all but hopelessy blind. Such
an afilctlon would have broken the spirit
OF most girls of her age, and blighted their
hopes OF earthly happiness forever. Not SO
with Clara Revere. Nature had blessed
her with sunny heart, which lent its hues
to every incident that marked her innocent
life. Her laugh was as free, and rung as
merrily as that of any of the playmates who
sought to administer to her happiness in her
prlvation.
There was one thing, above all, that con.
trlbuted, in no small degree, to her glad
ness and cheerfulness--it was the idea, long
cherished which seemed to have taken
possession of her very soul, absorbing all
her thoughts, forming the subject of her
dreams-that she should soon be restored 10
sight! In her playful hours, or in those
moments of abstraction which would now
and then suddenly come upon her. while
engaged in her sports, this oae idea-this
glorious hope-appeared to fasten upon her
with tcnacty which no returning sense
of her situation could undermine or weak
en-. Toprcvent their daughter from falling
into melancholy state of mind, and to keep
up the buoyancy OF her heart, her parents
had battered her, perhaps too often, with
the beief-nay, with the promise that she
should be restored to sighl. 1t is not strange
that by degrees, her thoughts became ex-
clusvey directed to the iulfilment of what
she at last regarded as a sacred pledge from
their lips. In her arlless aud sometimes
touching conversations with her mother
she often alluded TO the promise of her res
toration, in language which partool of the
warmth and earnestness Of her soul, and
borrowed its coloring from that sweetness OF
disposition which SO charmed those who saw
her. Perhaps no spectacle sooner exctes
the sympathy Of the beholder, than that OF
young and beautiful girl in her situation.
Her blindness rendered her trebly dear and
interesting to all.
1t was beautiful evening in June. The
wind, dallylng among the roses and honey
suckles which casped the pillars on the
terrace IN front of the mansion, sported with
Claras dark ringlets, as she sat at the open
window. Mrs. Revere had been reading
to her daughter touching story of bird
that died imprisoned in its cage. She was
interrupted by the frequent exclamation
from her, Was it blind mother ?-was if
blind ?" She took up, for the thousandtl
time, the al-absorbing subject of hcr
thoughts.
Clara my dear" said her mother, wish.
ing if possible, to lead her mind from the
subject which occupied it, II have not heard
you sing this evening. The little bird o.
which have been reading could sing sweet
ly IN the midst of its confinement. Will
you not give me one Of your favorite airs p
U yes, mother, you will be so good to
me and shall see you so soou-shall not
What shall sing! Shall it be sad, or mer
ny as the note of the little captive in The
cage?'
Seating herself at the piano, Clara run
over the keys with matchess skill, aud suns
the following words, addressed by blnt
scholar to one who had alluded, in his pres
ence, to the dark eyes of beautiful sister
who tenderly watched him in his blindness
And dost thou say hor eyes black
Their gunces ne'er mine,
Andy thy ords this bosom rack,
70 SEQ their light divine.
Oh ! tell me, If e'er shall see
Those angel glances beam on me
Tell her III dream soc their light
E'rn though random ray
May ever, ifJm their starry night,
Smile my darkened way.
And tell her In my 'son sweet,
| will not dream we meier shall meet (!
Tell, toll her when le's dream is DER,
IN crave her angel kiss,
In brighter lands, with love more puTo
Than that I've felt ia this
Yes,isll her when liie's ties rivon.
Oh bliss! III see her smile in heaven.
During her performance of this little air
Mrs Revere, who had thus been the limo
cent means OF giving fresh vibration in tn
tenderest chord in her childs bosom, turn
ed her eyes away to conceal her emotion. -
When Clara had concluded, she rose will
one of her sweetest smiles, and threw her
self into her mothers arms.
"Oh, mother, when will it be? Wher
will the day come you have so often prom