The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1851-07-02
The Broken-Hearted.
BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.

man fercely breathing out his soul upon the
field of battle; the miserable convict stand
ing upon the scafloll with deep curse up
on his lips have viewed death in all it,
forms Of darkness and vengeance, with .
fearless eye, but never could look on wo
man-youne and lovely woman-tading a
way from the earth in beautiful and uncom
planning melancholy without feeling the ve-
ry fountain of life turned to tears and dust,
Death is always terrible, but when form OF
angelic beauty is passing of to the slle't
land of the slecpcrs, the heart feels thar
something lovely is ceasine from existence,
and broods with sense of utter desolation
over the lonely thoughts that come up like
spectres from the grave to haunt Our mid
night musings.
A few years SINCE took up my reside nee
Tor short time in a country village in the
eastern part of New England. Soon after
my arrival, became acquainted with II love
y girl, apparently about seventeen years oi
purcs, love, and the shadows of deep and
holy memories were resting like the wing Of
death upon her brow. first saw her in the
presence of the mrlhfu She was indeed
a creature to he worshipped her brow WA,
garlAndcd with the young wears sweetest
flowers ; her young locks were hanging beau
tiiully and low upon her bosom, and she
moved through the crowd with such float
ing and unearihy grace, that the bewilIercd
gazer almost looked 10 see her fade away in
TO the air, like the creation Of some rleasar,
dream. She seemed cheerful and even rny.
yet saw that her gayety was but the mock
cry of her feelings. She smiled, hut there
was something in her smile which tod that
its mournfu beauty was bat the bright re-
Election Of a tear and her evclids at times
closed heavily 'iowh. as if struggling TO re-
press the tide Of agony that was bursting a
from her hearts secret urn. She looked as
if she could have left the scene of festi,iy
and gone out beneath the quiet stars, and
laid her forehead down upon the fresh green
earth, and poured out her stricken soul, gush
after gush, ill it mingled with the eternal
fountain Of life and purity.
DAYS and weeks passed or, and that swer,
girl gave me her confidence, and becam,
TO her a brother. She was wasting ava, by
disease. The smile upon her lip was fainter,
The purple veins upon her cheek grew visi,
bic, and the cadence Of her voice became
daily more weak and trcmulous On quiet
evening in The depth of June, | wandered
out with her in the open air. 1t was then
that she first told me the tale of passion, ard
the blight that had come down like mildew
upon her life. Love had been the portion
Of her existence. It's tendrils had been
twined around her heart in its earliest years
and when they were rent away, they left q
wound which flowed till all the springs of hel
soul were blood
e" am passing away She said, sand il
should be so. The winds have gone ovel
my life, and the bright buds of hope, an
the sweet blossoms OF passion are scattered
down, and lie witherng in the dust. or rot.
ting away upon the chill waters of memory '
Aud yet cannot 90 down among the tomb,
without tear. 1t is hard to leave IT.,
friends who love me ; il is very hard to BID
farewell TO these dear scenes. with which
have held communion from childhood anc
which from day to day have caught the col
or Of my life, and sympnihised with its jnyi
and sorrows. Tha, little grove, where
have so often slraycd with my buried love
and where at lines, and even now, the swer
zones of lis voice come stealing around me
| ill the whole air becomes one intense an,
mournful melody-ihat pcnsiye star, whicl
we used to watch in its early rising, aud OF
which my fancy still can picture his form
boxing down upon me, and beckoning m,
10 his own bright home-evcry flower anC
tree, and rivulet, on which the memory o
early love has set its undying seal have he.
come dear to me-and cannot without 4
sigh close my eyes upon them forever"
have lately heard that the beautiful cir
of whom have spoken is dead. The clos
of her life was clam as the falling Of II quie
stl eam-gentle AS ;he sghing of the breeze
that fingers Tor time around bed of roses
and then dies, . as't were from very sweet
ness"
1t cannot be that earth is mans only abid
ing place. 1t cannot be that our life is
bubble, cast off by The ocean of eternity, Il
float moment upon its waves, and sink int
darkness and nothingness Else why is it
that the high and glorious aspirations, whlcl
leap like angels from the temple of our hears
and forever wandering abroad unsali,fed
Why is it that the rainbow and the clou,
come over US with beauty that is not 0
earth, and then pass of, and leave US t,
muse upon their faded loveliness? Why
it that stars which hold their festivals aroun,
the midnight throne, are sci above the grasl
of our limited faculties forever mocking II
with their unaproacnable glory? And VIII
is il, that brigh, ltrms Of human beauty ar
presented to our view aud then taken frou
us, leaving The thousand streams OF our ailec
iion to flow back in an Alpine torrent upo
our hearts? =? We are born for higher DIES
tiny than Of earth. There is realm wher
the rainbow never ladies', where the star
will be spread out before US, like islands lha
slumber on the ocean-and where the beau
liful beings which here pass before US lik
visions, will stay in our presence foreye
Bright creature of my dreams--in tha