Eastern times. [volume] (Bath, Me.) 1846-1857, 1853-06-09

The Beautiful Maniac.
The fire that on my bosom preys,
Is lone as some volcanic isle,
No torch is kindled at its blaze
A funeral nile -


"The fire that on my bosom preys,
Is lone some volcanic isle,
No torch is kindled at its blaze
funeral pile"
In the morning train from Petersburg there
was lady closely yelled in the same car with
ourselves. She was dressed in the purest
white, wore gold bracelets, and evidently be-
longed to the higher circles of society. Her
figure was delicate, though well developed,
and exqusitely symmetrical; and when she
occasionally drew aside her richly embroidered
veil, the glimpse of her features which the be-
holder obtained, satisfied him cf her extreme
loyeliness. Beside her sat gentleman in
deep mourning, who watched over her with
unusual solicitude, and several times, when
she attempted to rise, he excited the curiosity
OF the passengers by OBTAINING her in her seat!
/ Outside the car all was confusion passen-
gers looking to their baggage, porters running,
cabmen cursing, and all the usual hurry and
hustle attending the departure of railroad
train. One shrill warning whistle from the
engine, and we moved slowly away
AT the first motion of the car, the lady in
white started to her feet with one heart pierc-
ing scream, and her bonnet falling off, dis
closed the most lovely, and yet the most un-
happy features we ever contemplated. Her
raven tresses fell over her shoulders in grace
ful disorder, and clasping her hands in prayer
What agony in that look what beauty, too,
what heavenly beauty, had not so much mis-
cry been stamped. Alas that glance told
melancholy tale.
g. she was changed
As by the sickness of her soul her mind
Had wander'd from its dwelling, and her eyes
They had not their own lustre, but the look
Which is not of the earth she was become
The queen of fantastic realm her thoughts
Were combinations of disjointed things,
And forms impapable and unperceived
Of others sight, familiar were to hers"
Her brother, the gentleman in black, was
unremitting in his efforts to soothe her spirit.
He led her back to her seat but her hair was
still unbound, and her beauty unveiled. The
cars ratified on, and the passengers in groups
resumed their conversation. Suddenly wild
melody arose il was the beautiful Mauiac's
voice, rich, full, inimitable. Her hands were
crossed on her heaving bosom, and she waved
her body as she sung with touching pathos -
She is far from the land where her young hero
sleeps,
And lovers are round her singing,
But coldly she turns from their gaze and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying
She sings the wild songs of her dear native
plains -----.-.- ------
Every note which he loved awaking-
All little they think, who delight in her
strains,
How the heart of the minstrel is breaking
Her brother was unnamed, and wept as
she continued.
+" Has sorrow thy young days shaded,
As.clouds DER the morning fleet
Too fast have those young days faded,
hat ever In sorrow were sweet.
If thus the kind world wither
Each feeling that once was SO dear,
Come, child of misfortunes, come hither,
III weep with thee, tear for tear"
She then sang fragment of the beautiful
hymn,
Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to thy bosom fly"
Another attempt 10 rise up was prevented,
and she threw herself on her knees beside her
brother, and gave him such mournful, en-
treating look, with plaintive, save me, my
brother save your sister, that scarcely pas
senger could refrain from weeping. We say
scarcely, for there was one man twas he a
man y who called on the conductor 'to put
scorn of the whole company. His nsensibii-
ty to such scene of distress defies belief; and
and yet this is in every particular ian DER true
tale.' Should he ever read these lines, may
his marble heart, be sofiened by the recollec-
ton Of his brutality!'
Again, the poor benighted beauty raised her
voice to one of the most solemn sacred airs
80 where, shall rest be found
Rest for the weary soulT
and continued her melancholy chant until we
reached the steamer Mount Vernon, on board
of which we descended the magnificent James
river-the unhappy brother and sister occupy
ing the ladies cabin His was sorrow too
profound for ordinary consolation and no one
dared to intrude SO far upon grief as TO satisfy
his curiosity.
We were standing on the promenade deck,
and admiring the beautiful scenery Of the river,
when at one of the landings small boat pulled
away from the shore, en- route for the asylum
at Williamsburg. She was standing erect in
the stern of the boat, her head still uncovered,
and her white dress and raven tresses flutter-
ing in the breeze. The boat returned, and the
steamer moved for Norfolk. They were gone
that brother with his broken heart-that sister
with her melancholy union Of beauty and mad
| ness.
A Touching Story.
The Knckerbocker Magazine says :-"One