Grass Valley telegraph., 1854-03-30

by disease. The smile upon her lips was
fainter the purple veins upon her cheeks grew
visible, and the cadences of her voice became
daily more weak and tremulous.
On qt6et evening in the depth of June,
wandered snmt with her little distance in the
open air. E was then that she first told me
the tale of A&r passion, and of the blight that
had borne Q0Wn like mildeW upon her life
Love had beeAsa portion of her existence; its
tendrils had been twined around her heart in
| its earliest years. and when they were rent
away, they left awound which flowed till all
the springs of her Apul were blood.
Il am passing away said she, "and it
should be so. The winds have gone over my
| life, and the bright buds of hope. and tha
| sweet blossoms OF passion are scattered down
and lie withering in the dust, or rotting away
upon the chill waters of memory. And yet [
cannot go down among the tombs without a
tear. 1t is hard to take leave of the friends
who love me. it is very hard to bid farewell
to those scenes, with which have held COM
munion from childhood, and which. from day
to day, have taught the color of my life, and
sympathised with it's joys and sorrows That
little grove, where / have so often STAYED
with my buried love, and where, at times,
even now, the sweet tones of his voice seem
to come stealing around me till the whole air
becomes one intense and mournful melody
that penslve star, whice we used to watch in
It's early rising, and on which my fancy can
still picture his form looking down upon me,
and beckoning me to his bright home; every
flower and tree, and rivulet, on which the
memory of our early love has set its undying
seal, have become dear to me, and / cannot
without sigh, close my eyes upon them for
ever"
have lately heard that the beautiful girl
OF whom l have spoken, is dead, The close of
her life was calm as the falling of quiet
stream, gentle as the sinking of the breeze,
that fingers for time around bed of with
cred roses, and then dies, as 'twere from very
sweetness. 1t cannot be that earth is mans
only abiding place. 1t cannot be that our
life is bubble cast up by the ocean of eternity,
to float a moment upon its waves and sink in
to darkness and nothingness Else why is it,
that the high and glorious aspirations, which
leap like angels from the temple of our hearts,
are wandering abroad unsatisfed?
Why is it, that the rainbow and the cloud
come over us with a beauty that is not of
earth and then pass off, and leave us to muse
upon their faded loveliness? Why is it, that
the stars, which hold their festivals around
the midnight throne are set above the grasp
Of our limited faculties, forever mocking us
with their unapproachable glory? and finally,
why is it that bright forms of human beauty
are presented to our view, and then taken
from US, leaving the thousand streams of our
affections to flow back in an Alpine torrent
upon our hearts? we are born for higher des-
tiny than that of earth. There is realm
where the rainbow never fades, where the
stars will be spread out before us like the is
land that slumbers on the ocean, and where
the beautiful beings which pass before us like
visions, will stay in our presence forever.
Bright creature of my dreams, in that realm
I shall see thee again. Even now thy lost
image is sometimes with me. In the myster-
Gus silence of midnight, when the streams are
glowing in the light of the many stars, that
image comes floating upon the beams that lin
ger around my pillow. [WaUerly .Maga-
zine.