Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1856-02-14
She is DYING !!

She is dying. Hush she is dying The
sunlight streams through the plate-glass win
dow-the room is fragrant with the sweet
breath of the southern fowers-large milk
white African lilies, roses a nightingale
would stop to worship; Cape jessamines, and
eamelleas, with their large glossy leaves.
Through the open easement steals the mu-
sic of playing fountains and the light tenn
pered pleasantly by rose curtaius Of embroid-
cred satin, kindled up gorgeous old pain
tiDgs with halo bright as rainbow. 1t is
as if fresher sunshine were falling earthward
on the bower of beauty. The canary sings
in his gilded cage-hcr canary and the lark
raises his note higher and higher on the per-
fumed air. Why do you clench your hands
till the nails draw the rich, rosy blood through
the thin, quivering skin9 Why do you shut
your teeth together, and hiss between that
one word" hush 2" It's beautiful home,
I'm sure and that lady, with her head upon
your bosom, is fair as any dream-vision of
the paioter Surely nothing could be purer
than that broad, high brow; nothing brighter
than those golden curs.
And she loves you, too All yes any one
can read that in the deep violet eyes, raised
SO tenderly to your own. All! that is it;
your yong wife loves you.
She linked to yours the existence of an
angel when she knelt beside you at the mar
rage alter and placed her hand in yours.
For twelve long, golden, sunny months an
angel has walked CT sat by your side, or slept
in your bosom. You know it No mortal
woman ever made your heart bow before
purity SO divine! No earthly embrace ever
filled your soul with the glory from the stars;
no earthly smile ever shone so unchangingly
above all such noisome thing as your earth
worms call care and trouble. She is an angel ?
and other angels have been. singing to her in
the long days of the pleasant June time.
Hush" you say; but you cannot shut
out the anthem notes of heaven from those
unsealed ears! Louder, higher, swels the
hymn of the seraphs; and brighter grows
the smile on your wiles lips.
She whispers, dearest I'm almost home,
and you will come by-and-by, and l am going
to ask God to bless you!" But you cannot
bear it-you tura away, and the big tears
gather in the eyes.
You had held her there on your bosom all
day--all night; and you tried But you
cannot answer Closer-closer you clasp the
slight, fair figure painfully you press your
lips to the cold brow She is dead
What is it to you that the sunshine is
bright what that its cheerful rays fall on the
broad land-your lands9 What is it-now
that she can walk on them no more? And
what is death-her death Few people knew
her. no nation will raise monument to her
memory! But she was yours your all No,
yours and Gods; and she rests on his bosom
now in heaven. They have dug grave for
her. Spring flowers brighten over it, and the
green grass smiles with daisies and volets.
You 60 there, and pray, and ask God if you
too, may come home and when no answer
comes your proud heart rises up in bitterness,
and with the bold wicked words upon your
tongue, you pause; for your guardian angel
looks down from heaven, and whispers
"Hush !"