Southern shield., 1857-01-17
For the Southern Shield. vgiIE They Return mo more!

.ov them, they were gone. Yes, gone, to ratnrn not again: gone on to be swallowed n ocean's immensity and I was left-but ,ot alone-for there came others, hastening m to have their individuality lost in the
 .onless sea. Then arose in my mind the railing interrogation-''Will they return no more?'' was saddened by the reply that reason and memory gave to me-they ne'er again would return. Other forms they might assume. and thus again glad my eye but never, oh never, as drops of that vast reservoir. It is true, they might be seen again in the vivid tints of the rainbow, spanning heavens blue dome-or as the pearly drops of dew on the bright petals of the budding flowers; but so changed, so beautfed, that imagination could scarce recognize them as old and loved acquaint- ances. The tide of thought that then rushed OCT my soul. deadened me to the present 1 was utterly uncognizant of external na- ture: the stream flowed on without my knowledge; for every power of mind and soul was wrapped in a vision presented to my mental gaze, in which was strangely com- mingled, past, present, and future
 Strange and incomprehensible is the power of mind that can grasp a threefold idea that can send it's gaze back through the vista of the past, penetrate its labyrinth an folds-that can feel and know the pre- sent, be interested and agitated by it's events and then, as it were, forgetting yet remembering all, send its gaze into the fu- ture-can look down the gulf of time and see the events of coming years painted in all the glorious hues of hopes own pencil.
 I, too, in that absorbing reverie, thought of the past, by that stream; thought of the flowers that once bloomed there, in beau tvs bright array-of some that had given me joy only few feeting days agone.- They, too, had perished early, leaving no trace of their fragrant loveliness, save that engraved on memory's tablet, and that re- membrance perchance preserved only by those who, like myself, were dreamers on life's stormy sea.
 The flower and the bubble were not the only things that had there perished: the tall tree which, in days of yore, had waved by the margin of those waters, was gone; its bright leaves had faded; it's limbs, that reached toward heaven-those limbs where on had sat the feathered songster. as It trilled its lays-were gone; the trunk had fallen-perchance first blasted by thu swift winged lightning--its roots torn from their native soil-and the current now laved their former resting place. l could not trace it farther; the son of the forest had passed away: and reason, with her clear eve and calm voice, whispered -" not gone, but changed." Now, mingling with the earth from whence it sprung, 1t contributed life to those that swayed in the gentle breeze, making sweet melody to the listening car mournful, but sweet and imagination likenned that music to requiem, and me- thought that they were then singing their own death dirge; for soon must they pass away. ''to return no more." The banks of that stream, too, had changed; portions had been riven away by the surge, while a spot not far distant had received the de- posit.
 Here was change, visible change, in one spot! Here was change in the external world things had been swept away, to re- turn no more; yes, even earth itself had changed 1 asked myself if it was univer- sal? Was mutation a law of nature was death the natural and inevitable sequence of life? Did man. the 'Egodlike'' and the great, change? did he depart, to return no more?
 Clearly came response to my inquiry he did depart to return no more. That stream had often been the only winding sheet of blooming beauty. The son would return no more to sustain the dropping mother, and light her dwelling with his joyous smiles: the daughter ne'er again would lay her, head upon the bosom that had oft pill lowed it in childhood-ne'er again return the smile of affection and the pressure of love-forever must those halls be silent to the echo of joyous mirth, from that loved ones lips.
 Was this the only change? If it was, it could be borne: quietly could we bow to the fiat of Heaven, and patiently, yea, joy ously await reunion beyond the skies.- But there ofttimes come fearful changes ere life's ftful fever be ended Changes come that make life burden--that cause its days to be but the fevered pulses of the maladv that will, ere long, lay in the silent grave the most stalwart form.
 An ! we'll and truly could my own heart answer there. have seen external things p depart-the fairest flowers wither-the lof- tiest trees crumble to the earth-deep in earth's dark vaults were entombed the forms most loved this had brought sorrow--had filled my soul with anguish; but it. was not sorrow devoid of hope--for there came spirit breathings, heart aspirations, and mental cognizances of meeting them again ln the distant Aidenn.
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