Edgefield advertiser. [volume] (Edgefield, S.C.) 1836-current, 1857-05-20
From the Pennsylvania Inquirer.
SOUNDSFROM HOME.


The fire burns brightly on the wide hearth
before me. The red, flames rush whistling and
singing up the great black chimney, that swal-
lows them carelcssly ;and gapes for more. I
have seen youth Us bright and sparkling as
those flames, rush like.them into the black gulf
of ruin, and like thelg. too, leave behind them
nought but ashes, butthe ashes, alas! OF bias
ted hopes, and fond hearts, stricken by despair.
am an old man; have run my race allotted
by Heaven to all Of earth. My head is bowed
down towards the dust, which will soon claim
me as its own. should be alone, alone III the
great iron world, hadI not one good, faithful
friend, who, thank Gpd humbly, is still spared
me. Oh! it were worse than death, worse,
worse a thousand times to lose that friend. Men
call it memory call it good angel, for
it brings back to me those whom | loved and
! lost.
As sit before the wild flames, that throw
trembling, stopping shadow upon the wall, this
spirit one is singing in my ears strains, sweet
| though sad, the melodies Of by-gonc days. Oh,
dearly do love lo hear that song, to listen to
| those "Sounds from sHone." What sound
from the home of my boy-hood is floating round
me now? Have You. ever heard village
church bell fill the QIIct air with its sweet:
1,nlaintiye sound; on 5iie 6istho5e SIMMER
evenings. when all around there is such still
and holy calm, that it seems Us if heaven itself
were slumbcrng on earth! Such to me this
sound has always been. know it well it is
nv mothers voice. | had a mother once, and
! loved her, tuo-who does not a? remember,
when little child, tried to pray, lirSt would
think Of her, to Till my heart with love fur God.
She was my stcppiils-'tonc from earth 10 hcav-
cn! OH what is there like Il mothers love
i,r where the love so pure Is that we bear to
hey? When we arc fresh from God then it Is
strongest for as we grow older, and the cold
and sllccrins devil called the 6 world" hrcatheS
on us its rank. whitening breath, then does our
love for her who gave lis birth, wander amid 50
many fierce human passions, that their black
shadows dim its brightness, but still it burns
within our hearts. and we confess it, too, WHOM
death is in our homes and We arc mothcrleSs.
Int memory, restless spirit, sings now to me
another strain hear another sound from
! home. This time it Is a simple strain, sung ny
one who was tearer to Inc than all the world
! besides Long yeas ago there crossed my pain
in life girliSh form: some called 1t pretty
perhaps it was; never tllo't OF that 1t was
very fair, with delicate frame, and voice IN
which WAS 4 strain Us musical as the notes ol Il
! harp which once lad when child, tho chords
of which were moved by the wind as it passed
over them. By slow degrees this sirliSll form
grew powerful in its mastery over me- VINO
had mock for love, now found in It master.
! | struggled against this newborn power, ior |
was young, and those whom loved, and WHO
loved me, wo'tl have me turn to other things.
1t is an old story that ain telling. ! called
her wife, and then there burst on ME the anger
of parent, and for time | left my fathers
ho,se, and wandered far from it. But she, the
one whose voice still hear, was at my side,
and in her love l was happy. She died See
there, where the moon-beanS rest OF plain,
marble stone, us il they love to watch over the
grave of one as pure as themselves She lies
there and am not at her side For awhile
nv bosom. on which her head was wont to
rest, was as cold as the earth in which she now
slumbers. But Time is friend indeed, Tor he
yes, he comfOrtcd me.
Pshaw what is this dream we call love, after
all /? a TOW to while away all hour, theme Tor
bows and girls to prattle about. dreamed
like other FOOLS once, but now have learned to
stare reality in the face, and bear unilinchingly
its cold gaze. But must talk of her. She
ulCu, anu QGu NNeH w heiS pun, "hu ""1'e'
myself that had taken her from her home
and had no home to give her. 1t was selfish
was it net? But scllishness holds the key OF
all mems hearts yes, was selfish to love hel
as did. She died, died a-blessing me. Well
well, if what wise and good men say 10 true,
shall see her again; that this may be is my
constant prayer to heaven. Another sound
from home-an infants cry. The tiny voice o
my first-born is ringing inmy cars. Alas that
sound from home ha' been stilled. Heaven
took what God had given me, ere earth had
time to withcr it with its accursed breath
There is more than one sleeping beneath that
cold, white stone. The babe is lying in it'
mothers arms, and the moon-beams watch over
my lost treasures. am alone in the world
alone with memory; alone with the tho't Of tht
past Oh, mother,'wife and child! your voices
come 10 me like messengers from the dead t
the living. Still do they come to me, sounds
from far off happy home, home beyond thu
grave!