Orleans independent standard. [volume] (Irasburgh, Vt.) 1856-1871, 1857-08-14

door, but he is refused. Weak and weary
with his privations and hardships, he
secondPtime solicits moments rest, but
the artisan again repulses, angrily saying;
"March, march, MARcHp Then he raises
his weary, care-worn features to the arti-
sans angry frowning countenance and
with voice of mingled scorn and con-
tempt says, at is you who shall march
to the end of centuries"
tits enough. As he turns away, the
two retire within the dwelling, hurriedly
consult for a moment and hastily depart.
They make no preparation. They follow
not after the throng now passing their
doors, but hastily press their way in an
opposite direction and are soon without
the city. Their anger is passed. Their
Icountenances betray no. emotions save
those of grief and despair. Fain would
they give each other a parting embrace.
They turned to do so, but an unseen IL
risistable force urges them onward. In
their ears are ringing those words of fate,
at is you soho shall march to the end Of
centuries" Each heaves a groan of heart
felt anguish as they separate. Over hills
and mountains, through woodland and
meadow, past the populous city and I'M
inhabited desert, they wend their weary
way. In the wilds of Asia and the deserts
of Africa among the people of Europe
and through the whole length of America,
they have been with weary unresting
foOtstep. Every zone has been visited
by them from the icy pole to the burning
equator.
Centuries have passed. Again they
approach their native country with the
eager burning hope of rest. What a sight
meets their eyes Their native city once
so beautiful and glorious with its mighty
temple and splendid edifces is all a mass
of ruins. Yes the conquerer has been
there, done his work, gone, and now
Wondering ruins are all that is left to tell
of the once proud city. A scene gilmore
perfect desolation could scarcely be ina
gined. In the places of their fathers is
nothing but emptiness, death. The tombs
of the prophets are demolished, and the
mighty trees that shaded them in their
infancy, all are gone. Time has been
there, for the ruins are covered with
rank moss, and weeds grow in the ancient
foot-paths. But time has not visited them
Their faces are as youthful, their eyes a:
bright, and their step as elastic, as wher
they separated hundreds of years ago
Oh ! what agony in their looks what
terrible despair in the thoughts that fol
them there is no time, they can never
grow old, that their labors can never cease
Thousands of times have they gazed il
the water which they were crossing, which
yielded not to their tread, and it ha.
thrown back an image ofthat same youth
the same beauty. Now they saw eact
other unchanged, after the lapse of time
sufficient to PROSTATE empires in the dust
Oh what agony what horror! They
approach they beckon to each other
but the unseen influence is silently separa
ting them. They feel it; they know it
and unwillingly yield to the horrible fate
"Oh my God, my God,' bursts from hi
lips, "can we not have the satisfaction o
one sweet word, one endearing clasp !?
= A hollow voice rings in their ears tn
/ terrible mandate "march, march, MARCH,
5 And he moves on. She too glides away
Thus they pursue their way. No OBJ
structions hinder their course. To then
5 cold and heat are alike. The terrors o
the mountain and the forests are as una
/ vailing as the enchanting beauties of tn
, vale. No obstacle stops them. If the,
cast lingering look behind and pray 70
A rest, the same unyielding voices com
D mands, "march march, MARCH" Til
] is the legend of the Wandering Jew.