Anti-slavery bugle. [volume] (New-Lisbon, Ohio) 1845-1861, 1858-07-17
Chr Anti 8loperp Buols.
For the Bugle.
MOODS OF THE MIND.
by CELEsTlA r.. COLBY.

powers of our mental vision have hitherto foiled
TO discern the mysterious union between mind aud
matter, TO show the process by which the mind
communicates with the outward world through the
medium Of the senses-to tell how the eye sees,
the ear hears, or tho hand moves in swift obedi.
cree to the mandates Of the sovereign will
Equally mysterious to the rejecting mind are the
various sentiments and emotions that sway the soul
with rosistless power.
From whence cometh those vague indefnable
yearnings after something, we know not what,
which 90 often fills the breast with restless inqui
etude2 And from whence those shadowy phnn-
toms Of tho brain, those viewless -1ancies that
make life seem brilliant with sunshine or dark
with sombre hues Of despair From whence
those thrilling voices that people the solitude Of
the heart and whisper to us in the silent watches
Of tho night, whose tones, amid the monday crowd
startle us. with their strange unearthly melody,
and bear our spirits willing %captives from scenes
Of toll and strife to realms of beauty and bliss ?
From wha. cline Of sunshine and song come
those sweet delicious day dreams, that glide into
our presence unbidden, to gladden. us with their
spiritual beauty, and di1use around US the delight
full aroma of am5rosial flowers, that "steal to our
hearts and make all summer there" till the en-
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fol Of tho thorns?
Whence cometh that sort Of semi,consciousness
Of o previous existence, in which we are lost to
the present, whom through some unknown channel
there floats into our inner being broken fragments
Of dreams INDUCED ere the soul was linked with
flesh thou gifts and fancies that seem new, yet
strangely familiar visions upon which we are
conscious Of having gazed before, the locality of
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and know that our feet have pressed those howery
paths in some far off misty past, whose hues are
blended strangely, incomprehensibly with the pres.
ent? Joy comes clad in the robes of the morn,
ing, sunlight beams from her brow, and her dewy
eyes are moist and sparkling with sympathetic
bliss. The soul responds to her kindling glances,
and life seems all bright and beautiful. No shad'
ows mar our pleasure, and we cling to the world,
and for the time long to live always. Life, bound
ing, blissful life, is a boon we would not part with.
We exult in our own existence, and find a thous-
and avenues Of bliss in the mystic ties that bind
US to the outer world. The light is pleasant to
our eyes, The emerald fields, and variegated
bloom of the floral tribe afford endless sources of
exquisite JOY. The wind that initiates our lungs,
and fans our t~hrobbing brow sends a thrill of pure
delight through every vein, invigorates the frame
and strengthens every tic that binds us to earth.
We inhale large draughts Of the life giving air,
and at each inspiration joy to feel
'The fresh, bouyant sense of Being
That bounds in youths yet carelesssbrenst,
Itself a star, not borrowing light
But in its own glad essence bright"
The calm quiet sense of bliss that pervades the
mind is Joy enough, and asks but a continuanc e
&c make us ever blest, We could linger forever in
these bowers of mental ease, repose among these
ideal flowers, and drink in the viewless echoes tina.
float on every passing zephyr. We put far from
US the thought Of death, or if the dark, gloomy
}hantom intrudes like Banquo's ghoet at tho festal
Loard, We bid it "Hence horrible shadow" nor
cast thy pail of darkness over the sunlight Of the
present, the present which is ours to enjoy, and ex
claim i am content to die, but Oh, not no,o.
Anon there comes an hour of darkness. Thicl
gloomy clouds overcast our mental horizon, cold
dark shadows rest heavily upon our spirits, til,
lamp of hope burns dimly within, and it
pale siekly rays cast a faint and Pickering glar,
over many q hidden tomb stone in "the heart
thickly peopled cemetery" where in sorrow anC
anguish We weep over buried joys. We shrinl
from life with all its fearful responsibilities, it
. false, deceitful promises and feeting, trausitory
bliss, and long to find rest for our weary aching
limbs, for our throbbing unsatisfed hearts in tho
dreamless slumber Of the grave. We turn oul
wishful eyes to the dark uncertain future that il
before US, but no cheering ray Eliminates it
gloom, and in moments Of deepest dependency
no rainbow of no pc spans deaths dark porta
which all must enter and in anguish Of spirit VI
ask, as there a land OF rest beyond the grave, o
are all my restless ~longings for immortality,
glorious cheat, an unreal mockery Z" Around Il
the summer sun is shining in all its glory, and the
wide spread fields of air will shine as gloriousl,
as now, ages after these eyes are closed in dealt
and this form has mouldered back to dust. Shal
darkness and thick gloom surround the spiri
there? Shall the restless fire within be quenche,
forever? Or shall a light more brilliant and DAG
cling than that Of the sun burst upon the astonishe,
vision of the soul as it leaves the scenes of tim
and is ushered into a new form of existencei
From what land of darkness and death, from
what valley Of shadows come these cold pesti
Iential vapors that breath upon the soul, witheriua
all its joys aud turning its sweetness to GALL
They fall upon us like shadows from a cloudles.
sky, they come and go, and we know not whence
or whittier.
Verify there is a fountain Of mystery within us,
whose secrets We may never fathou, a volume
whose pages we may never read. And as the
wind bloweth where it listeth" aud we hear, bot
see not tho rushing of its invisible pinions, so
hopes and fears, thoughts and faneies come and
go, we feel their subtle influence, bat know moth.
ing Of the origin or end.
The human heart is a strange and delicate harp.
A thousand unseen fingers touch its strings. and
wild and varied is the music it gives forth. Low
and sweet when love touches the key, plaintiye
and sad when the finger of grief is laid upon it.
Wild and woiIing, like the dirge Of the aotumn
wind, is its tone when despair sweeps along its
chords; and clear, loud and lively ring out the
notes Of ~sxuitaut joy; but when calm, gentle hap.
pinfss, with her mild eyes and soft touch, lays her
thrilling 6agers upon it. like the low, sweet voice
of the nnsLinp rill Is it, rinniinn n,alndu