Nashville patriot. [volume] (Nashville, Tenn.) 1858-1860, 1858-07-16

but wear the wreath UhOse Iedces bound,
By ties OF love, Of frends and home.
How many scenes strangely mingled with
sadness and pleasure, rush upon orr minds as
we utter that little word; that word which
has, by daily USE almost lost its sense; but
let its sound fall upon the ear of him who
thought to die without once more gazing up
on its hallowed walls, and it will shed over
the parting spirit bright rays of hope; it's
dying sound vibrate upon his ear like chords
of sweetest music, touched by ETHEREAL hands,
and while thus drinking in those heavenly
sounds, his weary soul will sink silently to re-
pose, and ascend with aerial strides to his
home of glory.
Let its sound fall upon the ear of the sol
der, when surrounded by the enemy on the
battle field, amid deaths arrows which fly in
multitudes around him, doing their deadly
missions, and blasting the bursting buds of
fame and glory; there, amid the clashing of
arms, the dying groans of the wounded, the
deafening peals of the cannon, will steal up
on his mind sweet sounds from home; the
image of his mother who watched over him
in his infancy when he lay undisturbed be-
meath its moss covered roof; will hover around
him; its gentle breeze will fan away his long
cherished hopes of fame and honor, his wreath
of laurels will vanish from his sight, and he
will play with those recollectons with the
innocence of a child.
Whisper in the ear of the sailor, when upon
the angry oceans wave, that name; there
amid the meanings of the tempest. the loud
bursts of thunder, the quick flashes of light
ming, the tossed and helpless vessel. he will
steal a strain of music from his home in some
distant land, calling up scenes of his youth
that have been lying for years undsturbed in
some remote corner of his heart; there midst
all, the separating of friends and kindred, the
parting of mother and child, husband AID
wife, there mysteriously mingled with all this
agony. will shine in dazzling brightness. from
the dark clouds above, visions of some sweet
home; urged by this familiar ray of hope,
they struggle hard for life. But alas one
passionate sweep of the ravenous ocean, and
they sink to sleep in regions unexpored, with
the name of home indellibly inscribed upon
their hearts.
having a reverence for it, its very sound
causes bright visions of the past to burst
forth from the grave of forgetfulness where
they have been Wondering for years. and
shine with all the brilliance of yore; let us
then wander back over the o'ergrown path
of time, and gather as we pass the flowers
dropped in. our youth; come. let us hand in
ham rntra CT nd h,,1
oloer by day. Taste in thought again the |
fancied sweetness of those evening walks, as
side by side we wandered over the messy |
paths of innocence, fringcd by nature with |
her ever living drapcry; time has wrought no |
changes in them, they wear now the same |
bright robes as they did in days gone by; how |
oft have we stopped to pluck their leaves and |
weave them in wreath, wreath of love, to
place upon the brow of some fair one who we |
hoped e'er long, would share our joys and |
SORROWS in this world; then visions bright
would rush upon our young hearts, and as if
enchanted, we would be waited in the land of |
youthful dreams.
Now view with me that brave old oak be-
meath whose boughs we gamboled in our
youth. See how it still sheds its welcome
shadows over those sacred walls; there within
those walls n frail, tender flower. first we
bloomed; where is the one that watched us
then? where is the one whose gentle hands
plucked up the poison weeds, and strewed
around us flowers of virtue, love, and happi-
ness? Where? Home in heavcni
The ivy too, since last we saw it, has grown
old and hangs in mOurnful clusters over the
door that we have passed in and out so often;
there upon that porch have we stood with our
father and mother, and watched the sun sink
slowly behind those hills that seem to touch
the heavens, and when he had buried himself
in his cloudy bed, and bid us all good night.
we would turn and follow the moon whose
majestic march through the vaulty sky SO
sar above our heads, would fill our young
hearts with mysterious wanderings; those
scenes have passed, but shall we let them by
time be obliterated from our memory? No:
let us place them one by one as they bloom
In little corner of our hearts; nor must we
let them with wither there, but moisten them
with dew drops of remembrance, thus infus-
ing into them all the fragrance of their ma
ture. and when age comes on, and sorrow
steals upon us, we will but gently breathe
upon their leaves, and they will bloom again
in all their lovelness; then the brilliancy of
the worlds bright curtain will not hide them
from our view, but amid its dazzling folds
will steal a soft bright ray of light that points
us TO mansion of happiness: our home in
heaven.
From he Helena Shield, Of July TO-