The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1859-02-03

soltiy sweet the nlght WIND signs q.
mons the dropping boughs that cover
its narrow bed. Tread lightly, for in
it sleeps the the Broken,Hearted.
On the far off shore of the Pacific,
gallant bark is spreading her white
sails to the breeze, and stemming the
blue water with her homeward brow.
She is freighted with hearts that
are bounding high with "thoughts Of
kindred and ofhome." Among them
is a youth whose manly form is
diating with the anticipated joy Of
folding to his bosom one, more dear to
him than friends or kindred. lie had
plighted his troth to II sweet girl who
was the idol Of his heart But strange
stories Of eXhaustlcss gold from the
far West tempted him from her side.
Wealth, more priced for her sake
than his own, seemed to join the ca
ger spirits who were crowding to the
glittering harvest. Fortune had
crowned his efforts. and he was re.
turning with buoyant heart, to lay
his treasures at the feet of his below
ed. Many months had passed since
tidings Of his Isabel had reached him
but, though in the anguish Of disap-
pointmcnt he had bitterly chided the
tardy post that had failed TO bring the
accustomed message Of love, his san.
guine nature t0cboded no evil. Alas,
he little knew that an idle tale Of a
false lover who had broken his VOW
and welded another idly told, and
rs idly repeatcd--until it had assum.
ed IA garb Of truth she could not
doubt, had reached hcr--and that the
sweet rosebud that had bloomcd only
for him had faded forever. Onward
speeds the vessel over the Goamlng
pillows, and Harry WlImot is still
dreaming of his love. Dream on,
fond lover; build high, while thou
maycst, thy bright vision Of bliss, for,
oh! dark and terrible will be the dcS-
olatlon of thy grici-stricken soul,
when thine hour Of waking shall
come. Never, Oh. never more again
shall the white arms of thy beloved
encircIc thy form, and her trusting
eyes gaze londly into thine. Cold,
coldi the heart that beat only for thee;
and qucnchcd is the lovc-bean which
kept watch for thy coming.
'ris night. The moon.bcam sleeps
upon the quiet lake, and on the grave
of Isabel. Over its cold stone, be-
meath the willow, a bowed, Il broken
form is bending. Deep groans of an
guish are rcnding his frame. He is
pouring out his ei-burthened heart
in prayer Suddenly he looks up.
ward Oh, Harry WiImot! is thy rca.
son wandering or is it indeed an angel
that bcckoncth thee! Listen! Dream.
est thou! or doSt thou really hear in
the upper air music 50 soft, SO ravsh-
ingly sweet as only scraph strikcth
from golden Tyre! And oh! doth the
dim light Of yon shadowy harper take
on it the likeness of thy loved and lost!
Ifso, rejoice! oh Harry WiImot! lop the
days Of thy sorrow are drawing to a
close. BE patient for yet a little lon
ger, and thine hour of deIivcrance is at
hand.
Time speeds, and autumn again
with it's signing winls and falling leaf,
saddcns the dying year. The silver
leaves Of the willow are gliding, with
noiScless fall upon the grave OF Isabel
but not on it alone, for near it is a
white stone which bears the name of
Harry Wilmot. The tevercd heart Of
the sufferer is stillcd at last. Hi
drcary life is over and Harry WiImot
has Joined his angel bride in the up
per sky. Oh Death! thou has per-
formed work Of mercy.
Long years have passed. and still
the wilderness keeps watch over the
sleepers beneath; and olton the dwell
lcrs by that quiet lake grow sad as
they point to the graves olthe Broken
Hearted.