The Abbeville banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1847-1869, 1859-12-01
From The Ncw York Nercnyx
"0UR EARLY YEARS.
DY DAISY HOWARD.

!. Would could recall them ever, with al
their dewy freshness I love TO lose my
t self i'll dreams of my early years, and fee
: a strange JOY in their retrospect, ever
though at times the burning tears ocrflov
0 my eyes, as listen to some oldcn mclod,
warbled joyously in my hearing, once sung
oy loved lips which may be silent now, or
sadder still, changed by the worlds rud,
contact. 10 me there is deep, calm 10,
IN the past; its memory comes to me re
, fresh'ngIy, like the Goodnight air to a fe
vered and throbbing brow-bringing eve'
sweet orders of green, flower studded fields
and shady by-'anes, where happy, restless
feet once wandered joyously, sometimes
merr'ly weaving an anticipation of our
glad futurc-again watching with quiet
heart the glorious evening clouds sailing so
dreatnily onward. The rusting noise of
the fragrant summer foliage, whispering
sweet music to our girlish hearts, and ava.
kcning new and strange fcelings-fatcd
never more TO sleep again; wearying our
selves with the vain effort to annalyze the
restless feelings aud Intense longinys born
OF the hour-longing for we know not
what-only conscious of yearning wish
for sonethiny higher, better, more glorious
than the present; yet feeling, through all,
a new happiness added-unquiet it might
be still happiness! Oh, yes, I recall the
past with pleasure indiscribaLle; were the
power mine, would not slut it out I ever
keep the leaves of my heart lightly folded,
and unclosc them oftentimes at twilight to
admit pleasant thoughts Of past and present
joys. Sweet as the perfume of flowers the
sound of running waters, the tinling Of mu,
sic bells, enter thoughts of the playma.es of
the heart Some there were whose com.
ing foot: falls made my pulses quicken,
keeping time with the love-inusic n my
heart-even now throwing deep JOY far
through my spirit, striking the harp
strings" of my soul with music like liv-
ing, breathing Tyre, touched by unseen fin.
gers. Long years have passed since these
happy hours-but my heart-strings are
firm and brave yet. 1t may he, one or two
perhaps have been too tightly strung, and
therefore jar upon the ear but they are
not broken, only slightly out of tune
they could not break with so clear skv
above Inc, and SO many joyous hopes
crowding into my heart, and loving
friends making lles pa, around me.
may nevermore gather flowers so fresh and
beautiful as those among my native hills
may tread never more upon the velvet
turf my girlish feet pressed so heedlessIy,
crushing thoughlIessly the sweet wild
flowers TO death-flowers which l would
now press lovingly to my lips and heart,
for surely in no other land (and my feet
have wandered far and wido} do the flow
ers bloom half SO early, or so sweet, and
no other moss carpet was ever so fresh and
green as that around the 'spring,' our ia
vorite trysting place. But my restless
wing grew weary there, and I pined for
other scenes, which, when reached, brought
no new happiness; and now pine for my
old home-but, alas ! the sad words mere
ly echo the vain wish. The blue waters of
my native river are rippling as unsteady
along as when, little child, laved my
tired feet in its clear depths. The pendant
branches Of the tall trees shadow lovingly
the rustic seat where sister, and used
to spend our idle hours ;. the flowers (l'rn
tolD are still as bright-but the compau-
ions of my youth, where are they 2 Upon
a few, the storms of life beat heavily; 9TH
ers have joined hands with the chosen one
OF their heart, and are pleasantly floating
down life's stream and upon fair, young
brows the seal of motherhood has been
set, and the dreamy worship of girlhood
has found a shrine upon which is lavish
ed the hearts rich wealth.
One there was, whose blue eyes faded
early-ere the noon of her life was reached,
gently she passed away. Deep was the
grief swelling our hearts, as we stood for
the last time above the beautiful, still form.
Not like unto death she looked, with flow
ers folded in the email hands, and lying
upon the hushed heart-fresh, dcwy leaves
had futtered in at the open window, and
rested upon the uncovered face Of The
sleeping girl. Undisturbed we left them,
and buried thus our beautiful one; but it
was hard to lay her in the cold earth, even
Z though we knew the spot was sunny one,
and the flowers would bloom, and the
morning dew,drops sprinkle with diamonds
the green sod above her resting place .!
OH yes; was wrong in saying the mem
ory Of the past brought all Of joy; bu.