Cincinnati daily press. [volume] (Cincinnati [Ohio]) 1860-1862, 1860-10-15

The historic fact, Mathis rejecting amid
the ruins Of Carthage is true for all OF Time
for it symbols Nature and the Soul. The
heart is the sturdy Roman its sphere of feel
ing the subverted city.
Desolation is the orphan Of Sympathy and
Love, pallid, woe-siok child, who vanders
with weary feet and aching bosom, hopeless,
through the world.
For her, no door of affection stands aiar.
for her, no friendly easement sends its CLEAN
upon the night to direct the way-worn wan
derer to shelter and repose.
Unguided, unprotected, unbefriended, she
goes with faltering frmness, over the Lydia
of life, until some kindly simoom stretches
her supine, and she perishes alone upon the
arid plain.
Brief but painful history, how many lives
repeat thy teaching, and make the parable
too true
There was no need, perchance is said, of
such gloomy fate or such a tragic close.
Some one, there must have been, to speak a
word of comfort; to touch the hueless hand
with welcome, as the orphan passed, like
shade of sorrow, by.
II may be there was one, or even more,
whose spring Of sympathy still bubbled mp
in precious drops. But Desoation would
not ask a crystal draught though half
consumed with fevered flame, since those
who should have loved, had mocked her and
betrayed.
Pride grew in her bosom, and, like SER
pent warmed to motion, stung her while IL
lay concealed. She felt the pain, but did
not show the wound. Her destiny was here
revealed-silence in suffering, agony without
complaint.
Desolation was more desolate for all of
this; but since she died, and vexed no selfish
ear with sorrows story, let her be forgiven
Let her lie, at least upon the unrecorded
spot uncensured because unloved
Alas, for the Baalbec of the heart-for the
crumbling palaces where mirth and music
once were heard; for the broken fanes where
beauty worshiped and where peace be-
longed; where hymns of joy arose, and in
cense from the censers of spirits that were
seTenel
Desolation is the saddest destiny of souls;
for to those to whom it comes, the Earth Is
ever in eclipse. Starlight, moonbeam, sun
ray penetrates not the darkness of a des
olated life, through whose every hour the
knell Of hope is echoing with awful peal.
Desolation is the halfparent of Despair, an
offspring ever expected, yet never to be born,
Better were it for the parturition for with it
would arrive more strength to suffer, more
power to endure.
The worm, as the tiger, turns in despair
upon its foe; nothing is there to fear. when
there is naught to hope. See Fate but Clearly,
and circumstance is stripped of horrorl Be-
hold the end, and whatever path leads
thither is welcome to the mind prepared,
Desolation is the grim tyrant that rules
supreme. We would not dethrone him, if
we could; for, while he tortures, he protects;
while he is cruel, he is proud.
Desolation is spirit, too, and whose
breast he occupies no one knows. The eve
looks kindly; the lip breaks as the morn, in
smiles the hand is bounteous, and yields the
charity 1t disowns; the bosom gives the
sympathy it can not receive; and ar ound the
murky night crimson auroras play.
Desolation is mystery to all spared from
its influence; the clearest and bitterest truth
to those on whom it falls.
In crowds it is solitary; in gaiety it is
sad; amid laughter it laments; amid expecta-
tion it desponds.
No effort can Danish, no spell can exercise,
the clinging fend of Desolation. Masks on
masks it wears, and outward forms in varied
numbers it assumes; but underneath the sur
face dark and dreary, it holds its empire,
continues, uninterrupted, solemn as the
tomb.
Desolation becomes part of our nature.
and by blind infatuation, and that princi-
pie of perversity lying at the base of all un-
happiness, we love it for the pain it inf1icts,
for the misery it brings.
But why should we not? If Desolation Is
to be our lot, we can not avert it. 1t comes
to us; we 60 not to it; II grows out of cir
cumstances we can not alter, and out of
issues we may not control.
Man, predestined to wretchedness for a
purpose he can not see and forced toward
future he can not scan, has little power to
receive or reject the banes or antidotes of
life.
He stumbles blindly over the vast grave
yard of existence, and when his tomb is
reached, he falls therein; no wiser than he
was born--all things mysterious, and he unto
himself the greatest mystery of all.
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