Juliet signal. [volume] (Juliet [i.e. Joliet], Ill.) 1844-1???, 1861-03-26
IL Was.

IL IS strange that some words, simple
words, seeming to mean nothing to many.
bring strange thoughts to the few. How
lew OF us there are who are not impressed
by some particular word or phrase, which
the rest Of the world pass unDoticed.
To the ears Of one man, perhaps, only in
the world, one word has a strange. un-
earthly musician indescribable echo.
1t was'
Yes reader-lcok at these two words
IT, rronoun; neuter gender, third per
son, singular number; Was q verb past
tense, third person singular, to agree with
its nomitive case 1T Take them so, thew
mean nothing
But together, 1t was-It was,' is what
tue sea Is ever murmuring, as il dashes on
the pebbly shore. The gray, angry sea, as
It rolls on the sands the fragments of some
ha2less vessel, that has gone down amid
ITS dark mysterious waves, cries hoarsely !;
1t VAST
The grey. angry sen, as Il sbeases and
losses its hoary waters over some cub
merged city-Over some little seaside vii
lage swallowed up by its ever eEcroaching
tide, whispers low, as it washes amid the
ruined walls. and laps round the coIumned
terraces, or the dessolate hearths; 1t was
1t WASH
To me those two words have q solemn
and sad tone, deep meaning to deep
Tor tears, and far too deep for words =
10 olden times was q city, 'throned upon
seven hills
She sent her armies and her colonies
throughout all the world, as the heart
pulses forth blood through the arteries of
the whole body. n. ...-....
In its GRAND ooroao,s ,t-oo.. $500 "a.
greatest orators, the greatest poets, aud the
greatest warriors. In its glittering pal
aces ard golden temples were treasured
the triumphs of all arts.
And now, ruin, desolation, poverty
Roma fuit.' and We close the classic mage.
signing softly, signing sadly 1t wasVIt
was
There is an old man sitting before bis
solitary fire. His head is bowed upon his
hands, his eyes are closed, but he is not
sleeping. lie sees fair form, q slender,
girlish form, and by her side a youth, that
might be he, save that his hair is grew,
and his frame feeble. And those two
wander on happily, through green, fresh
meadows, by plantations of dark odorous
frs, and the vision fades away, and again
he sees her, and in her hair are pure white
orange blossoms. And yet again, they
pass before bis eyes, and in her arms she
carries little frail bud-a little sleeping
child. Then he groans to himself, as he
opens the plain gold ltcket that bangs
from a ribbon next his heart, and he signs;
that sigh says, 1t was.'
In that locket is a dark brown curl. and
a little golden lock of ; cbild's bair. 1t
was.' -... ~
And so tn me come those two words. 1T
was.' As set here and think, and pic
ture to myself the happy hours have spent,
there rises before mine eyes mist-the
mist of unshed tears, and from out that
mist voice whispers, 1T was.'
The happy hours that few so soon, when
we were near her, the happy hours spent
with dear friends, with our parents. our
brothers, our sisters, all these pass before
us, and from the chambers of our desolate
hearts the voice of the past walls forth, 1t
was-It was.' 4
How those two words must have haunted
the mind of that great ambitious eagle soul,
that persisted in its sea girt prison, in the
rocky islet of saint Helena AS the sun
sank blood red before his dying eyes, the
same sun that rose glorious golden on the
field of Austerlitz-how they must have
rung in his ears.
Then must the light have rekludled in
his darkened eye, and the blood have re-
turned to his pale cheeks, the strength Of
will to those stern lips, for a moment only
moment, then q struggle, and all is over,
and never again to him shall those words
sound, but on the ears Of those weeping
faithful ones around him they must have
fallen like the strokes of passing bell,
and each one, as he looked ON that calm
marble statue of irou willed ambition, said
to himself, 1T WASH
And when at the foot of Pompey's
statue sank down the bleeding clay that
had been Cesar, when Brutus thrust back
his weapon into its sheath, as he turned
his eyes from the lifeless, mangled form,
he had once called his friend, his heart
leapt up into his throat, and choaked the
words, 1t was ere they reached his lips.
dc not think there could be more
touching epitaph for grave, than those
two words, 1T was' In their small COM
pass, what tail would they tell of faded
joys, withered hopes and beauty fed for
everi
And yet would not have those two
words. only.