Keowee courier. [volume] (Pickens Court House, S.C.) 1849-current, 1867-06-15

most on eorth--who have sat at it's threshold
as ono shut out in cold and lonely world
from whence all that was most lovely and low
ing Ind departed
But then tho horrors of such graye--s,
frightful, dishonored !! there was nothing fo
memory 10 dwell on that could soothe the pan.
OF scparation-nono of those tendcr though
melancholy circumstances that endear tht
parting soene-nothing to melt sorrow into
those blessed tears, sent, like the dcws of heav.
en-, to revive the heart in the parting hour OF
anguish
TO render her widowed situation more dcs.
olatc, she had incurred her fathers dispeasure
by her unfortunate attachment, and was an
exile from the paternal roof. But could the
/ sympathy and kind offices of friends have
! reached spirit so shocked aud driven in by
horror, She would have experienced no want
of consolation, for tho Irish are people of
! quick and generous sensbilitics. The most
delicate and ohcrishing attentions were paid
her by families of wealth and distinction. She
was led into society, and they tried by all kinIs
or occupation and amusement to disspatc her
grief and wean her from the trugical story of
her lover. But it was all in vain There arc
some strokes of calamity that seattle and scorch
the soul-that penetrate to tho vital seat Of
happincss-and blast it, never again to put
forth bud or blossom. She never objected to
frequent the haunts of pleasure, but she was as
much alonc there as in the depths of solitude
She walked about in sad rcvcry, apparently
unconscious IF tho world around her. She
| Carried with her an inward WOO that nocked
all the Establishments of friendship, and
: needed not the song Of the charmcr, charm
he ever SO wisely"
The person who told nc her stoiy had seen
her at n masquerade. There can be no cxi
bltlon OF far-gonc wrctchcdncss more striking
ana painful than to meet it in such scene
10 lind 1T wandering like spectre, lonely and
loyless, where around is gay---to sec it dressed
out in the trappinss of mirth. and looking so
wan aud woe. .bcgonc, MS if it had tried i'm vain
to cheat the poor heart into il momcntary for
gcttulness OF sorrow. After strolling through
the splendid rooms and giddy crowd with an
air OF utter abstraction, she sat herself down
OH the steps of an orchestra, and, looking about
for some time will a vacant air, that showed
her insensibiity to the garsh scene, she be.
gan, with the capriciousncsS of Il sickly heart,
to warblc little paintivc air She had an
exquisite voice but on this occasion it was SO
simple, SO touching, it brcathcd forth such a
soul of wretchcdncss, that she drew crowd
mute and silent around her, and melted every
ore to tears.
The story Of one so true and tender could
not but excite great interest in country re-
markable for enthusiasm 1t completely won
the heart of II brave officer, who paid his ad-
dresses to her, aud thought that one SO true to
the dead could not but prove affectionatc to
the living. She declined his attentions for
her thoughts were irrcvocably cngrosscd by
tho memory of her former lover lie, how
ever, persisted III lis suit He solicited not
not her tenderness, but her esteem. lie was
assisted by her conviction Of his worth, and
her scnsc'of her own destitute and dependent
situation, for Che was existing OH the Kindness
OF friends. In II word, he at length succeed
cd in gaining her hand, though with the sol
cmn assurance that her heart was unaIterably
another's
lie took her with him to Sicily, hoping that
a change of scene might wear out the relncm
brancc of early woes. She was an amabc an
exemplary wife, and made every effort to be a
happy one but nothing could cure the silent
and devouring melancholy that had entered
into her very soul She wasted away in n
slow, but hopeless decline. and at length sunk
into the grave, the victim of broken heart
1t was on her that Moore, the distinguished
Irish poet, composed the following lines
She is far from the land where her young her,
sleeps,
| And lovers around her nre signing:
But co!dly she turns from their gaze. and wecps,
For her heart in his grave is lying
She sings the wild songs Of her dear native Mains
Every note which he loved awaking--
An! little they think. who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the minstrel is brcaking
lie Ind lived for his lovc-for his country he died
They were all that to lifc had entwued him