Shenandoah herald. [volume] (Woodstock, Va.) 1865-1974, 1867-02-28
MAID OF MYRTLE VALE.
BY MISS s. J. c. wHITTLESEY.

Beautiful and bright are the memories
that cluster around that lovely spot, sweet
Myrtle Vale memories that smile up
through the dim vista of departed years,
in radiant streams along the naizy aisles
Of the shadowy Past.
Voices soft and low as 4Eolian whisper
ings come trembling up from that far-off
home in this husEned and purpling eve,
breaking upon our spirit-ear. in plaintive
cadence, like the last lingerings Of a shat
tered lutte, waking in our yearning heart
mournful thoughts ''too deep for tears"
Far away where the dear old naples
stretch their broad, leafy arms lovingly
over the low, white caves, with their thick
clusters of glossy green, damp and heavy
with twilight dew, singing an evening an
them to the wandering wild-spirits that
creep from the dark, old woods, and nestle
amid their swinging boughs, dwelt in time
agone, the Maid Of Myrtle Vale-beauti-
full Flora Fay
Years, long years, have gone down to
the great reservoir of departed things. and
Tines trembling hand hath traced broad
lines of change and decay upon loveliness,
fresh and fair as mornings rosy dawn.
since we sat in the golden haze Of that still
June evening. in the little white cottage
porch, with the soft stars glitttcring in The
deep, clear azure Of a Southern Summer
sky, holding their tiny tapers to the young
moons silver car, as it swept along the
distant heavens
Methinks | see her now, as in that
balmy hour, with one fair rounded arm,
peeping out of the pure white folds of her
muslin robe, thrown over the huxhcd
guitar. whose last soft tremble had floated
lightly off on the futtcring wing of cool
ing breeze. Her large, dark eyes were
lifted dreamingly to the radcnt heavens,
as though the young spirit of the sweet
warbler had gone up on the rich gushes of
its own melody, to revel liz the cline Of
never ceasing song. The tender, green
coils Of the clustering vine that crept up
the slender pillows Of the little portico, and
swung from the low. brown caves tw,rled
and twisted amid the round rings of her
long black curls
She was beautiful. sweet Flora Fay-in
the bud of her girlish innoccnce-h beautiful
as the ideal of a poets widest dream
''the only child of her mother, AID she a
widow ;" and beauty was her only dover.
Edith" she said, softly, lifting one ia
per finger to large, full star, upon which
my own eyes had long rested, and laying
hand gently upon mine. Edith, there is
my desttny-stor; choose, darling which
shall be yours"
Laughing, pointed to little gem that
lay sparkling nearest her own, and called
it mine
MAY they shadow forth coming events
by"
She ceased, for low sound, we'll known.
came up on the perfumed air, from tire
swinging cottage gate, and [ looked
roguishly into the frightened eye, and
smiled provokingly at the deepening rose
on her rounded cheek for [ knew it was
the loving heart that sent the culver to the
small white hand which lay upon mine
A tall, manly form was Swallowed in the
moonlight's gold on the pebbly walk. and
the visitor stepped lightly upon the vine
latticed porch.
The blushing maiden yielded to the
strong arm that stole round her slight form,
and her full, cherry lip was printed with
loves own token-for was but a child,
and they needed me not
Long they sat in the holy bush of that
starry night-the proud lover and beautiful
bride betrothed but shadow lay upon
either brow, for the morrow's sun must
dawn upon the departure Of Edward Earle
to distant land.
A "suddcn parting. such as brushes the
life from out young hearts" the man