Marshall County Republican. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1856-1878, 1869-02-04
The Broken Heart.
BY GEO. ID. PRENTICE.

a stricken flower to the grave-the
strong man fierrely breathing on
his soul on the field of battle-tht
miserable convict standing upon the
scaffold with dead curse quiverins
on bis lips. have viewed death il
all its forms of darkness and ven
geance, with fearless eye--but
never conld look on woman fading
away from the earth in beautiful anC
accomplishing melancholy, without
feeling the very fountain of love
turned to tears and dust. Death is
al ways terrible, but when form Of
angel beauty is passing away to the
silent land of sleepers, the heart feel:
that something lovely S ceasilg tc
exist, and breathes with an utter DIES
olation, over the lonely thoughts
that come up like spectres from the
graves to haunt our midnight mus
ings. Two years ago / took up my
residence in a country village in the
eastern part of New England. Soon
after my arrival / became acquainted
with lovely girl, apparently seven
teen years Of sge.
She had lost the idol other purest
love, and the shadows of deep and
holy memories rested like q wing OF
death upon her brow. i first met
her in the presence of the mirthful
she was indeed creature to he
orship ,ed-her brow was garland
ed by the young years sweetest flow
ers-her yellow locks were hanging
beautifully low upon her bosom,
and she moved through the crowd
with such floating, unearthly grace
that the bewildered gazer locked to
see her faint away in air, like the ere
alton of some pleasant dream. She
seemed cheerful and even gay, but
there was something in that smile
which told that its mournful beauty
was but the bright rehe, ton of a
tear-and her eyGlids at times closed
heavily down. rs if struggling to
suppress the tide Of agony that was
bursting mp from her hearts secret
urn. She looked as if she could have
left the scene of festivity and gone
out beneath the quiet stars, and laid
her forehead down upon the fir. sh
earth and poured oct her stricken
soul, gush after gush. till it mingled
with the eternal fountains Of life and
purity. Days and weeks passed off.
and the sweet girl gave me her con-
fidence, and / became to her as n
brother. The smile upon her cheek
grew visible, and the cadence of her
voice became more weak and tremu
lous. Or quiet evening in June /
wandered out with her in the open
air. 1t was then that she first ld
me of the tale of her passion, aud of
the blight that came down like mil
dew upon he" life-love had been a
portion of her existence. Its ten
drills had been twined around her
heart in its earliest years, and when
they were away it left q wound which
flowed till all the springs of her soul
were bloOd. 81 am passing away
she said, sand it should be so. The
winds have passed over my life, and
the bright bud of hope and the sweet
blossom of passion ,re scattered and
lie whitening in the dust. And yet /
cannot 90 among the tombs without
a tear. 1t is hard to take leave Of a
friend who loves me, it is hard to
bid farewell to those dear scenes /
have held communion with from my
childhood, and which fiom day to
day have caught the color of my life,
and sympathized with It's joys and
sorrows The little grave where ]
so often strayed with my buried love
and where, at times, even now, the
sweetest tones OF his voice seem to
come around me, till the whole uil
becomes one intense and meurnfuI
melody; the pensive star in which
1 can still picture his form looking
down upon me, reckoning me to his
bright home-every flower and rivu
let, on which our early love has SCI
its seal, have become dear to me, and
l cannot without sigh close my
eyes upon them forever"
Ihave lately heard that the beau
tiful girl Of whom have spoken i;
dead; the close of her life was as the
falling of quiet stream-gentle as
the sinking of the breeze that fingers
for time around bed of whitening
roses, and then dies as 1t were from
veiy sweetness.
1t cannot be that earth is mans
only abiding place. 1t cannot b,
that our life is bubble cast up b,
the ocean Of eternity to float a mo
ment upon the wave and then sihl
into darkness and nothingness. Els
Why is it that the aspirations whicl
leap like angels from the temple o
our hearts are forever wandering o.
unsatisfied? Why is it that the rain
bow and cloud come over US with
beauty that is net Of earth, and the
pass off again and leave us to mus
upon their faded loveliness? VIII
is it that the stars which hold thei
festivity around the midnight thron
are set so far above the limited fas
ulties rorever mocking US with the
d indispensable glory? And why
it that the bright form of huns