The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1870-04-21
s TOriginal.
ORIENT EK.
rss{s7,, OR THE
FORTUNES OF JULIET CLAYBURN.

Unsuitable tyrant 0. false Medusa!
o, Gorgon- hearted syren, who entice us
but to devourl 0 gloomy abyss, whose
voracious darkness swallows up greedily
the Joys and contentments of the pre-
sentl
Thou dippest thy cup into the life
fount Of the heart and leave its waters
turbid, foul and acrid. We ask of
Heaven the blessing of forgetfulness-
under thy spell we never forget. We
ask of mercy the boon of oblivion, and
thou steepest the soul in the mad poison
of ceaseless remembrance. Thou speak
est to me of smiles, and weep; of tears,
and in bitterness smile-a smile which
says, it were vain to weep.
Thou speakest to me of faces changed
or fed, of dreams which are dreams no
longer-of days whose pure gadness
knew not the sullying breath Of disap-
pointment or sorrow-of laug liter whose
merriment hid no aching heart-of sweet
delights, which shivered to the touch
like brittle glass and perished joys, lost
but nnforgotten-buried but sleepless.
What else, cruel Memory-what else says
thy clarion voice? Thou speakest to me
of weary watchings and midnight vigils,
spent in thoughts of one who had lost
all thought for me-of sacrifices made
for me, who sacrificed me-of VOWS kept
for one, who broke his VOWS to me-of
wasted ife-of suffered wrong--plea-
sures which have cased to please hopes
now dead in withered mournfulness-of
bitter tears-of dark despairl Like the
warning breath of a tempest, thou surg
est and ragest DER the tortured soul,
filing it with fond, vain longings for the
.lead-the past-the gone-the delicious
Once-the Implying Neoer morei
Oh. Memoryl wretched nightmare,
dread incubus of existepcel Gould but
measure the penury of thy pleasures, the
wealth of thy wretchedness, the magni-
tude of thy miseryl Gould L but tell the
ceaseless ranking of thy smart, the sore
ness of those incurable ulcers, fretted
into the sick soul, by the harsh, eternal
cutting and grating of thy iron chain!
To attempt it were vain-it were vainer
still to strive to heal the shattered spirit,
while thy restless fingers keep the wounds
gaping and raw. Before thy wizard
spells, stung by sharp and naughty
pangs, I fall-I sink helpless meath thy
wicked tyranny bow to thy despotic
sway. Borne on the wings Of sleepless
remembrance-viewing the boundless
scope of the nforgotten-gazing upon
the deep midnight of thy sunless sky, I
acknowledge myself thy slave, oh, i'm
placable Memoryl
Wrapt in these lonely thoughts, Juliet
stood leaningi in negligent attitude against
one of the white columns on the piazza.
Her hands were folded in graceful aban-
don on the balustrade before her and her
gaze fixed steadfastly on the clear moon.
She uttered deep sigh, and Juliet start
ed as the changeful autumn wind re-
echoed the sigh among the trees But
was it the wind? Her glance fell beneath
her, aud there, standing under the dark
shadow of the trees, beside the hedge
row, was the same tall figure, the same
white fuce she had seen once before thut
night at the spring. She caught at the
railing to support herself, she gasped for
breath, the blood throbbed wildly in her
veins, her head swan and her heart bent
almost to suffocation with tumultuous
mineling of fear and curiosity AS the
spectre moved slowly away, with one
tremendous effort of will, she ran toward
the steps. regardless of consequences,
crying in trembling accents
"Knrll Karll"
The faint voice perished unheeded,
and the tall, dark form. giving neither
word nor sign, disappeared from Juliet's
straining vision, far off amidst the murky
darkness of the pine grove, where the
capricious wind, ut strife with the leaves,
was moaning and signing in melancholy
wildness.
TO BE CONTINUED.