The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1870-04-20
OR TIfB


Or THE
FORTUNES OF JULIET CLAYBURN.
CHAPTER VlII-MDN1aHT MUSINGS.
Forget the deed-the pastl % yot
Memories that make the heart a tomb,
Regrete which glide through the spirits gloom
And with ghastly whispers tell,
Et.Asus e.; lPercy Byss1e Shelley.
Mr.. Clayburn fingered awhile on the
piazza, cpnversing with his daughter,
and then Declaring lie was overpowered
with sleep, aud advising her not to sit up
too late. she kissed her goodnight and
aouGht dis bed. Left alone, the young
ladyss thonghts naturally reverted to the
spring. = Her: mind travelled back over
past years-the weary lessons she had
1eafnedS he sorrows she had borne; the
dark leaves she had twined 80 early in
life's pages. T.
"Real life is stranger than felton,"
murmured Juliet. s'Karl used to say,
with thhs #light-hearted laugh of his,
you've only one rival in my affections,
Julie. and that is Thed,'" and now this
same Thed. has taken Karl's place in my
life-in my affections-he will soon be
my husband. Dear rTheodore-how noble
he is, how generousl I must never men,
With myself. He shall see that care
nothing for him now; he shall never feel
jealous pang, if I can help it; neither
shall he lose the affection of his friend.
Dear Theodore. how devotedly he loves
me-iust as Karl did once-yes, I cannot
doubt that he loved me once. Poor
Karl-poor Karll Can it be true, theny
Was it Karl himself I saw tonight? It
cannot be. No human face could look
like that white face. Karl is dead-dead
dead Poor Karll ,Life's SORROWS o'er
I trust your storm-rocked soul has found
o peaceful rest. I trust you may never
more feel the agony of unrequited affec-
tion-the remorse of having slighted
another's love; for no matter how you
loved me once, I cannot forget, it failed
me when love eemed sweetest. But
now. that you are dead, Karl, cannot
blame you-I have been unjust to you,
perhaps. It was surely not your fault
that you ceased to care for me, when you
we're made to believe I had withdrawn
my own affection. Aud afterwards
Gretchen was so beautifnll I will not
think of her. Poor Karl! I am glad,
since saw that pale. unearthly face, to-
night, with its mute. appealing look, that
I never allowed aught of bitterness or
resentment to enter my heart against
you. Obi it is hard to hate those whom
we once loved; hard to dash the idol,
though it be false idol, from its pedes-
tai; hard to forget the music of name
whose sound was once the sweet, pure
essence of all music; hard to tear our
souls apart from that other soul, whose
existence was once melted and fused into
our ownl Why does your spirit come to
me, Karl9 Why should those dark eyes
Of zf
reproach and sorrow in their glance?
Have e'er done aught to mar the quiet
of thy rest? or is il because thou didst
crush my warm affection, and hurl it
back upon my bleeding heart? Is it tho
''worm that never dies?"-the unforgot-
ten injuries thou didst heap upon my
lover I forgive you, Karl-rest in peace.
It comes across my memory-but will
struggle to break this spell-what have I
to do with memory? My bark shall not
be wrecked on thy dreury strand. Oil
memoryl pale-eyed child of thought;
dark haunter Of the imprisoned soul!
stern avenger OF past deeds! relentless
gearcher of hidden mysteries and dark
aecrets of the heart-ohl ead. nnqniet
graveyard of countless tombsl A Rogers
muse. in pure and graceful verse, and
''pencil dipt in natures living hues, :" has
preStneo inc rapture ana the pleasures
of memory; but to my chafed spirit thou
art fonnt OF gall and bitter waters,
savage Colossus OF grief, whose Memno-
nian soun 7ings. 80 wondrous wild and
drear. are solemn wailings of untold de-
spair; hollow echoes OF joy voices now
silent, and bright hopes now dead.
Where are thy pleasures. memory?
Canst thou bring me back the freshness
and grace of life's early spring-the
blooming bowers and wreaths OF anna.
ranth; the fragrant garlands wrought
with fairest flowers, whose beauty me-
thought-alas delusive hope-might
never fade? Canst thou restore to my
bereaved heart lost mother-that soil
tary friend on earth, whose love ne'r
knows the blight aud change of time?
Canst thou open the graves enamelled